“I was thinking about it.”
“You’ve nobody here.”
“Nothing but a tough reputation.”
“Is that why you wanted this drive? To get money to go West?”
He never got an answer to that one because right then I lifted my glass and looked down the bar into the eyes of John Tower.
My left side was toward the bar and my left-hand gun was under the edge of the bar and out of easy grasp. It was my right hand held the drink.
Tower started along the bar toward us, and Lee caught my expression, knowing there was trouble. “Stand easy,” I whispered, “it’s the man rides for Lacy Petraine.”
“Who used to ride for Belser.”
Tower was carefully dressed in a black broadcloth suit, and was clean-shaven but for his mustache. “Having yourselves a blowout?” he asked.
“Looking around,” I said. “We may open a ready-to-wear.”
Bill Longley had come in. “Or a funeral parlor,” he said. “Could be a lot of business in that line.”
John Tower glanced at Longley. “I might contribute a little, myself. But don’t start business my way. I’m not a trouble-hunting man.”
“Neither are we,” I said.
“There’s a story around town that somebody named Cullen Baker cleaned up Barlow’s guerrillas, and you would be surprised how much friendly talk it started about Cullen Baker. A few more operations like that and he could run for governor.”
He put down his glass. “By the way, Mrs. Petraine is in town, and she’d like to talk to you.”
“Later,” I said.
Matt Kirby came up the street with the Tinney boys. “Dud Butler’s in town,” he whispered, “and four or five with him.”
Butler I remembered. It had been him I’d seen across the street. He had been one of the boys with Chance the first time they set on me, but lately he’d been reported riding with Sam Barlow. A big, dirty, oafish boy he had grown into a man of the same sort.
“It’s my fight,” I said.
“He knows me,” Bob Lee said. “He rides with that Peacock outfit.”
In a tailor shop we got ourselves fitted into black broadcloth suits, and Tower came in. “You would do well to talk to Mrs. Petraine,” he said. “She particularly requested you come to see her.”
“Watch yourself,” Longley advised. “It might be a trap.”
“I don’t need a trap,” Tower replied. “I skin my own cats.”
Lacy Petraine was in a small place on a street off the square where an elderly widow and her maiden lady sister served meals to the better class of traveler.
She was seated alone and for an instant she did not recognize me in the new suit. “You are quite the gentleman, Mr. Baker. You should wear such clothes all the time.”
“You wanted to see me?”
“I wanted to buy your land—all of it.”
So I sat down and put my hat on the chair beside me. All my memories of anything were here in Texas, and my folks had left their mark upon the house and upon the land. Pa was always a-tinkering at things, and he built every inch of fence on the place with my help, and some of it we had cleared together of brush and trees.
“It isn’t for sale,” I said.
“Cullen,” she leaned across the table toward me, and she was wearing some fancy perfume like nothing I’d ever smelled before, “I know how you feel, but there’s nothing here for you any more. I know how you feel because we are much alike in many ways, but your only hope is to leave.”
There was truth in that, more truth than I cared to admit, even though I was more than half-convinced already. The carpetbaggers would go, but Chance Thorne would stay, and he would have a glib story to tell, and with his family background, he’d be apt to make it stick. Meanwhile, who was to speak for me?
Would Bob Lee be left? Or Bickerstaff, or any of the others?
“Believe me, Cullen, you are facing a fight you cannot win. I tried to win it once, and then tried again and again, but my reputation followed me. But you could ride away into the West where you used to be, and nobody would be the wiser.”
“Maybe, maybe you’re right.”
“You’ve frightened them, Cullen, and they’re out to get you now, and believe me, they don’t dare let you live.”
Finishing my coffee I put money on the table and got up. Suddenly I felt cramped for space. “Not now,” I said, “but thanks for the offer.”
“Don’t wait too long,” she warned.
Turning away from the table I glanced out the window at the street. With Dud Butler out there Bob Lee was in danger, too. He should not be away from the others.
