by Jonis Agee
Graver peered up at the man’s face from the floor. It had an odd glow in the candlelight. His handsome features transformed, as if they were melting in the heat of a brain fever or in madness. His mouth twisted and puckered, his eyes shrank and gleamed as they darted from one side of the room to the other, his high, flat brow rose and fell as if in argument with voices other than those in the room. For almost the first time, Graver was afraid. He was woozy from the blows and had to squint to focus. He tried to move, and discovered his hands and feet were bound with strips of blanket. Dulcinea was tied to a chair. Blood on her mouth indicated she’d been hit. Graver thought something must have broken in Chance’s mind, and he was getting into the heat of it. The knife on the table worried him.
At first Chance limped around the small room, stopping to examine the walls here and there. Suddenly, he stopped and leaned close until his nose nearly touched the wall, then tapped it with a long, elegant forefinger.
“Ah, we’ve come to an intersection, a crossroads if you will. I knew there was a reason we met in this godforsaken place. A force of the universe has drawn us together in one of life’s storms.” As he mused, his face relaxed and softened, and instead of melting, it seemed to stage itself. His pale eyelashes sparkled with the flickering light from the candles he’d placed around the room.
“Perhaps you’re wondering what I’m speaking about, Mrs. Bennett?” When Dulcinea didn’t acknowledge him, he hobbled to the table and picked up the knife. Graver tensed and tried to wrench his hands apart, to stretch and tear the cloth that held him. The lawyer grabbed Dulcinea’s hair from behind and yanked her head back. Placing the point of the blade at her cheek, he drew a drop of blood. Her eyes went wild and a low moan rose in her throat. Graver kicked and tried to tear the strips of old blanket that held his feet. It gave only slightly, so he worked on his hands, brought them to his mouth and chewed at the fibers. He could taste the must of mice and years of use in the wool, and it held like iron against his grinding teeth.
The lawyer leaned over, stroked her cheek and neck with the flat of the blade, and pushed his hand down her shirtfront and rubbed her breasts. Dulcinea couldn’t suppress the gasp, and stared straight ahead with hatred in her eyes. Graver gritted his teeth and tried to move the strips down to his ankles, where maybe he could slide them off his feet. Chance seemed to sense the motion, and his head jerked around. He frowned. Graver closed his eyes and lay still. Chance sat in the other chair beside the table. “It’s a long night out here, isn’t it? Don’t worry”—he glanced at Graver—“I’m not going to kill you. I thought we’d talk first, then we’ll get to what I need. A certain set of papers to be signed. I tried, but I’m terrible at forgery.” He tapped the blade on the stack of pages, then paused as if deep in thought, spread his arms, and bowed slightly. “I apologize for the sparseness of my rooms, but I haven’t been myself of late, and these reduced circumstances are, well, merely transitory. You understand. Great fortunes take time and one must go through trials and deprivations and—” He glanced at Dulcinea with the trail of blood on her cheek. Graver stared at the fire, considered rolling over and thrusting his feet in the flames to burn off the bonds but worried his clothes would catch fire, too. He couldn’t risk leaving Dulcinea alone with this man.
“Let me tell you a story. It all began at Wounded Knee.” He softly stroked the side of his jaw with the flat of the blade as if petting a cat. His eyes softened with nostalgia, his jaw relaxed, and his face took on the creaseless countenance of boyhood.
“It was my first time to the West, 1890. I was in the employ of the Earl of Manset, the first son of the Duke of Sullywood, meaning he would succeed to the title and ownership of the estate, which would make him the second-largest landowner in Britain after the Crown. You can see why every measure was taken to ensure his safety on his safari through the West. We may have won the War of Independence, but we still have to accommodate royalty whenever it pokes its head into the provinces. At least that was his belief, and I wasn’t about to dissuade him. At the time I was rather at the end of a certain rope. My parents had sailed away to find a fortune and soon enough I was an orphan casting about for opportunity, and he presented himself one evening. Fortune shines on her favored children, I say.”
He stopped and stared into the fire, rubbing the knife blade with his thumb. Graver thought if he freed his feet he could jump him, bring him down.
