The Reckoning

by Len Levinson

  The trooper earned thirteen dollars per month, and the temptation was too great. He snatched the coin from her hand. “Don't make no trubble, ‘cause I'd shoot you just like I'd shoot a man.”

  Phyllis heard men snoring in their tents as she made her way toward the wagon indicated by the guard. It loomed out of the darkness, and she perceived Duane tied to the wheel with his arms outstretched.

  The second guard spun around. “Halt—who goes there!”

  “Howdy,” Phyllis replied, noticing Duane stirring against the wheel, while Sparky looked at her suspiciously. “I'm here to bring the prisoner some food.”

  “Now?” the guard asked querulously. “Are you loco?”

  “People get hungry at night, too, you know.” She held up the beef and bread. “Want some.”

  Duane stared at her, wondering if he were hallucinating. He tried to move, but the rope held him tightly to the wheel.

  The soldier growled, “I think you'd better get out of here, or I'll call the sergeant of the guard.”

  “Where's he at?” she asked, looking around the encampment.

  The soldier pointed his rifle toward another group of tents. “Thataway.”

  Phyllis pulled out her Colt while his attention was distracted. He heard the click of her hammer being thumbed back, and turned to see a gun barrel pointed at his nose.

  “Lay your rifle gently on the ground,” she said, “and if you try something dumb, I won't hesitate to shoot. Look into my eyes, and you'll see that I'm capable of it.”

  The soldier peered into those gleaming orbs and saw reckless abandon shining brightly. “You won't get away with this,” he said. “Lieutenant Dawes will chase you all the way to Mexico.”

  “Untie Mister Braddock, or I'll shoot you where you stand.” She closed one eye, aimed down the barrel at his nose, and her knuckle whitened around the trigger.

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  The soldier kneeled behind Duane and untangled the knots; circulation returned to Duane's fingers.

  “You took a helluva chance,” Duane told her, unlimbering his joints.

  “They're not keeping you tied up as long as I'm alive,” she replied, passing him a Colt.

  He disarmed the guard and tied him to the wheel. “Don't make a sound,” Duane warned him, “or she'll shoot, and I do believe that she's crazy enough to do it.”

  Phyllis knelt beside him, cut a length of cloth from the soldier's trousers, and tied a gag around his mouth. The soldier protested, but only faint gurgling sounds came out.

  “I've got horses near the general store,” Phyllis said.

  They ducked into the shadows, ran across the sage, and reentered town through a back alley. Halfway down it, Duane placed his hand on her shoulder. “I don't know if we're going to get away with this,” Duane said, “but if not. . .”

  He took her in his arms and felt her body tightly against him as his lips searched for her's. Her fingernails dug into his back, their tongues touched tenderly, and Duane felt a rush of lust. He wanted to kiss her naked breast, but there'd be time for that later, he hoped. He pushed her away, but she clung to him, unwilling to let go.

  “Let's get out of this town,” he uttered, “and don't stop for anything.”

  He took her hand and led her toward the street. With his back to the wall, he looked both ways, then nodded. They rushed across the open space, untied the horses, and she jumped onto Suzie's back, while he took the chestnut stallion. They wheeled the horses in the middle of the street, applied spurs, and the animals broke into a gallop, thundering out of town, heading toward the gardens of Mexico.

  CHAPTER 16

  MYRTLE RUSHED INTO the kitchen and shouted: “She's gone!” Big Al looked up from the thick slice of bacon that he was slicing. It was dawn at the Bar T, and the ranch just coming to life. “Are you sure she's not wandering around someplace?”

  “I looked everywhere, and the cowboys told me that two horses are missing from the corral!”

  Big Al leaned back in his chair, and it didn't take long to figure out which direction she went. “I'll tell McGrath to saddle the horses. We're going to town.”

  “I hope that the Comanches didn't get her,” Myrtle replied, wringing her hands. “My little baby—gone.”

  “Looks like she ain't a little baby anymore,” Big Al said ruefully as he headed for the door.

  “Sir?”

  Lieutenant Dawes lay on his cot fully clothed, with his boots off. The faint glow of dawn came to him from the crack of the tent. “What is it?”

  Sergeant Mahoney stood at attention, knees quivering with the cold. “Prisoner has escaped, sir. Miss Thornton showed up in the middle of the night and got the drop on the guard.”

  Lieutenant Dawes was astounded at the news, and at first couldn't speak. Then he recovered his voice, and ordered, “Round up the scouts, and have the men prepare for a long pursuit.”

  Sergeant Mahoney ran from the tent, leaving Lieutenant Dawes alone. The West Pointer sat on his cot, rolled a cigarette, and puffed thoughtfully. Probably the Comanches will get them.

