Benedict and Brazos 17
Page 12
The woman paused, blinking in the cool gloom. Then, sighting the group at the table, she hurried across.
“Oh there you are, Mr. Benedict!” she cried, a vision in frills, curls and an enormous hat ornamented by an ostrich feather.
“Hello,” Benedict said, taken aback. “I mean, yes, indeed I am here, Abigail. And how are you this bright morning?”
“Distraught.”
“Pardon?”
Mrs. Peabody wrung her hands and looked tragically around at the others. “He’s not coming back to me.”
“Sandburr?” Benedict guessed. On his return from Broadman’s Bend with Sandburr Sam Wilson, he’d locked the prospector in the woodshed at the rooming house until he’d had his confrontation with Darlington. But somehow the little runt had escaped, and Sandburr Sam hadn’t been sighted since.
“It is Samuel,” Abigail confirmed. “I received a letter from him from Duckett’s Gap. He’s ... he’s going to Canada.”
“Just about far enough, I’d hazard,” Brazos grinned.
But Abigail was not amused. “I’m all alone,” she lamented. But her sad loss seemed to weigh less heavily upon her then as she fluttered her eyelashes at Benedict. “All alone, and unattached, dear Mr. Benedict.”
Benedict looked uncomfortable while Amy Miles suppressed a smile. “Er, yes, Abigail, you would seem to be—”
“But I’m not really alone, am I?” she simpered. “The moment I recovered from the shock of reading Samuel’s letter, I immediately thought of you and all those lovely, sweet things you told me.”
Benedict swallowed hard. He had said a whole lot of foolish things to Abigail Peabody when he’d been persuading her to furnish the vital information on Sandburr’s whereabouts. But surely she wouldn’t hold him to a few flatteries and promises made in the heat of the moment?
Or would she?
The answer came swiftly. “Remember how you told me how you would just adore to take me out and show me a marvelous time—if only Samuel wasn’t around? And I was so impressed by your gentlemanly restraint. But now there is no need for you to hold back, Mr. Benedict. I’m free!”
Wearing a trapped look, Benedict glanced around him. Maggie Dillon had her hands to her face. Amy was deliberately looking away, but he could see the smile curving her cheek. And, worst of all, Brazos was standing there grinning down at him like a simpleton.
Inspiration flooded Benedict’s face then and he got to his feet. “Listen, Johnny Reb,” he said meaningly, “as you can see, Abigail is in need of some comfort and company right now. I would take it kindly if you would offer her your strong arm to lean on. I would take it very kindly ... if you know what I mean?”
Benedict’s meaning was obvious. He was prepared to forgive the punch to the jaw if Brazos would take Abigail off his hands. But the proposition failed to appeal to him any more than it obviously did to the romantic Mrs. Peabody.
“Mr. Benedict!” she exclaimed, apparently stunned. “Are you trying to ... do you mean to say that you didn’t mean it when you said you would simply love to take me buggy riding in the country and then walk with me in the moonlight by the river before dining with me by candlelight?”
“You promised Abigail all that, Yank?” Brazos grinned. “Hell, man, you’re a regular romantic fool, ain’t you?”
Benedict was trapped. His attempt to smile was a ghastly failure. “Well,” he managed to get out finally, “perhaps I did promise ... I mean ... well, perhaps a short drive in the country, but—”
That was more than enough for Abigail. Beaming and bouncing, she swept around the table, took his arm and steered him towards the doors.
“Oh, Mr. Benedict, you are a torment, aren’t you? Trying to pretend that you’d forgotten those beautiful things you said to me. But I’ll forgive you, you naughty boy. And we’ll have such a lovely day. I know a beautiful picnic spot by the river. When we come home, we can have supper at the cafe. And then you can take me to play roulette at the Double Eagle, and after that ...”
There was more, but Benedict didn’t hear it—his brain felt numb. He jerked to a halt at the batwings, brushed the ostrich feather from his eyes, and glared back. His last glimpse, before a powerful arm jerked him through the swinging doors, was of Hank Brazos taking his seat at the table and getting ready to do his manly best to entertain two beautiful girls ...
About the Author
E. Jefferson Clay was just one of many pseudonyms used by New South Wales-born Paul Wheelahan (1930-2018). Starting off as a comic-book writer/illustrator, Paul created The Panther and The Raven before moving on to a long and distinguished career as a western writer. Under the names Emerson Dodge, Brett McKinley, E. Jefferson Clay, Ben Jefferson and others, he penned more than 800 westerns and could, at his height, turn out a full-length western in just four days.
The son of a mounted policeman, Paul initially worked as a powder monkey on the Oaky River Dam project. By 1955, however, he was drawing Davy Crockett—Frontier Scout. In 1963 he began his long association with Australian publisher Cleveland Pty. Co. Ltd. As prolific as he was as a western writer, however, he also managed to write for TV, creating shows like Runaways and contributing scripts to perennial favorites like A Country Practice. At the time of his death, in December 2018, he was writing his autobiography, Never Ride Back … which was also the title of his very first western.
You can read more about Paul here.
The Benedict and Brazos Series by E. Jefferson Clay
Aces Wild
A Badge for Brazos
The Big Ranchero
Stage to Nowhere
Adios, Bandido
Cry Riot!
Fools’ Frontier
A Six-Gun Says Goodbye
The Living Legend
Diablo Valley
Never Ride West
Shoot and Be Damned
Wardlock’s Legion
Kid Chaney’s Express
Madigan’s Last Stand
Bury the Losers
The Buzzard Breed
… And more to come every month!
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