“I didn’t know anything about the West, so I read the dime novels and true-life stories and decided it would be perfect. Few laws and fewer authorities to get in my way. With luck, we would find gold, too. Off we went. We shot every living thing. The young earl killing, skinning, beheading, stuffing, and sending his bounty home to decorate the great houses that would soon be his. Imagine the horror that awaited his relations once he filled their walls with his kills. Finally, there was nothing left that we hadn’t shot, eaten, mounted, or cast aside. Still, there was a certain restlessness about the young man. A small, slender figure, he seemed determined to force his personality upon every person or creature he encountered, and that’s a delicate way of saying it.”
The lawyer stood before them, waving his gun. “I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself so much in a long time. I’ll tell you about it, a tale to pass the time on a cold winter’s eve, a story that begins, ‘Once upon a time’ and ends with ‘All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put her back together again.’”
His eyes reflected the flames of the fire as it took a new log and hungrily ate it.
“I was doing what men do in war.” Chance shrugged and opened his palms to declare his innocence. “I certainly didn’t see the child or I never—Well, I’m not a monster, am I?” He turned to Dulcinea, and the irony of her bound and bloody form seemed to dawn on him. “Point taken,” he said with a sigh.
“The young earl proved an increasingly difficult person after that encounter with the Indians, and nothing could satisfy him unless he, well, I don’t need to go into more details and make you uncomfortable, Dulcinea.”
Chance limped back and forth, his hands thrust in his pockets, head up, eyes darting as if he reenacted the battle in the small cabin space. Graver hoped the man would weave closer so he could trip him or use his tied legs to push him into the fireplace.
“Something had to be done. There were too many bodies, too many damaged women, young girls even, he didn’t discriminate. It was all his fault!” Chance scrubbed his face with his hands.
“He expected me to participate, begged me, then ordered me, threatening to cut off the funds we shared equally by that time. I couldn’t have that!” He looked at them, eyes searching for sympathy. A piece of burning pine in the fire suddenly cracked and hissed and the sound jerked him around. When he turned back, his expression had darkened, and Graver took a quick breath.
“Turn us loose, Chance. There’s no reason to do this.” He spoke calmly to not provoke him.
“You don’t know me very well, Mr. Graver, or you wouldn’t point out the obvious. I need something from Mrs. Bennett, and I need to convince her of the seriousness of my intent.” He gazed around the cabin, then picked up his chair and brought it to the fire so he could sit in the warmth facing them.
Dulcinea sighed. Both men startled and looked at her. “Is this all a plan to convince me to sign with the gas and oil people?”
Chance smiled and shook his head. “That was my original thought. But you decided to take matters into your hands. You had your cowboy here and the deeds to the ranches with Drum dead. I had to come up with another. How do you like it so far?”
“Things can go back to the way they were,” she said. Graver heard the desperation in her voice. “You can represent my interests. I’ll even put you on retainer.”
“I will tell you the rest of the story now so you understand.” He smiled, congenial now, eyes light.
“You see, I dropped a most precious keepsake that night at Wounded Knee.” He looked at Graver. “I met you after t
he massacre, remember? Your husband, too, Dulcinea. I guess none of us have the high ground here, do we?” He poked Graver in the ribs with his foot.
“I hadn’t known exactly where I’d lost it, the locket with the pictures of my beloved parents, not until I was at the trading post on Rosebud last spring, and there was a certain Indian girl there, well, not a girl, rather a young lady named Star, and I happened to spy it around her neck.” He pivoted in the chair, crossed his legs, leaned his elbow on his knee, and propped his chin in his hand like a schoolboy studying the fire.
“I was surprised, of course, and curious as to how she came by it, but I didn’t want to scare her, so I agreed to meet and discuss it. It took three meetings before I was able to ascertain the story—what a relief! She hadn’t told a soul. She had been there that night, with the earl and me—witnessed the whole tragic event. Though I wondered at her lack of feeling. I could hardly have worn the keepsake of my mother’s murderer, but then, Indians are Indians the world over. In that the earl was correct. Too bad.” Chance shook his head. “Too bad he didn’t live to meet her.”
