by Alan David
Netta was nearly twenty, and living with Uncle Asa and Aunt Polly for more than three months had put unaccountable strains upon her life, which had been blighted by the death of her parents in a New York fever epidemic. Coming west to live with her only relatives had wrenched her out of a more civilised way of life and cut her off from all former friends. Aunt Polly was kind, but no real substitute for what she had lost, and Netta was lonely as well as grief-stricken. Western women were of a completely different type from women back East, and the men, at their best rough and uncouth, were, at their worst, no better than dangerous wild animals.
Thinking of her parents brought to mind the fact that in Buffalo Junction life revolved around the railroad. Uncle Asa was a tough man who had worked his way up through railroad hierarchy from brakeman to Superintendent, but he, like Aunt Polly, had no idea how a girl on the brink of womanhood should be treated.
She walked between two buildings and paused in the alley-mouth by the rutted main street. Moonlight painted black shadows in all the corners, and she tried to stifle a sudden pang of doubt. She was risking a great deal by sneaking out, for Uncle Asa was greatly concerned about her welfare. He was something of a preacher when not talking about railroad business, and his heavy voice seemed always to be echoing through the house as he warned her of hell-fire and brimstone and the terrible dangers lying like animal traps for unsuspecting females.
The sound of a gunshot startled her and she listened to the string of echoes which chased across town. Instinct warned her to return to the house, but the knowledge that Willard would be at the barn overruled all caution. She was afraid of Willard.
He had never liked her, but since she came to live with his parents he had let his dislike turn to hatred. He obviously resented her presence, yet his manner seemed to contradict the fact. He never stopped watching her. Whenever he was in the house she could feel the power of his gaze upon her; his staring, unblinking eyes seeming to strip the clothes off her. The fact that he could regard her so when they were blood relations was shocking in itself, but what really frightened her was the atmosphere which he exuded. She sensed it at times, sinister, ruthless and selfish, although he attempted to conceal it beneath a self-effacing manner. But she knew that he was aware she could see through him and that knowledge merely aggravated his attitude towards her.
Heavy footsteps pounded to her right and she froze, half-turning to press against the rough clap-boards of the hotel. She felt a quickening of her pulses and a lump came into her throat. She had never experienced such feelings back East — but then her parents had been alive and loneliness never touched her life. She swallowed nervously as the powerful figure of Marshal Hank Chilvers went lumbering by. Netta watched him, noting the drawn sixgun in his right hand. Another shot sounded and a reply blasted immediately. Netta clenched her teeth in frustration, for the disturbance would surely drag Uncle Asa from his bed, and if Aunt Polly decided to make some coffee and wanted to chat about the incident then she would find Netta’s room deserted.
She stepped out of the alley and walked deliberately across the street, making for the alley opposite, and other menacing sounds came through the hot night to warn her of the growing danger of discovery. Yet she had to go on, compelled by her love for Aunt Polly and Uncle Asa.
Willard had taken advantage of his father’s position with the Railroad to gain himself a clerk’s job with the Company. He did not face danger or soil his hands, and dressed well in a store suit. The face he showed to the community was pious because of his father, but Netta had suspected for some time that he was mixed up in the bad business Uncle Asa was always discussing in the house. Someone connected with the Railroad was passing valuable information about cash and gold shipments to the outlaws, and all Netta’s suspicions pointed to Willard. That very morning she had overheard him arranging a rendezvous with the hard-faced stranger. They were going to talk over business in the barn around midnight, and, to Netta’s way of thinking, business which had to be discussed in a dark corner could not be good.
A spate of shots blasted as she gained the shelter of the opposite alley, and she realised with fast-beating heart that she had reached the point of no return. Ahead lay the darkness which encompassed the barn, and fear knifed through her when she considered what might befall her. If Willard discovered her presence his rage might induce him to use violence. He took great pains to conceal the fact that he had an ungovernable temper, but she had seen instances of it and could only wonder by what quirk of nature a man could have two contrasting temperaments rolled into one.
