Tabor Evans

by Longarm

  "Oh, you know how families are," Starr said. "There was a big split long years back, between the ones who were for and against John Ross, the Cherokee chief who signed the removal treaty. But that was fifty years ago, and Ross has been dead for a long time."

  "That doesn't seem to make any difference to the Starrs and the Wests and the Suratts," Belle said. Her voice was sharp. "And that's got nothing to do with Henry West. He's the son of a bitch who turned Sam and me in to the federals on a cattle-stealing charge."

  "Just the same, my family's big enough to forget fusses when one branch or another's throwing a shindy," Sam said confidently. "Come on. We'll pull in and leave our animals here with the others, and walk up to the house."

  As far as Longarm could tell, Sam and Belle weren't openly snubbed by anybody as they circulated around the edge of the dance floor. There were some who returned short, stern-faced replies when Belle and Sam greeted them, but there were about as many others who seemed glad enough to see the Starrs of Younger's Bend.

  Longarm tried his best to do the impossible: make himself inconspicuous and still act as though he felt at home. He was introduced to a number of Starrs and Wests and Suratts and others whose names he didn't catch, young and old, male and female, and all of them seemed to accept his presence there as normal.

  It was difficult for Longarm to realize that all, or almost all, of those at the gathering were from the same family. As far as he could see, there was no common trait among the three clans. He met a variety of Starrs and Wests and Suratts who might have been pure Anglo-Saxon, full-blood Cherokee, or part Spanish or part black. The more of the family he saw, the more confused he got.

  He stubbed his toe with Belle just after they'd completed the circuit of the porch, where the elder members of the group had gathered. She said, "All right, we've done what you wanted to, Sam. Now let's go home."

  "Home? Damn it, Belle, this place right here's home for the time being. We just got here. We can't up and leave like we think we're too good to mix with 'em."

  "You mix, then." She turned to Longarm. "Come on, Windy. Dance with me. I might not look it, but I'm one hell of a fine dancer. Used to dance professionally, you know, over in Dallas and out in California."

  "I'd be real proud to lead you out on the floor there, Belle," he replied. "But all I'd do is make you look like a fool. I got two left feet when it comes to dancing."

  "Oh, hell, you're just bashful!"

  "No. I'm telling you the truth. Seems like the music goes to my head and gets my feet all mixed up. I end up falling on my face and making my partner mad. After that happened a time or two, I swore I never was going to try to dance anymore."

  "Oh, you're just no good for a woman at all, Windy!" Belle snapped. "Well, if Sam's so dead set on staying, I intend to have as much fun as I can." She looked around, and saw a young man close by. "Jim! Jim July!

  Come on and dance with your old Aunt Belle!"

  For a moment the youth seemed on the verge of refusing, but then he smiled, showing big, yellowed teeth, and took Belle by the arm, and then they were stamping and whirling with the others on the dance floor.

  Sam said to Longarm, "Well, Belle's taken care of, so I'm going to do some dancing myself. Go help yourself to vittles, Windy. There's whiskey under the tables. Just lift up any of the tablecloths and pick up a jug."

  Left to himself, Longarm sampled the food. There were ham and chicken and spareribs and beef, cornbread and biscuits and a variety of vegetables, few of which he recognized, not being much of a vegetable fancier. There were fried squirrel and rabbit and possum, beans of several kinds, pickled crabapples, and tiny orange persimmons wrinkled into sweetness. There were some pots of stew that smelled appetizing, but which Longarm left alone because he wasn't sure what might have gone into them.

  While he ate, he studied the shifting crowd. Fresh faces were constantly appearing, but Longarm couldn't tell whether they belonged to new arrivals or people he hadn't noticed before. He saw that Sam had gone onto the dance floor, but wasn't dancing with Belle. She was still twirling around with the young Cherokee she'd called Jim, and Sam had taken a short, chubby, middle-aged woman for his partner. A young couple, their faces flushed and perspiring, pushed past him, heading for the tables. Longarm stepped aside and bumped into someone behind him.

  "Beg pardon," he said, swiveling around.

