by Joe Slade
The door closed with a decisive bang, the heavy bar on the back scraping into place. Floyd scratched his head then moved off. He couldn’t help thinking that if Braddock happened by he would get a whole lot more than he bargained for if he stopped there.
‘We’ll look in on the way back to town,’ he called as he led the posse off.
~*~
Before the thunder of hoofs had died away, Bull Braddock stepped across to the window and pulled back the rotting sack curtain. He smiled as the last of the posse men disappeared around a bend and out of sight.
‘You did good, Martha,’ he said, uncocking the .45 that had been shoved against her back. ‘As long as your boy does what I told him, they shouldn’t be back for quite a while. Is he a good son, Martha? Does he love his mama?’
Martha sobbed into the apron bunched up in her fists and pressed against her mouth. A woman not yet in her forties but made frail by a life of hardship, her whole body seemed to rock as she nodded.
‘Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,’ he surmised.
‘You’ll be leaving now?’ she asked, a note of hope in her voice.
Braddock shook his head and pointed at his bloody sleeve. ‘I need some doctoring before I head back to town.’
‘There’s a doc there,’ she offered. ‘He can take care of you better than I can.’
Braddock laughed. ‘He won’t be taking care of anybody when I’m through with him.’
He went to the table where the remains of an abandoned breakfast were attracting flies. Wafting them away, he sat down on a wobbly chair and tipped the cold fatty bacon and eggs from two plates onto one. Like a man sitting down to a civilized meal, he picked up a fork, breathed on the tines, polished them against his non-bloodied sleeve and started shoveling food into his mouth.
‘Have you got anything to wash this fine food down with?’ he asked around a belch.
‘C-coffee?’
He sneered. ‘Have you got any liquor?’
With her eyes big as saucers, Martha shook her head.
‘There’s a bottle in there.’ He gestured at his saddlebags sitting near the door. ‘Get it!’
She fell to the floor as if his words had physically punched her. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she fumbled with the straps. When at last she managed to get them open, she recoiled from reaching inside.
‘Now!’ Braddock barked.
She plunged in, feeling around before bringing out a half empty bottle of whiskey. Carefully, she grasped it between both hands and held it out towards him.
‘Bring it to me,’ Braddock said. ‘I ain’t going to bite.’
Reluctantly, she shuffled forward on her knees an inch at a time. When she was within easy reach, he grabbed her hands, trapping the bottle between them. She screeched and tried to pull away but his grip was strong, like a vice crushing her fingers.
‘I hope you’re a better nurse than you are a waitress,’ he commented, adjusting his hold and taking the bottle.
Martha scurried backwards until her back came up against the wall. Even then, she almost climbed it in her fear-addled state.
Keeping his eyes on her, Braddock took a long swig of the dark liquid then held out the bottle. ‘Do you want some?’
She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
‘Then you best get started on fixing my arm.’ He yawned and pushed the empty plate to one side. ‘I’ll need to get some shut-eye before I head out.’
‘I don’t have any bandages,’ Martha said, stupidly.
Braddock grinned. ‘Are you wearing a petticoat under that rag?’
She looked down at her threadbare and patched dress to where a sliver of grey-white showed below the frayed hem. Her head bobbed.
‘Then you can make some out of that. You’re not going to be needing it.’
~*~
Later, towards evening, Braddock rose from the sagging bed feeling rested after several hours of sleep. He gathered his gear and prepared to leave. Before he stepped outside, he turned and looked around the room that served as kitchen, living area and bedroom. It wasn’t much, and neither was the naked woman tied hand and foot to a chair beside the table.
She stared back at him with big, tearful eyes, her grey hair hanging in tangles around her bruised and battered face. He shook his head and sucked air in between his teeth. She had to be the saddest excuse for a woman he had ever seen.
He flexed his arm, easing the soreness that the buckshot caused. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,’ he said, inclining his head and grinning. ‘You fixed me up real good and your eggs were right fine.’
He chuckled and stepped outside, leaving the door open. A lantern hung from a nail hammered into the wall and he took it down and shook it. The swish of kerosene was music to his ears and he pulled a match from his jacket pocket, lit it with his thumbnail then held it to the wick until it caught light.
He felt the woman glaring at his back as he walked away, and knew she was struggling with the rawhide ties. He grinned, knowing it wouldn’t make any difference as he spun round and hurled the lantern in through the doorway before continuing on across the yard.
In the broken down corral, a swayback mare eyed him with moderate interest. He found an old saddle and harness under a tarpaulin near the gate where the woman had told him it would be. The leather was grey and cracked, the buckles tarnished and stiff. When he threw it on the mare’s back, the animal barely flinched. Only when he set his foot in the stirrup did the horse sidestep as it braced against his weight.
As he rode away, smoke was already starting to drift around the yard. He turned in the saddle and watched the house burn, hungry flames lighting up the sky like a beacon. He couldn’t see the woman but he heard her screaming as he kicked the mare into a trot and headed back to town.
Sixteen
Up in the hills, Floyd led the posse in to a clearing and held his arm up high to bring the ten men strung out behind him to a grinding halt.