“Cullen,” Lacy spoke very low, “if you’re thinking of Katy Thorne it won’t do. She’s to be married.”
My back was to her and I was glad. Katy to be married? That was impossible. She would have said something, she would have…but why should she?
“I had not heard.”
“It has been developing a long time, Cullen, even before you returned, and I am surprised you had not heard of it.”
“Who is he?”
“Tom Warren, the schoolteacher. He began courting her over a year ago, and I believe his family have some distant connection with Katy’s Aunt Florence.”
She came up behind me where I stood looking into the street. “Don’t sell me the land, Cullen, but go, please go.”
“Why are you so concerned?”
The question stopped her, and I could see she didn’t even know herself, and looking at her I knew I’d never seen a woman so beautiful, and somehow I had a sudden feeling if I was to reach out and take her in my arms that she wouldn’t resist, not even a mite. And we were all alone in here, at this hour.
“I must go,” I said, feeling a fool to have such ideas. What could she want with me?
Lacy put her hand on my arm. “Come and see me, Cullen. Please do.”
“Why, sure. Sure, Lacy, I’ll come.”
My gun was thrust behind my belt under the edge of the coat I was wearing, and when I stepped out I looked one way and the other, but saw nobody.
The square was filled with wagons and as it was growing late in the afternoon folks were moving slower and the square was quieter. Yet suddenly the urge was on me to get out of town, to ride, to get away. I needed a campfire and time to think. There was no reason why I should be so wrought up about Katy marrying. What could she mean to me?
My eyes were busy and I figured I was seeing everything, that I’d scanned every wagon, every doorway, every spot a man could hide, yet suddenly the voice came from behind me and it was Dud Butler.
“I’m a-gonna kill you, Cullen!”
All movement stopped and I knew without turning that his gun was ready to kill me as I turned. Only I was already turning.
There was no thinking, no thought and response, just that challenge and the months of training I’d given myself and before he was through talking I was shooting.
The report of that Dragoon Colt cut a hard line across the silence of the square.
Dud lifted on his tiptoes, took one teetering step forward and fell flat, and he was dead before he touched the ground.
Dud had never known anything but a flash of flame and a stunning blow over the heart.
From nowhere they closed around me, guns drawn, facing outward. Lee, Longley and the Tinney boys, with Kirby coming up, leading all our horses. And by a cotton wagon was Jack English and he was holding a Spencer, and beyond him Bickerstaff facing the other way with a Henry .44.
A tall man with a gray mustache stepped over and stared down at Dud Butler’s body, then he looked around at me. “I say it was a fair shootin’,” he said positively, “but I never did see a man shuck a gun so quick.”
The crowd was gathering, and one man stared hard at me and said, “He called a name, sounded like Cullen.”
“He’s no Cullen,” Longley grinned at the man, “this here’s our boss, he’s a cattleman from the Gulf shore.”
Matt Kirby reined his horse over to look down at Butler’s body. “Why, this man looks like one of the Barlow crowd! I’d swear that’s Dud Butler!”
We mounted up. After Kirby’s comment it was not likely anybody would come forward and admit to being a friend of Butler, and therefore likely to be taken for one of the Barlow outlaws.
Riding swiftly out of town we took the trail west until we hit a cattle trail that would partly cover our tracks, and then we swung south and east, keeping to low ground so’s not to be seen more than we could help. We expected no pursuit but operated on the idea that a man can’t be too careful.
We camped by a small stream that flowed into the Trinity after riding several miles in the water to leave no more trail than we had to. It was past midnight when we bedded down, and when Longley was pulling off his boots he said, “That old feller back there was right. I never did see a man get a gun out so fast.”
On the bluff across the river a lone coyote yapped a shrill challenge at the moon, and a faint breeze rustled the cottonwood leaves.
Taking my pipe out of my pocket I lighted up, feeling mighty solemn. Bob Lee was rolling a cigarette, a trick he had learned from Mexicans. “Could be you’re right, Cullen,” he said. “Maybe we should all go West.”