  He glanced at the woman he'd jostled, and then opened his eyes wide for a better look. She was strikingly attractive in a regal sort of way, even with her face twisted into a grimace of dismay as she juggled the bowl of stew she was carrying. Longarm grabbed her by the shoulders and steadied her in time to keep the stew from slopping over the side of the bowl.

  "Thank you," she said, flashing him a smile.

  "Maybe I better walk in front of you to keep somebody else from bumping into you like I did," he suggested.

  "That's not necessary. I'm just taking this to my aunt, over there on the porch."

  "Mrs. Lucy Suratt?" Longarm fished up the name of the only aunt he'd heard mentioned.

  "No. My Aunt Sarah. Aunt Lucy's my aunt once removed, if I remember the family tree correctly."

  She started toward the porch, and Longarm walked ahead of her, clearing a path. They rounded the corner of the dance floor just as Belle came rushing up. "Windy!" Belle panted. "Have you seen Sam?"

  "Not since a few minutes ago. He was out dancing, then."

  "He's not on the dance floor. I've looked."

  "You trying to find him and talk him into going home now?"

  "I'm trying to find him to get him away before there's big trouble. Frank West just got here."

  "You don't figure Sam would start anything, do you? Not after-"

  "Sam might not. Frank might. They've both said they're going to shoot the other on sight. Go around that way, Windy. See if you can find Sam."

  Longarm started in the direction in which Belle had pointed. He pushed through the crowd, skirting the dance floor, but when he got to the side of the floor nearest the house, he saw that Belle had found her husband first. He walked up to them in time to hear Sam say, "I don't give a damn what you want me to do! If Frank's here and wants to settle things, I'm ready!"

  "Sam, listen to me!" Belle was almost shouting. "I know you've got a good gun hand, but so has Frank!"

  "Then we'll just have to see which of us is best!" Sam snapped.

  Belle appealed to Longarm. "Windy, help me get Sam to be reasonable!

  I don't want him t-"

  "No, Belle. You and Sam settle things between you. It's your family." Sam said, "Windy's right. Damn it, Belle! Most of the time I listen to you, but this time I'm not going to!" In a calmer tone, he went on, "Frank's my kin, not yours. I've got to face him myself. You stay out of it."

  A hush began rippling over the dance floor. The music faltered and died away. The dancers began moving off the board square, clustering at the corners. Longarm looked across the deserted boards. He saw a man--Frank West, he supposed--standing on the opposite side, staring fixedly at Sam. West was not making any threatening moves. He simply stood there, looking. Sam said, "Windy, get Belle out of the way!"

  "I'm going to stand with you!" Belle exclaimed.

  "You are like hell! My people call me a squaw man! They'll start calling me a squaw if I don't stand up to Frank by myself!"

  Belle tried to grab Sam's arms, but he was the quicker of the two. He shoved Belle into Longarm. Longarm grabbed her upper arms. Sam took a step or two away from them. His face was set. Longarm thought he'd never really seen Sam Starr until now.

  Starr sidled along the edge of the dance floor, his stare matching that fixed on him by Frank West. Longarm didn't see which of the two drew first; he was watching Starr. Their two shots rang out at almost exactly the same time.

  Sam's leg buckled, but he stayed on his feet. West was bringing up his revolver for a second shot when Sam fired again. West got off the round just as his body jerked to the impact of Sam's slug.
West's bullet tore into Sam, who staggered.

  Sam began limping toward West. He shot once more as West crumpled slowly. West still had enough strength for one more shot, and Sam went to his knees as the slug tore into him. His gun was still leveled. He fired, hitting West, who jerked and twisted to one side. Starr lurched forward on his face. He used his left hand to push himself up and get off a last shot before his muscles failed him.

  Then both men lay prone and motionless as the echoes of their final shots died away and the clearing fell silent.

  CHAPTER 16

  Belle ran to her husband, who lay face down at the edge of the dance floor. Longarm was a step behind her. He could see at a glance that Starr was dead.

  Across the bare planks of the deserted floor, Frank West's body twitched. Longarm went to check on him. West lay with his head twisted to one side. The eye that Longarm could see was sightless and beginning to glaze. West's arm was folded under his body; only the tip of his revolver's muzzle was visible.

  Going back to Belle, Longarm said, "Sam sure did what he said he was going to. West's dead."