She held her breath as she sneaked forward to gain the safety of the front of the barn. The darkness was intense, and she could feel her heart pounding. She gulped with relief as she pressed against the rough boarding, but there was a quick movement at her side and a calloused hand clamped over her mouth from behind. She was thrust hard against the wall and held tightly. A heavy body crushed against her and she felt terror surge through her breast as powerful fingers closed over her nose and mouth. Then she was spun around and grasped in a bear hug. Her wide eyes made out the large figure of her cousin, Willard Blaine.
‘What in hell are you doing out here this time of the night?’ Willard demanded in a hoarse undertone, easing the pressure of his hand over her mouth. ‘Are you meeting someone on the sly for a roll in the hay or spying on me?’
Netta slumped in his cruel grip while her thoughts raced to find a reasonable excuse. But for a tense moment she could only gaze at him in shock. He was the last person she wanted to meet at this moment. She had expected him to be in deep conversation with that stranger, but here he was skulking around in the dark, and it dawned on her that he might still be waiting for the man to arrive, hence his anger at her appearance.
‘I heard the shooting and came out to see what was going on,’ she blurted.
‘Liar!’ His long, hard fingers dragged at her. ‘You ain’t been along the street, and you must have left the house before the shooting started. You sneaked out to meet some punk.’
‘You’ve got a nasty mind,’ she responded, stung by the tone of his accusation. Her eyes were accustomed to the darkness and she could faintly make out the twisted lines of his handsome face.
‘You’ll come down off your high horse when I tell Father about this,’ he sneered.
‘Let me go or I’ll tell Uncle Asa about Annie Briscoe.’ She uttered the threat without thought, and the next instant his heavy hand slapped her face, sending her reeling back against the wall.
‘Keep your mouth shut.’ He bore down upon her, grasping her long blonde hair with both hands and using considerable strength to twist her face towards him ‘You ever stick your nose into my business, Cousin Netta, and I’ll bite it off.’
‘Then leave me alone.’ She tried to sink her teeth into his left wrist but he jerked away and slapped her again. Tears filled her eyes and there was a ringing sound in her ears, but she blinked and clenched her teeth as she countered. ‘What are you doing out here? Why haven’t you gone along the street to check on the shooting?’
‘I ain’t a troubleshooter!’ There was scorn in his voice and she knew he was jealous of Chet Manning. ‘Hell, if you ain’t getting too uppity! I been thinking for a long time that I ought to teach you a lesson. Why’d you bring up Annie Briscoe? What was she to me? Annie’s dead. She killed herself, and good riddance to her. She was trash.’
‘Her father doesn’t think so, and he’s going to shoot the man who was responsible for her trouble.’ Netta’s voice was filled with defiance, but she was afraid of Willard for her instincts warned that he was dangerous beneath his smooth exterior.
‘Maybe you should find out what trouble is really like! You was out here spying on me, Netta. You heard me talking to that man this morning.’ He chuckled as she began to deny it, ‘Save it. What I said to him was a trap for you. That’s why I’m here. I needed to check on you. I got the feeling some weeks ago that you’ve been watching me. Now I know for sure. Well, if
you want to know why I’m here I’ll show you.’
Before she knew what was happening he had seized her bodily and was carrying her into the blackness of the barn. Netta caught her breath, then opened her mouth to scream, but Willard gripped her with cruel fingers, pinching her flesh.
‘Go ahead and scream,’ he invited callously. ‘But what are you gonna tell anyone who comes? Did I drag you from your bed and out of the house? You think a lot of my parents, don’t you? Well shut your mouth and keep quiet. I don’t give a damn for either of them, and any scandal you wake up will hurt them more than me.’
He stumbled over an invisible object and they went sprawling upon some grain sacks. She tried to get away from him but his hands seemed to be everywhere. He threw her upon the sacks and held her down, suddenly eager, one arm sliding around her waist. Netta was shocked, but fear filled her with desperation and she fought him silently, teeth clenched. He merely chuckled at her futile efforts.