‘We can’t go any further today now we’ve lost the light,’ he announced, like a general addressing his troops. ‘We’ll bed down here for the night then get an early start in the morning. Do you all agree?’
‘A man would have to be a fool riding around in these hills at night,’ a bald headed man in rough work clothes opined.
A couple of others nodded and, almost as one, the men dismounted. Someone started building a fire while the others untied bedrolls and dug in their saddlebags for mugs and grub.
‘It’ll have to be a cold camp, men,’ Floyd said.
A chorus of dissent erupted as he kicked the kindling aside.
‘What! No fire?’
‘What about coffee?’
‘You must be joshing.’
‘We can’t afford to give away our position and have Braddock get the drop on us,’ Floyd warned, refusing to be shouted down. ‘As such, I want two pairs of men on lookout at all times. I suggest we spell each other at two-hour intervals. I know it’s been a long day but we can’t afford to take any chances, not with a man like Braddock.’ He scanned the faces. ‘Who wants to take first watch?’
Most of the men lowered their heads. At the edge of the group, Rick Talbot sighed and gave Doc a questioning look.
The medic frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I couldn’t sleep knowing that maniac’s out there.’
Doc nodded. ‘We’ll do it,’ he shouted, gesturing between himself and Rick. ‘Just don’t any of you sneak up on me or you’re likely to get shot.’
A couple of the men sniggered but no one seemed to find the idea funny when Doc picked up his Winchester and pushed his way between them. He settled about twenty feet from the main group, resting his aching back against a lightning split oak while Rick took up a position nearby sitting on a deadfall. Without much fuss, the others ate whatever cold provisions they had and bedded down for the night.
Doc watched the sky turn from grey to black, creating a veil of darkness that left him feeling isolated an
d edgy. As the camp settled, he tried to block out the sounds of sleep to focus on the landscape around him. A light wind rustled the leaves of the tall trees. Small nocturnal animals scurried around looking for food, careful to avoid the humans. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the soothing trickle of water.
‘Are you awake, Doc?’ Rick asked after a while.
‘Yes,’ he said, shaking off the hands of sleep that had been coercing him towards dereliction of duty.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Rick said. ‘Maybe one of us should have stayed with Maggie.’
The thought had crossed Doc’s mind a few times but it was too late to worry about it now. ‘She’s a tough gal,’ he said, finally saying aloud what he had been telling himself for the past few hours.
‘I was more wondering whether she’ll be there when we get back or if she’s already saddled up and is halfway to Flitwick by now,’ Rick said.
‘She’ll be there.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘That bullet wound in her shoulder,’ Doc said. ‘Unless she asks somebody to saddle up for her, which we both know she won’t, there’s no way she can leave short of walking or riding bareback.’
‘You don’t think she would?’
Doc frowned. The thought hadn’t occurred to him but it wasn’t beyond possibility. She was certainly gutsy enough to try it but he shook his head anyway.
‘That gal’s got a strong survival instinct. I think she’ll stay put and—’ He stopped to listen as a cracking sound disturbed the peace. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked in a whisper.
Rick came to stand beside him. Both men peered into the darkness, bending their ears to listen.
‘Someone’s out there,’ Rick said.
The distinct sound of a twig snapping was followed by the sound of faltering footsteps as someone crashed through the undergrowth. The noise brought the other men awake like a shot but without any light to see what was happening the rush to roll out of blankets and grab weapons was chaotic.
Doc had his rifle up. ‘Stay where you are or I’ll shoot.’
‘Don’t shoot, mister. It’s me, Leo Pratt. I ain’t armed.’
‘Leo?’ Recognizing the boy, Doc half lowered his weapon. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes, sir. Are you going to shoot me?’ He sounded on the verge of tears.
‘I will if you don’t keep your voice down. Come forward before you get yourself and us killed.’
Leo Pratt, fourteen years old, skinny and gap-toothed stepped out of the trees leading a horse, his hands held awkwardly above his head.
‘If you’re worried about that big feller, he ain’t up here,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ Floyd asked, wiping sleep from his eyes as he closed in on the trio.
‘He gave me his horse and told me to ride. Told me to stay ahead of the posse. Said he’d kill my ma if I didn’t.’
Doc frowned. ‘Are you saying he’s still at your place?’
‘He was when I left but now I don’t know.’ The kid pointed back towards his home. ‘Look.’
Doc turned, along with every other man in camp, and stared in disbelief. Visible through the branches of the trees, the sky was taking on a rosy glow but it was too late for a sunset and too early for a sunrise.
~*~
Back at Doc’s, Maggie heard a commotion out in the street. She ran to the front of the house to listen from the safety of the hallway. Although her presence there was no longer a secret, Doc had advised her that out of sight was out of mind.
‘It looks like it’s coming from Martha Pratt’s,’ someone shouted. ‘Ain’t nobody else that far out over thataways.’
‘The whole place must have gone up to light the sky up like that,’ another man opined. ‘I’ll bring a wagon around. Fetch anyone who can haul a bucket and we’ll meet outside the livery.’
