One Notch to Death

by Matt Chisholm

  ‘Now I suggest as you gentlemen have had a hard day in the saddle that you will all enjoy a good lunch. I have arranged it all with the cook,’ Horatia said.

  ‘She’s a real managing lady,’ Martha said quietly to Will, ‘but she sure do get things done.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the bewildered Will, ‘she sure do.’

  What more is there to tell? Burt Ransome found himself, somewhat to his amazement, behaving like a real independent sheriff. He found himself placing Aintree under arrest and suspecting that he might have the chance of arresting the great Ed Brack himself. He rode out shortly after with the posse, intending to place one Andy Grebb in irons. As for Ed Brack, he found himself so drastically deflated that he could scarcely recognize himself. He packed his bags and decided that it would be healthier for him if he repaired to his property in New Mexico for a while until this Colorado affair blew over. It was going to take all his influence in high places to get himself out of this one.

  Pete Hasso and Riley Brack vying for the attentions of Kate Storm came to the edge of exchanging blows again, but Riley decided magnanimously that he couldn’t strike a wounded man, but God help Pete when he was whole again. Pete said for him not to fret about it, he could whup Riley any day of the week wounded or unwounded. Kate, flushed with pleasure at having two such young men quarreling over her, declared that if they didn’t behave themselves in a civilized way, she would never speak to either of them again. They, poor fools, took her at her word and behaved themselves. Will told Kate that if she didn’t make up her mind one way or the other he, by God, would make it up for her. Martha told him to mind his own business.

  By dusk, the Storms and their friends were ready to head for home. The horses saddled and waiting, they took leave of the English ladies. Horatia parted from them with regret. She had never, she told them, had a more wonderful time in her life and she thought that Westerners were absolute darlings. They would all have honorable mention in her memoirs. Vanessa was silent and withdrawn. Will thanked both ladies for their generous help and told them that the Storms might well be heading out of the country but for them. Horatia waved this gratitude aside and said: ‘Not at all, dear man. We’ve had a perfectly marvelous time. Haven’t we, Vanessa my love.’ Vanessa declared yes they had.

  Mart softly told Will to go on ahead. He would follow. He had a small chore to attend to before he came home. Will looked at him and at Vanessa and said all right. The Storms mounted and headed for Three Creeks. The ladies stood and waved to them in the gathering dusk. The two ladies walked back to their tents and found there a tall still figure waiting for them.

  ‘Why, Mr. Storm,’ said Horatia, ‘I thought you had gone.’

  ‘I thought,’ said Mart, ‘that I could maybe have a word with Miss Vanessa.’

  Horatia laid a shapely hand on his arm and said: ‘No more than a word, you wicked man,’ and passed into the tent.

  Mart turned to face Vanessa.

  ‘I cannot think,’ she said, ‘what more there can be to say. We have gone through the ritual of polite words. We have thanked each other until one wearies of it.’

  ‘Could we walk a little?’ Mart said.

  ‘I see no purpose …’

  ‘You thanked me for saving you from the Indians. It’s only fair that I have the chance of thanking you for saving my life.5

  ‘You should thank my aunt as well.’

  ‘You over-rate my manhood.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said coldly, ‘if you must.’

  ‘I must.’

  He bent his head and placed his mouth on hers. At first it was unresponsive. Then the lips softened, the pressure increased, her hands were on his arms. She broke free and looked up at him.

  ‘I’m a little warm,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you would dare to walk me a short distance to get some air, sir.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said.

  He offered her his arm and they walked slowly away from the tents. Among the trees, the grass soft under their feet, Mart halted and turned her gently but firmly to him.

  ‘You said “one word”,’ she told him softly.

  ‘We won’t speak again for the rest of the night,’ he told her. She came into his arms. Speech was indeed superfluous.

  The Storm Family Will Return in

  ONE MAN, ONE GUN

  Piccadilly Publishing

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