Sawbones

by William W. Johnstone

  Outside, the maid screeched like a banshee and shouted for him to open the door. Then silence fell. She had given up using verbal intimidation to get him to let her in and rounded the house to enter from the front. Knight had only a few seconds before she rejoined the fight. He ducked into the dining room. Not seeing Victoria, he rushed into the sitting room and from there into a wood-paneled study dominated by a huge cherrywood desk. She sat behind the desk, frantically trying to open the center drawer.

  “Stop it, Victoria. Stop it.” He put enough snap of command into his voice that she looked up, eyes wide. Her mouth gaped.

  “It’s me. Your husband. Samuel.”

  “But you—”

  “I’m a bit dirty, and for that I apologize, but it has been a long hard road.”

  “You’re alive. You can’t be.”

  “I sent you a letter whenever my guards allowed it. That has to be one a month for the past year.”

  “Guards?”

  “The Yankees had me in their prison camp in upstate New York. Elmira. I was released after General Lee surrendered.”

  “You never wrote, not ever.”

  “Then the guards failed to post the letters. I wrote.” His fury at them rose. They must have taken the letters and read them for their own amusement, never intending to send them along as they promised. It had been more than one making such a promise, too. Damn the entire lot of blue bellies!

  “You can’t be alive,” she repeated in a voice so low he barely heard.

  “You’ve done well keeping up the place. How did you decide to add the second story? It makes the house distinctive from the road. And that is quite a thoroughfare. I can’t wait to see the rest of Pine Knob if such a large road goes right on by my house. Our house.” He looked around the study that had been their bedroom before he had left. The desk stood where once their bed has stood. Their marriage bed.

  “It’s not our house, Samuel. It’s mine. Mine and Gerald’s.”

  “Gerald?”

  “My husband. When I thought you were gone, I remarried. I am Mrs. Gerald Donnelly.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re my wife. Mrs. Samuel Knight.”

  The front door crashed open. Through an arched doorway a burly man with muttonchops and a florid face barreled in, the maid close behind.

  “I fetched the mister. He’s come to save you, Miz Donnelly.” The maid swung the broom about, then subsided when the well-dressed man pushed her away.

  “What the hell is this about, Victoria? I shall thrash this swine if he has touched one hair of your head.”

  “Gerald, I—”

  “Leave my house this instant, you scalawag. Do it on your own feet or I shall have you removed feetfirst.”

  Too much had happened too fast for Knight. He looked from his wife to the intruder, then back. She sought help, all right, but not from him. His brain tumbled and words became difficult to form.

  “You’ve got a Boston accent,” he finally said.

  “I am of the Boston Donnellys,” the man said haughtily, as if that meant something. “The Boston Brahmins? The Blue Bloods? The Winslows, Saltonstalls, Winthrops?”

  “This is a mighty far piece from Boston. What are you doing in Pine Knob, Texas?” Even as Knight asked, he knew the answer. Gerald Donnelly was a carpetbagger who intended to milk the cow until she came up dry and then move on, all with the power, authority, and approval of a Reconstruction Congress back in Washington.

  “I have come here to marry the finest flower that ever bloomed in Texas. Now who are you?”

  Knight rested his hand on the six-shooter holstered at his hip when Donnelly moved the tail of his coat back to reveal a gun under his left arm in a shoulder rig. The only men Knight had ever seen who sported such a holster were gamblers and pimps.

  “I am quite adept at using my six-gun, you miserable piece of—”

  “Gerald!”

  They both looked at Victoria. She had finally pried open the center desk drawer and held a derringer taken from there. Knight turned faint when he realized she held the tiny gun in both hands—and pointed it at him.

  “I’m your husband,” he said, knowing this hadn’t swayed her before. “Would you kill me?”

  “I would. I will. You’re dead to me. You’ve been dead to me for over a year. How dare you come back? How dare you?”

  “What’s he saying, Victoria? Tell me.” Gerald Donnelly walked past Knight as if he didn’t exist. He plucked the twin-barrel pistol from the woman’s hands and tucked it into his coat pocket.