Dulcinea struggled in her chair. “It was you! You killed them!”
He held up a hand. “Please, allow me to finish my story. I’ve never had the opportunity to share it with anyone, and I’m receiving a certain pleasure from the telling.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Graver knew Chance was going to kill them when he was done. He brought his hands to rest under his chin and gnawed again at the edge of the cloth. Even a small tear would weaken it.
“I lured her into the hills, well, took her to a place we could conduct our discussion in private. Can you believe my luck, though? I’d only begun burying her when my horse whinnied and I hid, just as your husband trotted up. Down he swings, walks right over to the girl’s body, leaving me no choice at all—I had to shoot him.” He scrubbed his face again with a low moan. “I was ready to convince him to join the oil and gas venture, too. Terrible luck.
“My quiet place turns out to be more like a county fair. Before I can bury the girl and J.B., I see another rider coming over the hill in the distance, so I decide there’s only so many people a man can kill in one morning before someone hears the shots and brings a bigger gun. I slip away. Then I’m guessing it’s you who comes up, Mr. Graver, followed by one of the Bennett boys—Cullen or Hayward? My money’s on Hayward, am I right?” He peered at Graver and nodded. “Thought so. Cullen hated his father too much to shoot a man he suspected of killing him.”
Chance stood, pulled out his revolver. “Rose found the necklace. Star’s sister. Again, my unbelievable luck.” He paused and waved the gun in the air. “It doesn’t really matter. I’ll be dealing with her when the time comes. You understand, Graver. A man has experiences in war like no other. You fall through the world and then bang, you’re back again!”
He aimed the gun at Graver and shot him in the thigh. Graver’s leg went numb first, followed by a stabbing pain, and he gritted his teeth against it.
Dulcinea yelled and jerked against the strips of cloth that held her to the chair. His body was tense with shock and pain as blood pooled on the floor beneath him.
“Now let’s chat. You can see the problem with me acting as your lawyer when I’m supposed to be dead. No, I’m afraid it’s not going to work. But don’t worry, I have another plan.”
“It was you stabbed Drum,” Dulcinea said, her tone flat.
“I tried to persuade him to work with me, but we couldn’t come to an agreement, so he had to go. Lucky you.
“I need you to sign your mineral and surface rights over to me, Dulcinea. You won’t need them. I’ve decided to let you keep the land, but I need those rights so we can drill this whole region. Oil and gas. Can you imagine how rich I’ll be? If you choose, we’ll be married, and I can keep my name clear of any scandal from recent episodes. That’s how we’ll think of them in years to come, isn’t it, my darling?”
Dulcinea struggled to reply, and Graver swung his legs at Chance’s chair with the intent to tip it over. Chance sensed the motion and kicked his wounded leg. Graver fought to remain conscious. “Try that again, I’ll gut shoot you.”
He turned back to Dulcinea and stroked her bloody cheek with the back of his hand. “You were separated from your husband for so long, I doubt there’s any feelings left to be awkward between us, are there?”
She shook her head. “I thought you were dead. I was going to contact you to sell the rights, but you died.” She looked puzzled. “Who did they bury?”
Chance laughed and shook his head. “Damned if I know. Man stood in front of my buggy as I was leaving after taking care of Drum in the alley, so I ran him down. I’ll tell you, getting him out of his clothes, into mine, well, it was no Sunday picnic. I did a fair job, though. Fools buried him as me. And that, my dear, is the luck that always saves me.” He bowed.
“You surprise me,” she said. “How are you going to explain coming back from the dead?”
“Mistakes were made. They buried the wrong man. I need a few weeks unhampered to put all the pieces together. I could disappear for a time, let everyone forget me, then take the signed papers to Denver and work directly with the company from there. No one here the wiser, especially if the last two heirs meet with the kind of violent accidents that seem to plague your family.” Chance cocked his head and raised his brows. “I should be insulted that you imagined this cowboy”—he nodded at Graver—“had the wit to accomplish what I have.”