  "So is Sam, damn it!" Belle's voice rasped in her throat.

  "You can't do a thing for him, Belle. It's finished."

  By now, others were beginning to gather around them. Longarm knelt beside Starr's body and turned it over. Sam's dead eyes were fixed upward, his lips twisted in death's grin. Belle took off her scarf and draped it over the dead man's face. Longarm asked her, "Is there an undertaker here in town?"

  "No. Folks in Eufaula take care of their own dead."

  A ring of people had formed around them now, but none of them were talking. Across the dance floor, Longarm could see a similar circle around Frank West's body. As far as he could tell, the two groups were about equal in number. He wondered if it was a division by family ties, and if an argument was going to break out among the kinfolk.

  Belle said, "Will you get Sam's horse from the glade, Windy? I'm not going to ask these people to lend me a wagon. I don't intend to be beholden to them for anything at all."

  "You'll bury Sam at the Bend, then?" he asked. When Belle nodded silently, he said, "What about the law? A judge or somebody?"

  Belle shook her head. "No. I guess the only ones who'd have any say are the Cherokee Tribal Council, and they're up in Talequah. That's a long way from here."

  "I guess we'd better-"

  Longarm was interrupted by a burly man wearing butternut jeans and a pink calico shirt, who detached himself from the crowd and strode over to them.

  "Belle," the man said. He jerked his head in the direction of the bodies. "I see Frank and Sam finally found each other."

  "Yes," Belle said tonelessly.

  "And did what both of them swore they would," the man went on.

  "Frank started the fight," Belle flared. "He called for Sam to come out and face him."

  "That don't matter much now, does it?" the man asked.

  She said to Longarm, "Windy, this is Robert West, Sam's uncle."

  "Frank's too," West said. He dismissed Longarm with a jerk of his head, and turned back to Belle. "You going to bury Sam on his land?"

  "Yes. We'll be going back right away."

  "Well see to Frank. Bury him this evening, I suppose. You won't stay for the funeral?"

  Belle shook her head. "No, Robert. It wouldn't look right."

  West nodded slowly. "I guess you're'right, Belle, but I don't feel that way and neither will Sarah and the rest of the family. When will you be putting Sam away?"

  Belle looked around the clearing. The sun was slanting below the treetops, and shadows were creeping over the dance floor, where a few people stood talking. She said, "We won't get back in time to bury him tonight. Tomorrow I suppose."

  "I'll bring the family out. Early or late?"

  "I haven't thought about it, Robert."

  "Sarah and Henry and John will want to be there," West said. "We'll bring our own tucker. Look for us sometime right about noon. You'll put us up for the night, I guess? It'd be too late for us to come back home after Sam's buried."

  "You come ahead," Belle said. "I suppose Sam would have wanted it that way."

  West nodded and walked back across the street, and Belle asked Longarm, "Can't we get started right away, Windy? I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."

  Longarm nodded. "Go on the porch while I get Sam's horse up here. It won't take long," he told her. "Unless you want me to come along and we'll bring back the mules too, and save stopping again."

  "No. You go ahead. I'll wait."

  Longarm walked to the glade and led Starr's horse back to where Sam's body lay. A small group had gathered around the dead man. Longarm started to lift the corpse, and two of the men stepped forward and helped him. Sam's revolver lay in the center of the bloodstains, his hat a foot away. Longarm went over and used the hat to pick up the blood-covered revolver, and tucked both in the saddlebags on Starr's horse. Across the dance floor, men were carrying Frank West's body into the house. Longarm watched for a moment, then went on with the job Belle had asked him to do.

  With the sun slanting on their backs, Longarm and Belle rode back to Younger's Bend. It was a silent trip. Belle led Sam's horse, with the blanket-wrapped body lashed across the saddle, and Longarm led the mules, strung out behind in single file.

  Belle spoke only once, when the trail widened and Longarm pulled up beside her to ask if she was all right. "Yes. Sam's not the first husband I've had to bury, Windy. But I don't guess you ever get used to it."

  "No, I guess a body don't."

  "I should have stayed long enough to send a note to Pearl. And to Ed. They liked Sam."

  "Your kinfolks will be out tomorrow; you can send whatever mail you've got back with them."