Chapter 5
* * *
WHEN I CRAWLED out from under my blankets in the cold dawn I had an urge to cut and run. Prodding the gray coals with a stick I found a little fire and threw on some leaves and then some branches.
Why was I going back, anyway? I was away from there with a good start on the road west and I was a complete fool to go back and make a target of myself.
A stranger had camped with us, a man who came in late and wanted to bed down, and although none of us knew him there was no way we could shut him out. He was as full of news as a dry farm widow, and told us there was a regiment of soldiers moved to Marshall, and rumor had it that a company was to be located in Jefferson, and another in Clarksville. Nor were these raw, unseasoned troops we’d had around that neck of the woods, but tough veterans of the recent war, and real fighting men. Chance Thorne, this stranger said, had been searching the swamps with a bunch of Union Leaguers hunting for that there Cullen Baker.
When I had water on the fire for coffee I made up my mind. I was riding to Blackthorne.
Kirby caught me shaving and had to speak up. “A feller shaves he mostly goes courtin’.”
“Business,” I told them, “although I’m stopping at Blackthorne.”
“They’ll be ready for you, Cull.” Kirby paused. “Want me to show some place? We’re about of a size and build and color of hair. I’ve heard it said we favor, from behind, anyway. I could draw them off.”
“No use getting shot for me. I’ll manage.”
“We’ll be at the Elbow,” Bob Lee suggested. “Come there.”
It was a wearing thing, being geared for trouble at any minute when all I wanted was a little peace. Stuffing my gear in my saddlebags I considered that, realizing I was a hunted man drawing nearer to the hunters.
It was late when I rode up through the orchard to Blackthorne. I’d switched to the mule and I tied him in the old stable under the wisteria vine, but there was a horse tied outside the house and I felt irritation. I’d hoped to find Katy alone.
A glance through the window showed a young man, well-dressed, and a stranger to me. From the description I knew it must be Thomas Warren, that schoolteacher Lacy told me was to marry Katy. Right then I was a jealous man, and no reason for it; I’d no claim on her.
Aunt Flo had a quick warmth in her welcome that pleased me, not knowing how anybody would feel about me here, and Katy’s smile was quick and excited. “Cullen! You were the last person we expected! We heard the Army was searching for you.”
Katy turned quickly. “Cullen, this is Thomas Warren, he teaches school near here.”
“A pleasure,” I said, and held out my hand. Warren wore a gun, probably a Patterson Colt, but carried it in his pocket. He ignored my hand.
“I cannot say the same. If you have friendship for Miss Thorne you will leave at once.”
“Why, Tom!” Katy was surprised. “Cullen is a friend of mine, and a very good friend.”
“That surprises me,” Warren replied stiffly. “I cannot understand how a lady of quality can endure the presence of this…this.…”
Ignoring him, I said to her, “It’s good to see you, Katy. Very good to see you.”
It was a fine sort of thing to see her pleasure in my new clothes. In the dark suit I knew I looked well, but anything would have looked better than the clothes I’d been wearing.
“You look every inch the Southern gentleman,” Katy said. “Have you eaten?”
“Camp fare by a man who is no cook.”
Aunt Flo, to whom a hungry man was a delight, and reason for much bustling in the kitchen, was busy right off. Warren stood there at one side looking furious. Anybody else but him and anywhere else but this I’d have read to him from the Book for talking like he had, but this was Katy’s house and I was her guest…and he, this Warren, was to marry her.
“Have you thought,” Warren interrupted, “what would happen if the soldiers should come?”
Katy turned on him. “Cullen Baker was welcome in this house when Uncle Will lived here, and will always be welcome. I am sorry, Tom, that you disapprove, but if you do not mind being in the same house with Cullen Baker, we would like to have you stay.”
His face paled, and for an instant I figured he would leave, then he sat down abruptly.