  “She’s saying that we are married. Since I’m alive, if you think you are married to her, you are wrong unless you want her branded as a bigamist.”

  Donnelly waved his hand about as if dismissing a trifle. He walked around to stand behind Victoria, his hands on her shoulders. In spite of himself, Knight had to admit they made a handsome couple. But she wasn’t this man’s wife. She was his.

  “That’s a technicality. I can deal with it in a day or two.”

  “You can’t dissolve a marriage that has lasted six years!”

  “A sham marriage, a fake. An annulment will be easily obtained since I know the judge well. I will give you, oh, say, one hundred dollars to be on your way and forget this whole sordid claim.”

  “Is this the kind of man you want, Victoria? He just placed a value on your marriage. One hundred dollars. Is that what it’s worth to you? You’re worth more than that to me. You’re my life.”

  “If that is the price you want to pay, it can be arranged,” Gerald Donnelly said coldly. “I have no doubt Captain Norwood can deal with you in such a way that you never bother me again.” He coughed to clear his throat when he saw how Victoria responded. “Or my wife. You bother us anymore and the army will deal with you severely.”

  “Captain Norwood?” Knight had to rest his hand against a table at hearing the name of the officer who had ordered him arrested for horse theft.

  “I don’t really know him, but he seems a good sort. Of a decent Ohio family. He’s been in charge of the garrison here for the past ten days. Do you want me to send for him?”

  Knight held his panic in check. He removed his hand from the pistol at his side and faced his wife. “You must choose. I don’t think it is legal to cancel our marriage as if it never existed. Come with me, Victoria, come with me, and I promise we will be happy like we were before.”

  “You cannot erase the last three years, Samuel. I . . . I have a life with Gerald that I never had with you.” She shivered delicately. “I hated all that blood, the way you cut into people.”

  “He cut up people? I’ll have him on trial for murder!”

  “I’m a surgeon, damn your eyes,” Knight snapped. “Of course I cut people open to heal them, not kill them.”

  “Some died,” Victoria said in a tiny voice. “Too many did.”

  “I learned a great deal during the war. I—we—can save more patients now. There are innovative methods being taught in Europe. We can go to Paris and study them. There’s no reason to stay in Pine Knob.”

  “Yes, Samuel, there is.” Victoria sat straighter and looked ahead, not meeting his eyes. “I have a husband here. A lawyer who can take care of me in ways you were never able to.”

  “Get out or I shall summon my men to thrash you.”

  Knight put his hand back on his six-gun, then let his arm go limp. This wasn’t the time or place to fight Gerald Donnelly. When that might be, and how, eluded him, but shooting it out in front of his wife deterred him. And Victoria was his wife, no matter what her so-called new husband claimed.

  “This isn’t over. Please, Victoria, don’t make a mistake we’ll both regret the rest of our lives.”

  Still not looking at him, she said tartly, “Good-bye, Samuel.”

  “You heard her. Get the hell out of my house.” Gerald Donnelly moved to block his view of Victoria.

  Knight started from the room but couldn’t refrain from one last parting taunt. “You’re wrong on bo
th counts. She’s my wife and this is my house.” He looked at the stairs. “And there wasn’t any call to build a second story. It ruins the look of the place.”

  Knight passed the maid, who held her broom like a soldier with a rifle at port arms. He politely touched the brim of his hat and stepped onto the porch. Night had come crashing down, isolating him and giving the sense that he had entered some alien world beyond his ken. He and Victoria had enjoyed sitting on the porch, sipping cool drinks, sometimes with alcohol in them, and watching the lightning bugs fluttering around the edge of the forest not fifty yards away. The trees had been cut down and the road put through.

  Behind him he heard Victoria crying and Gerald Donnelly berating her. The tone of the man’s voice almost caused Knight to go back in and give him what for. No one had the right to speak to Victoria that way. No one.

  The maid closed the door. The metallic click as a key turned in the lock decided him. He had to find out what was necessary to put Donnelly in his place and regain everything that had been stolen from him. As he plodded along the road to Pine Knob, he realized this was a hard row to hoe. Fighting any carpetbagger was hard because they had the power of the Federal government behind them and were a law unto themselves. He shivered, wondering if Captain Norwood remembered him and would have him shot on sight. Avoiding the Yankee cavalry as he worked to pry Victoria loose from the Bostonian carpetbagger might prove difficult, but he had to do it.