‘You’re like a spooky filly, Netta! What are you scared of? I ain’t gonna eat you. But I am sure as hell gonna teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.’
He pressed her back against the unyielding sacks, and she tried to hold him off.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded furiously. ‘You’re my cousin, Willard!’
‘So you’ve got some idea what’s coming. You ain’t the prissy little maiden you been making yourself out to be. Mebbe I am your cousin, but you ain’t back East now. Out West a woman is a woman, no matter who her family is, and there ain’t never enough females to go round.’
Before she could make any reply his hard mouth came out of the darkness to press against hers. She struggled briefly but was no match for his strength. Yet her shock was born of the fact that he was her cousin and not because of what he was doing. She was further shocked to discover instinctively that she wanted to respond to his actions, and her body softened in his arms against her will. He was ardent and masterful, his mouth probing and demanding, their contact arousing in her a wildness she had not thought possible. He was fumbling with the buttons of her dress, kissing her without cessation, his lips hard against her mouth, cheeks and throat.
She heard the faint ripping of cloth as he became impatient, and cringed as his clawing hands found her bare flesh, but every nerve-end in her body suddenly began strumming with anticipation as he aroused her slumbering desires. She forgot that he was her cousin. He was a male and had awakened her. She became an instrument in his hands, her mental protests fading, her conscience shutting off abruptly. Her fingers found his hair and twisted. She seemed to be floating upwards in a giddy spiral, now almost unaware of his urgent hands moving over her arched body, touching her breasts, digging firmly and probing until she moaned and twisted convulsively, losing the caution which had been instilled in her by the numerous sermons from Uncle Asa. Now the intolerable ache, which had formed in her breast during the past months and had caused her so much confusion and uneasiness, was gone, and she could only wonder why she had not realised before that its origins were rooted in her growing womanhood.
In a sense of unreality she pressed eagerly against him, surprising him with her urgency, and he was heavy against her, the slow, churning movement of his hips impressing the hardness of his body. through her skirts. Then his demanding hand was tugging at her skirts and she felt his hot, vibrant fingers touching the flesh of her thigh. The shock of that contact exploded a shaft of cold reason into her consciousness and she pushed away from him so violently that he rolled off the sacks.
Netta sat up, breathless and trembling, pulling down her skirts and fumbling with the buttons of her dress. Dishevelled and confused, filled with a host of conflicting emotions, she fought off his renewed attack, and he cursed her angrily until a noise outside the barn distracted them both with the fear of imminent discovery. Lantern light flickered and voices came floating on the still night air.
‘Quick!’ Willard was suddenly nervous. ‘This way. We got to sneak out the back door. They mustn’t see us.’
Netta was filled with panic as she allowed herself to be dragged over the sacks, for she recognised one of the voices as Uncle Asa’s and she was terrified that they would be caught. They went out to the rear corral, and a horse snorted nervously as Willard hurried her to the rails and slid through, pulling her along behind.
‘Say, did you hear something?’ a harsh voice demanded, and Netta, ducking down with Willard behind the water trough, recognised Chet Manning’s husky drawl.
Chapter Two
‘Hosses out back have been disturbed by the shooting,’ Asa Blaine replied as Netta held her breath and prayed silently that she and Willard would not be discovered. ‘Now listen to me, Chet. Don’t take any chances. This could be a trick. If you do find trouble then come back for a crew and handle it right.’
‘You got nothing but rumours, so don’t worry about me.’ There was a careless note in Manning’s voice which thrilled Netta. She eased up from her cover and blinked in the yellow glare of the lantern her uncle was holding, looking first at Manning’s tall, lean figure, which had the lithe toughness of a twenty-foot bull-whip. He was unsaddling his sorrel, moving easily with an economy of energy. She suppressed a gasp at sight of his battered face and peered intently at him. The hair at his temples and the nape of his neck was almost red, a kind of auburn which glinted in the lamplight. The only thing about him which she did not like was the cartridge belt and holstered Colt’s .45 he was wearing.