There was a timid knock on the door, then it pushed open in a burst of wind-driven snow. As if someone was still deciding whether or not to enter, the snow swirled into the room and the candles fluttered.
“Hello?” a timid voice called.
“Come in, for heaven’s sake!” Chance shouted.
It was too much coincidence that Rose appeared, snow crusted as Chance shut the door behind her. She must have followed him, Graver thought. Did she think he murdered her sister? He was so light-headed from the blood loss, nothing made much sense.
He struggled, and felt a slight give in the strips around his feet, pulled his legs again and felt the cloth give another few inches. He tried his hands and heard a tiny tear.
“Mr. Graver’s uncomfortable, and you need to sit by the fire, Rose, so why don’t you drag him out of the way.” Graver understood that the man was clearing a killing floor.
“He’s too heavy,” Rose said. “Help me.”
Chance laughed. “Unlikely. Leave him there. Be careful you don’t sit in his blood, though.”
Rose squatted with her back to the fire.
“But first, Rose, I know you’ve been curious as to what happened to your mother. Just like your sister. It’s not enough to survive with you people. You won’t let a thing die, will you?”
“You killed my sister,” Rose said, no inflection in her voice, her eyes on the fresh blood that pooled around her.
“It was you people and your Ghost Dance. I’m not going through that whole story again, so yes, I strangled her. Happy?”
He stood over her, hands on his hips. “I never understand why people want every last detail. She’s gone. Finie. Done.” He chopped at the air with his hands. “Now let me get on with my tale. Please.” He took a deep breath and brushed back his hair. When he began again, his tone was one of exaggerated patience.
“First, you find the locket with the photos of my parents. Yes, I saw Hayward looking at it. Your sister Star paraded it around. I had to put a stop to it. It doesn’t want to stay put, though. You have it now?”
Rose clutched the front of her shirt.
“Good. When we’ve completed our transaction, I’ll have it back. There aren’t any more of you, are there? I trust Lily will never know what happened to her mother, aunt, and grandmother. I’d hate to have dealings with another of your family. Three’s enough.”
His eyes twinkled as he reached into his pocket and brought out a little tanned leather drawstring pouch with what appea
red to be a brown button at the bottom. Upon closer inspection, Graver realized with horror that it was a nipple, withered hard as bone. “Do I need a new change purse?” He dangled it in front of Rose, who kept her eyes down.
“Now where’s my necklace?” He reached in her calico blouse, but it wasn’t around her neck. “Where is it?”
“We have to trade,” she said, her eyes on the pouch now.
Chance pretended to toss it into the fire, and then revealed it was still in his hand. “Just playing with you. I know how much Indians love a trade. Okay, my family for yours.”
She stood and opened her hand to reveal the chain and locket.
He snatched it, and then tossed the pouch in the fire. Rose’s shoulders slumped as she watched the flames take the last of her mother’s flesh.
“You bastard,” Dulcinea growled.
He frowned. “Not very polite, Mrs. Bennett.”
He opened the locket, clicked it closed, and held the chain up to the light. “You Indians don’t like gold, do you? I’m beginning to see your point.” He rubbed his chin. “So much would’ve been different if I hadn’t dropped this twice. Almost as if Mama and Papa wanted me to be punished for what I did.” He slipped the locket in his vest.
Graver heard Chance’s voice drop, bemused. He glanced at Dulcinea.
Chance turned to face the others. “It’s always an interesting problem, what to do with hostages. You see, you’re held by them as much as you hold them. The question is who can let go first. Because that person wins.” He smiled and limped across the room and back, appraising each of them.
“You didn’t really think I could marry you, did you?” He stopped beside Dulcinea and lifted her chin with a finger. “I was indulging myself. I do that, especially when I spend too much time alone, as I have of late. If the earl were here, we’d concoct an entertainment with you, but I’m afraid I’m growing weary of this business. As soon as the storm abates, I need to be off. You understand that I can’t leave you alive.” He made another circuit of the room, took the time to peer out the window and place an ear to the wall. “Still blowing,” he announced.