  A twenty-minute walk brought him to the middle of Pine Knob. He stood in the street and looked around, trying to remember who had owned which stores and why nothing was exactly right. If they had swept through town and torn down every other building to put up new ones he could not have been more disoriented. The courthouse had dominated the main street before. Now it was hardly noticeable next to a three-story hotel.

  He pressed his hands against flat pockets, hunting for even a few coins. The hotel windows were brightly lit and showed a thriving restaurant. He didn’t have enough money to stay in such a fine place, but even a nickel might buy him a cup of coffee or a dime a piece of pie. Living on small game and forage for the past two weeks had kept him from starving, but it also whetted his appetite for the things he missed most.

  He inhaled deeply and remembered how that peach pie cooling on the window ledge had smelled. Peach wasn’t his favorite; Victoria’s cherry pie was. But he had done the right thing by not taking what belonged to the little girl, even if it had caused his belly to rub up against his spine.

  A search of his pockets a second time produced no more money than the first had. Missing dessert was one thing. He needed money to hire a lawyer to challenge Gerald Donnelly.

  The commotion down the street in front of a saloon that hadn’t existed before the war caused him to freeze. Three soldiers poured from the swinging doors and into the street, shoving and shouting. One threw a punch at another. Drunker than a lord, he missed by a country mile. The second reared back to launch his blow, only to get sucker-punched by the third trooper. The trio piled into each other. Knight expected two of them to gang up on the third, but they kept the fight impartial, each fighting the other two equally.

  He started away from them when one suddenly collapsed, clutching his belly. Knight was too far off to see the punch that did the dirty work, but the way the soldier lay unmoving meant a possibly serious injury. A lucky punch into a belly not properly tensed to take the impact ruptured internal organs.

  Knight got halfway there and veered away. A mounted patrol trotted up. Two soldiers dismounted, one limping slightly. In the yellow light spilling from inside the saloon, the soldier whose leg he had tended and whose horse he had stolen went to pull the fighters apart. If anyone recognized him, this man would. He stepped onto a boardwalk, then pressed deeper into shadow as the soldiers dragged the unconscious private past him on their way to a wagon. Grunting, they heaved him into the bed.

  “Thass two drunks tonight. The captain’s not gonna be pleased.”

  The one with the limp replied, “He better not declare the town off limits ’fore my leave in a couple days. My leg’s hurtin’ so bad I need a shot or two of rye to kill the pain.”

  “Thass one helluva excuse. Medicinal purposes rather than drinkin’ just to get soused. I gotta hand it to you, Reilly, you’re all the time comin’ up with alibis for yer thirst. Me and the rest of this godforsaken company, we come off lookin’ like drunks. Not you, no, sir. You need meddysin.” He laughed uproariously.

  The two passed within ten feet of Knight and never saw him. He let out breath he hadn’t known he held when they went back to talk to the remaining two fighters, who now clung to each other for support.

  He walked on eggshells until he came to a cross street, then picked up his pace. He needed food and a place to stay for the night, the things he had been deprived of for so long and had expected to find when he returned to Pine Knob.

  And Victoria. He had expected to have a wife when he returned, not a stranger intent on sleeping with another man.

  “Hey, mister.” The summons came from behind him. Knight glanced over his shoulder and saw a man moving fast. If the call hadn’t gotten his attention, the ax handle swung at his head would have.

  Knight instinctively ducked. The ax handle crashed into his shoulder, driving him to his knees. Then he found himself beset by two more men, using their fists on him. He curled up in a tight ball and let the blows rain down. He had endured this and more at the prison camp.

  “You gettin’ the message? Clear out of town. You ain’t wanted here.”