Willard pulled her down again, his face pale in the glow from the lantern, and he put a finger to his lips, cautioning silence. He looked scared and his dark eyes were glittering.
‘I ain’t worrying about you, Chet,’ Asa Blaine said harshly in a tone Netta knew only too well. ‘But Ben Yaro organised a lot of trouble up north against other railroads, and there’s word along the line that he might be working this way. You know we’re in a race against Western Pacific to get to Apache Pass first, although that kind of thing don’t help anyone. But our rivals mean to play it real dirty if they’re bringing in Ben Yaro.’
‘I’ve heard all about him.’ A bitter note sounded in Manning’s voice. ‘Although there was no proof against him, I’ve heard it told more than once that Yaro was responsible for that hold-up which killed my Pa. He might mean more trouble than we can handle, but I’d sure welcome the chance to lock horns with Yaro.’
‘Don’t let this get personal. If you do you’ll lose the edge. Just get out to end of track and tell the boys there to be ready for anything. This trouble in town tonight could have been a test to see just how sharp we are.’
‘I’m on my way.’ Manning threw his saddle across the back of a fresh horse and began to cinch it.
Blaine scratched his greying spade beard. He was blocky, and at fifty could still hold his own against any two ordinary men. Twenty years of railroading had moulded him into an obdurate man, and there were many of his breed riding the rails across the land.
Willard began to ease back into deeper shadows, motioning for Netta to accompany him, and she did so reluctantly, torn between the desire to continue watching Manning and the fear of being spotted by her keen-eyed uncle. When they reached an alley, Willard was breathing heavily, and she could almost smell the fear in him.
‘You better be getting on home,’ he rapped. ‘If you’ve been missed there will be hell to pay.’
Netta moved away from him immediately, prey to emotional confusion, unable to understand her frustration. He caught her elbow, restraining her, and when she turned to face him he kissed her hard. She did not respond and he desisted, but thrust his face close to hers.
‘Listen, you better keep quiet about what happened in the barn, and in future just keep your nose out of my business. Think of my parents. They took you in, so don’t make any trouble for them. They think the sun shines out of my eyes so you better not disillusion them. Do I make myself clear?’ He stared at her, shook her roughly before releasing her, then went off in a hurry, mak
ing no sound.
Netta was left gazing after his disappearing figure. She resumed her way homeward. In her breast there were now only ashes of the emotional fire which had burned inside her. But she was already regretting her rashness in sneaking out of the house and hoped her return would be unnoticed. She was keenly aware of a sense of let down, and confusion was blotting out many of the sensations she had experienced.
There was a light in the parlour and she wondered if Aunt Polly had also arisen at the sound of shooting. For the first time she began to wonder about that, and guessed Chet had been involved. He was always ready for trouble, and capably handled an extremely dangerous chore in this wild country. He was more than half-wild himself, and she knew he would not be able to cope with the grim work if he were not as savage as the men he fought.
She glanced around, fearful that Uncle Asa was already returning from the barn. The sound of hooves thudded momentarily then receded quickly. She was relieved that Willard seemed keen to remain silent about the incident in the barn, and hoped her threat to reveal what she knew about Annie Briscoe would keep him silent. She suddenly realised that if it did then Willard must have been guilty of Annie’s trouble. She closed her eyes, filled with concern. But at least Willard’s secret life in the town gave her a hold over him, and she would not hesitate to use blackmail to maintain her dominance. Uncle Asa was such a paragon that Willard dared not risk exposure. She drew a sharp breath, then climbed upon some packing cases stacked conveniently by the lean-to. The roof creaked a little but she gained her room without incident and slid thankfully into its dark sanctuary.
A fever of anxiety gripped her as she hastily undressed and put away her clothes. She had barely slipped into bed when lamplight filtered into the room through the crack under the door and a gentle hand tapped hesitantly upon the thick panel.
‘Netta, are you awake?’