Maggie waited for the men to move on before opening the door and peering out. Along the street, lanterns had been lit and several people stood around, looking skyward past the town limits towards the hills. Maggie’s gaze followed. She knew it was fire the instant she sighted the rosy glow that tinged the inky blackness. Already the scent of smoke was drifting on the wind.
‘Braddock,’ she said without hesitation.
She backed inside and closed the door, standing in the darkness for several minutes. If her first inkling was right, it was a daring plan. In a town with so few residents and several men gone with the posse, a fire set beyond the town limits would draw away the rest of the town’s able-bodied citizens leaving the way clear for him to return unchallenged. After that it would be just a matter of waiting for Doc to show himself and then picking him off before he knew he was in Braddock’s sights.
But was Braddock that cunning?
Maggie didn’t know but his longevity as an owl hoot suggested a level of wiliness she couldn’t afford to underestimate.
And what did he have planned for her?
Would he beat her, rape her and kill her. Or rape her, beat her and then kill her? Maybe he had a special kind of hell in mind for her that she couldn’t even comprehend. Whatever she intended to do, she needed to decide quickly. The wagons were already trundling past, the voices of men and women mingling with the cries of children dragged from their beds to witness the spectacle of man against fire.
Live to fight another day.
Frank’s words resonated through her mind like the voice of reason, prompting her to action. She grabbed her hat and coat, hanging from a peg in the hallway, and pulled them on as she walked.
Starting in the kitchen, she stowed bread, cheese and jerky in a flour sack then filled her canteen from the pump in the yard. Going back inside, she searched Doc’s bedroom until she found his shaving equipment. From the neatly wrapped items she took a small mirror, about 5 inches by 4 inches, and tucked it in her pocket. The other items she returned to their place in a drawer before grabbing a blanket from the foot of the bed then extinguishing the lamp.
In the small lean-to out back, Frank’s Appaloosa watched her with ears erect and nostrils flared as she closed the heavy door to Doc’s workshop.
‘It’s not safe for me here,’ she admitted as she released the big horse. ‘I’m afraid. More afraid than I’ve ever been.’
The animal nuzzled her ear affectionately as she ran her hand over its sooty buckskin coat. She had always liked the horse, felt as she looked in to its soft pale brown eyes that it understood they were alike—both the property of Frank O’Bannen.
‘We’re free now and that’s the way we’re staying,’ she said, leading it in to the alley and slapping it on the rump. ‘Run and don’t look back.’
She waited until it disappeared from sight, listening until the sound of its hoof beats died away then she gathered her provisions, melted in to the shadows and started walking.
Seventeen
Around midnight, Bull Braddock rode in to town with the confidence of a man coming to claim his birthright. The fire had achieved the desired effect and a couple of wagons carrying what seemed to be most of the town’s men folk had passed him on the trail. Had they been looking for him, they might have spotted him. Preoccupied as they were, they had rolled ignorantly past the small stand of cottonwoods where he had fallen back to wait.
Seeing no one, he rode straight along the main street and made directly for the doc’s. The false front commercial building advertising furniture and funeral services was shrouded in darkness and locked up tight. Braddock rapped his knuckles against the doctor’s shingle that hung above the door before peering in at the windows. There was no sign of occupation and he ducked in to the alley and moved around the building. The yard out back and the lean-to were deserted, although he noted the smell of fresh manure to confirm that the doc did indeed own a horse.
So where was he? With the posse or at the homestead? Braddock shrugged. It didn’t matter. Sooner or later the doc would return and he would be waiting to put a bullet in his brain. In the meantime, maybe there was
some other way he could occupy himself.
He returned to the front of the building and tried the door again. The lock rattled but refused to give under the weight of his shoulder. A hard kick separated it from the frame. He glanced along the street, saw here and there the flicker of a lamp, the twitch of a curtain, but no one showed themselves and he stepped inside.
It didn’t take but a minute to find and light a lamp and then the fun began. He searched every clean and ordered room, taking pleasure in ransacking each one, especially the office where a glass fronted cabinet held a mixture of remedies and books on doctoring. A framed certificate swept from the wall fell victim to a vicious heel stomp. It brought him some satisfaction but didn’t quite scratch the itch that was really bugging him.
He extinguished the lamp but left the street door hanging open and, after tearing down the shingle and stamping on it, headed to the saloon. That too was in darkness and locked up. Another well-placed kick quickly parted the split doors and allowed him entry. He didn’t venture too far inside and barely glanced towards the office. It made him feel uncomfortable and angry. Instead, he leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from under the counter.
The sound of a single footstep stopped him dead. He turned his head towards the stairs and waited for a faint glimmer of light to grow brighter as it moved along the upper hallway. A board creaked and a ghostly visage appeared at the balcony. A man in a nightshirt leaned over and peered at him. The lamp wobbled in his hand.
‘I wouldn’t drop that, if I were you,’ Braddock advised him. ‘You’ll need it to get back to your room.’
The man’s eyes widened and he hesitated for just a moment. Then without a backward glance he scurried back to his room and slammed the door.
Braddock chuckled. Sometimes it was fun just to scare the living daylights out of people.