  "Sam's kinfolks!" Belle flared. For a moment she was once more the Bandit Queen, short-tempered and snappish. "I wish I'd just told them to stay away from Younger's Bend! I don't want to have them around tomorrow, Windy. They'll blame me for what happened!"

  "That was between Sam and his cousin, Belle. Hell, it wasn't your fault."

  "They'll go back beyond the shooting. You don't know how the Cherokees think, Windy. Sure, it was Frank's fault for turning Sam and me in to the law. But they'll go farther back than that. They'll think that if Sam hadn't married me, he wouldn't have been doing anything the law would be after him for. They won't admit that Sam was outside the law before I ever met him. Hell, if Sam hadn't been pulling stagecoach and bank jobs with Jim Reed before I ever married Jim, I never would've met Sam." Longarm finally got the sequence sorted out. He asked, "You're saying these kinfolks of Sam's feel like you set him outside the law?"

  "They always have. And they'll be resentful because I'll inherit Sam's allotment land, instead of it going back to the family." Belle shook her head. "Cherokees carry grudges backward a long way. Robert didn't want to bring the family out tomorrow because of me. He just couldn't stand to see Sam's kinfolks disgraced because they aren't there when he's buried."

  Longarm didn't bother to point out that Cherokees weren't alone in holding grudges. He remembered some of the feuding that went on during his own boyhood in the hardscrabble hills of West Virginia. He didn't think Belle would be much inclined to listen to anything he said, though. She was thinking her own thoughts. Ahead, the trail narrowed. Longarm reined in to let her ride ahead, and dropped back to the position he'd held most of the time since they'd left Eufaula, behind the horse bearing Sam Starr's body. Before they'd gone much farther, the rain began, a slow, irritating drizzle.

  Belle took charge as soon as she dismounted at Younger's Bend. She answered the questions that flowed from those who'd stayed behind, but cut her explanations as short as possible. When Floyd and Steed and Bobby tried to offer condolences, she brushed their efforts aside. Dry-eyed and determined, her thin lips pinched even thinner as she concentrated on what had to be done, she overrode the reluctance of the men to do household work, and kept them busy far into the n
ight getting things in readiness for the arrival of Sam's kinfolk.

  Laying out Sam's corpse was the first job. Belle did most of that herself. She had to have help in stripping away the bloodstained, bullet-torn clothes Sam had been wearing when he died, but she shooed the others away while she washed the body with vinegar water and dressed it in the best clothes Sam had owned. She brushed the dead man's hair and smoothed away the contorted smile that had frozen on his face during the moments of death. The only time she called on the others for help was when she was unable to force Sam's stiff Sunday boots on. It occurred to Longarm while he and Floyd worked at sliding the boots onto Sam's limp legs that he still hadn't seen Belle shed a tear over her husband's death, and her eyes showed no signs that she'd done any private weeping.

  While Belle devoted her attention to the corpse, she put the men to work moving the horses and mules from the barn up to the corral. There was more room in the barn for mourners, and the rain-freshened air that circulated through the slat-rail walls made it a cooler place to keep the corpse than the small house. They raked the floor clean and smoothed it where necessary, then spread a thick layer of fresh straw. In the center they placed a pair of sawhorses with planks across them, and covered the boards with the blankets in which Sam would be wrapped for burial.

  Only after these jobs had been finished did Belle allow them to stop for supper. Darkness had already come when they ate their pickup meal, standing around the kitchen table, munching whatever scraps and bits they'd been able to unearth of cheese, dry biscuits, a few pieces of hard corn pone, and some fried chicken that had been sitting in a dish for two or three days. They washed it down with Yazoo's corn squeezings.

  "I ain't much on cooking," the old man volunteered as they chewed, "but I can turn to in the morning and cook up some grub for the folks you said is coming tomorrow, Belle."

  "They'll bring their own food," Belle said. "Enough for them and us too. Besides, you're not going to have time to cook tomorrow morning, Yazoo. None of you are. There's Sam's grave to dig and the house to clean up, and all that sugar to carry up to the stillhouse. There's more than enough to keep everybody busy. I want this place to be ready by noon, before Sam's kinfolks get here!"