Katy asked about Fort Worth, so she had heard about Dud Butler. “I wasn’t surprised,” she said quietly. “He was always a cruel, trouble-making boy.”
Warren glanced at her, shocked.
“Mr. Warren,” Katy explained, “comes from New England. I believe he finds us somewhat barbaric.”
“Not you!” Warren replied hastily. “Not you at all!”
“This is still a frontier,” I said, “and there was a time when they carried guns to church even in New England.”
“It was not the same. There were Indians.”
“There are many kinds of savages.”
“I scarcely believe there is basis for comparison.” Warren was brusque. “Fighting off red Indians is very different from killing white men in the street.”
“One time Will Thorne told me about the Puritans wanting to go down to Baltimore and burn out some folks just because they liked music, parties and dancing. That seems mighty savage to me.”
Warren stood up. “I believe I must go,” he said. “I did not realize you expected company.”
When Warren was gone we sat silent, and I did not know what to say, or how to begin. If she was to marry this man it was her affair, but it was wrong; he was no man for her. And it was not only that he had not liked me, but there seemed something wrong about him, the feeling one has sometimes about a bad horse, yet what could be wrong about a schoolteacher? Maybe it was that he was too sure he was right, he was almost, it appeared to me, a fanatic, and fanatics are dangerous men.
Yet why should I mind? She had been kind to me when there had been no one else. Turning my head to watch the candlelight reflected on her face I thought suddenly something I had not thought before—I loved her.
How does a man like me know what love is? There was nothing much in my life to tell me, but there was a feeling I felt for her that I had never felt before, for anyone.
“Your corn is tall,” Katy said suddenly. “It is ready to harvest.”
“I’m leaving Texas,” I said.
“You’re actually going?”
“Yes.”
“When, Cullen? When?”
“Soon—in the next few days.”
“Cullen, I—You’ve no idea how I’ve hoped for this!”
“You want to be rid of me?”
She put her hand on mine. “You know it isn’t that. You simply haven’t a chance here, and somewhere else you can make a fresh start, and
you’ll have a chance to live a decent life.”
“Everything I have is here.” I said it sullenly. “If I leave here there is nothing for me.”
“There is everything for you, Cullen. You are young, strong, and you have intelligence. You can do anything you wish to do, if you wish it enough.”
Looking at her I thought that there was one thing I could never have, no matter how much I wanted it. Anger stirred me and I got up, anger at myself and at the place life had given me. But she was right, and there was nothing here for me and the sooner I left the better.
“I must go.”
“Wait.” Katy blew out the candle and we opened the door and stepped out into the darkness. There was a faint breeze from over the swamp bringing a breath of ancient earth and rotting wood and dead leaves, the heavy scent of blossoms, too, and the coolness of still waters, those shaded waters where soon I would go no more.
Suddenly the anger welled up in me again and I knew that no matter who she was to marry I must say what there was in me to say. “Katy,” I said, “would you—”
They stepped out of the darkness so quietly that I had no time to think or to act. There were a dozen of them with rifles leveled, and in the faint moonlight they were clearly visible. And my only thought was that if I made a move now Katy might be injured.
“Do not move, Cullen. This time we have you.” The voice was the voice of Chance Thorne.
He stepped through the line of armed men and stood there in the moonlight, tall, straight and handsome. “And now, Cullen Baker, you’ll hang.”
A man came from behind me and took my two Colts. Katy remained beside me and, looking up at me, she whispered, “What was it, Cullen? What did you start to ask me?”
“A foolish thing,” I said, “and nothing at all, really. Nothing at all.”
How could a man who was to be hung ask such a question? And Chance Thorne would not let me escape again, and if I was not to be surprised, they would hang me before we ever reached Jefferson.
“Go inside, Katy,” Chance said. “If anything is to happen I do not want you to see it.”
“I’ll stay.” From behind the house Bert appeared. He was a former slave who had returned a few days before when he could find no work. “Bert, get my horse, will you?”
The First Fast Draw Page 10