  He looked at himself in the mirror, straightened his yellow bandanna, and strolled out of the tent. A scene of furious activity greeted his eyes as soldiers prepared for the pursuit. It'd take at least an hour before they were ready, so Lieutenant Dawes headed toward town.

  He felt as if an enormous weight had been removed from his shoulders. Now he didn't have to worry about the Pecos Kid, and the matter would resolve itself without embarrassment to his career. In a few months, everybody would forget the Pecos Kid. He'll get what he deserves someday, the little bastard.

  He arrived at his former house and entered the bedroom. Still dark, he could perceive Vanessa's languorous form beneath the covers. He sat on the edge of the bed, and said, “Guess what?”

  She opened eyes still red with crying. “What are you doing here?” she asked sleepily. “I thought I told you to go away.”

  “Duane Braddock is on the loose. Seems that Phyllis Thornton busted him out of the encampment last night.”

  Vanessa sat bolt upright in bed and smiled. “Really?”

  “They're probably headed for Mexico—crazy goddamned kids. They'll end in the bellies of buzzards, if they're not careful.”

  “You'd like that, I'll bet,” she said sarcastically. “And by the way, do I have to write to Colonel MacKenzie to keep you away?”

  “I've been up all night,” he said, “and I wanted to tell you that if I'm jealous of Duane Braddock, it's only because of you.”

  “Don't blame it on me,” she replied, wagging her long index finger from side to side. “I haven't even spoken with him since the shindig, but you're a fool, and that's the source of our difficulties.”

  “I can't bear to think of you with somebody else. It's even making me physically ill. You're right—we should get a divorce. Perhaps I can slip Parson Jones a few dollars and tell him to forget that he ever married us.”

  “If that's the way you feel about it. . .”

  She looked at his noble profile as he headed toward the door, and for the first time felt sympathetic toward him, instead of Duane. He'd said that love for her had made him jealous, and what was so wrong with that? “Wait a minute!” she called.

  He turned slowly and looked at her sternly. “What is it this time?”

  “If you weren't so thickheaded, I believe that we could be happy together.”

  “Unfortunately, I've been trained to examine facts objectively. When my wife continually tells me how wonderful Duane Braddock is, it makes me wonder why I married her.”

  “Perhaps I'm not always as considerate as I should be, but when you constantly belittle my former boyfriend, you also belittle me. He wasn't that bad.”

  There was silence as they gazed at each other in the increasing dawn light. Then he said, with a lump in his throat. “Do you think you could forgive me, and let me come back?”

  “I don't enjoy sleeping alone either,” she said wearily. “Perha
ps we could forgive each other?”

  Dawn broke over the mountains, revealing a coyote sitting at the mouth of her cave. She scanned terrain intently, twitching her nose, looking for an old mule deer, or maybe a wayward rabbit. Her sharp eyes picked up objects in motion as she focused intently on two riders moving swiftly across the basin below. The coyote snarled in surprise at the unusual spectacle, for riders seldom came to this lonely end of Texas.

  Then the coyote noticed a small dog following the riders. It was white, with black spots and much meat on his bones, but moving too quickly, and the coyote didn't feel like speeding first thing in the morning. The riders and dog swerved around a stand of cottonwood trees and continued down an arroyo.

  Duane Braddock, Phyllis Thornton, and Sparky were running for their lives. They approached a trail that bisected their path, and Duane raised his hand. Phyllis slowed beside him, and Suzie raised her front hooves in the air, anxious to keep going.

  “Why are we stopping?” Phyllis asked, her face covered with perspiration as Suzie danced around Duane's chestnut stallion.

  Duane pulled his horse backward, until he was alongside Phyllis. Both animals felt wild, free, and eager to run. Saliva dripped from their lips, and their great eyes gleamed in the light of morning. Duane, too, was covered with sweat, and a stubble of beard made his features shadowy and sinister. “It's not too late for you to turn back,” he said. “I'm sure that your father can get the law off your back, but if you come with me, there'll be Comanches and Apaches all the way to Mexico, plus bears, wild dogs, rattlesnakes, and scorpions. It's real easy to die on the desert, understand?”

  Her cheeks were blotched with exertion, and she was covered with alkali dust. “If you can do it—I can do it.”

  He pointed his finger at her. “This is your last chance. From now on, we're on the dodge together. The law might get us, or we could run out of water. The injuns could stake me to an anthill, and turn you into a slave, after every warrior in the tribe has spent a night with you. We might even get hung by a posse.”

  She pulled out her Colt and grinned. “They'll never take me alive.”

  He laughed, but there was no time for mutual adoration. He wheeled his horse onto the trail leading to Mexico and kicked his spurs. The animal leapt forward, Phyllis followed him, their mounts raced desperately across the plain, followed by Sparky and rays of morning sunlight glinting off Duane's silver concho hatband.

  The coyote licked her chops hungrily as she watched them merge with the horizon, and then they disappeared.