  He shifted on the ground enough for the ax handle intended for his head to miss. Knight grabbed with both arms, circled the man’s ankles and pulled hard, upending him. He received curses and more blows from the other two, but pain meant nothing to him now. With a hard kick, he scooted along the ground and grabbed for the fallen man’s six-shooter. He fumbled and failed to get it from the holster but pulled back the hammer partway. When the man twisted away, Knight lost his grip. The hammer fell and the gun discharged.

  His attacker yelped as the bullet tore into his leg. For a brief instant the other two stopped their pummeling to stare at their partner. Knight grabbed the ax handle and swung wildly. Luck finally rode with him. He connected with one man’s knee, bringing him down in a pile of pain and curses. Using the wood shaft, he levered himself to his feet.

  “I’m gonna kill you!” The man who had shot himself pulled his six-shooter and pointed it at Knight.

  With his feet under him and both hands on the ax handle, Knight swung for all he was worth. A stronger man might have done serious damage. As it was, he knocked the gun from the would-be killer’s hand and broke a bone in his wrist.

  “You’re gonna pay!”

  Knight went down again as the third man tackled him. Swinging an elbow caught the attacker in the nose. Blood spurted everywhere in a gory fountain that probably hurt worse than it looked—and it looked ferocious.

  The few seconds of distraction let Knight pull himself upright using the ax handle that had been intended to break his bones. Awkwardly swinging it produced the right result. He smashed the ax handle into the man’s face and across the eyes. Another bone broke, other than the already smashed cartilage in his nose. This put him out of the fight once and for all. With a surge, Knight got to his feet in time to kick the man who had shot himself. In spite of what had to be a painful wound in his leg, the gunman tried to get his pistol aimed to kill. Knight’s kick deflected the gun again, and again the gun discharged. The man grunted. This time he had shot himself in the foot.

  Loud voices in the distance warned that the army patrol had been alerted by the gunshots. Knight found a narrow space between two buildings most men could never squeeze through. Only his emaciated condition allowed him to scrape along. He saw flashes of horses riding past in the street behind him. He popped out into the next street over, got his bearings, and headed out of town.

  He knew a spot near a spring not far away where avoid
ing any soldiers or lawmen would be easy. As a boy he had played in caves around the area and knew them like the back of his hand. Hobbling, every muscle aching, he left Pine Knob. He left the town but plotted how he would return and get some justice against Gerald Donnelly for sending men to beat him up.

  He’d get justice for that and more. Much more.

  CHAPTER 7

  “He was here. You can see how he tried to erase his tracks.” A corporal knelt beside the spring, using his rifle to support himself as he bent forward. A hesitant finger traced around the heel print that Knight had neglected to remove before hiding in the cave overlooking the springs.

  “You’re makin’ that up.” Private Reilly hobbled forward and looked around the banks. “Besides, how do you know it’s the man we’re huntin’? That could have been left by anybody stoppin’ by to take a drink. As good as you are at trackin’, it could be a hoofprint of some cow or horse.”

  “Ain’t wrong. If you’d open your eyes, you’d see it, too.” The corporal grunted as he got his feet under him. He didn’t bother cleaning the mud from the butt of his carbine. “I grew up with a pa and two uncles who could track a snowflake through a blizzard. They taught me good.”

  Inside the cave, Knight cursed this unexpected turn of events. He had been dog tired when he had collapsed beside the springs the night before. A quick drink, then he had worked in the dark to remove any trace that he had been there. Bad luck had sent the soldier able to spy out the single boot print he had neglected. The private whose leg he had tended was also in the patrol. Whether that was good luck remained to be seen.

  Flat on his belly, Knight peered past a stack of rocks blocking most of the cave mouth. This had been his favorite hiding place when he was a boy. No one had ever found it, no one he hadn’t shown. The weeds grew up just right, and the way the cave mouth aimed more upward than out kept it from being immediately visible from the springs. He had almost fallen into it when he was eight. The best thing that had ever happened to him was when he was eleven and had seen Billy Yarrow kissing Marianne Suddereth down by the springs. He had snickered, but then he had clamped his hand over his mouth to keep from crying out when they got down to doing more than kissing. He had seen farm animals but never a boy and a girl doing what they did. Even as he remembered that late summer day, Knight blushed just a little.