Nate Coffin's Revenge

by J. Lee Butts

  Not often you found a place like Jewel’s in the wilds of Texas back in them days. Block or so down from the hotel, the completely out-of-place but elegant restaurant sported starched white tablecloths, vases of handpicked wildflowers, and an actual printed menu that came to the table in a slender, leather-bound jacket.

  No blackboard scribblin’s in that joint. No sir-ree bob, sir. Hand-lettered in beautifully done script, the heavy vellum bill of fare was clean, crisp, and appeared to change every day. My crude upbringing had me feeling like a rooster at a convention for a pack of wolves.

  A smartly dressed waiter, who sported a black bow tie and brocaded silk vest, led the way to a choice table in the farthest corner. Man made quite a production of lighting the candle for us, and poured long-stemmed goblets of red wine. Pointed out his recommendations from the menu, smiled, snapped his polished heels together, then retreated while we made our decisions. Almost made a rough-as-a-cob cowboy like me feel important.

  “Well, now, you have surely picked a winner, Mrs. Savage. Can’t remember the last time I ate in a place with quite so much snoot value. Perhaps I should have dressed a bit better,” I said as we tapped our crystal beakers against one another.

  She ignored my self-deprecation, smiled, sipped at her wine, then said, “Most fortunate to find such an amazing establishment, aren’t we, Mr. Dodge?”

  “Indeed we are.”

  She leaned forward and spoke in a lowered voice as though intent on telling me a secret. “Wanted you to know how much I appreciate all the help and considerate understanding you’ve imparted on me, Mr. Dodge. Decided this meal was the best way to demonstrate my deep feelings on the subject.”

  “Wish you’d call me, Lucius, Mrs. Savage. I do tend to get somewhat discombobulated when you refer to me as though my long-dead father has somehow come back to life and taken a place in the shadows behind me.”

  Sounded like a schoolteacher when she said, “As you are surely well aware, sir, good manners and the conventions of the day require strict behavior between unmarried adults while in public, Mr. Dodge.”

  “Well, you’re absolutely right, of course. But why don’t we make a pact right here and now. In the glow of Jewel’s candlelight, or whenever we’re not in the company of others, you call me Lucius, and I’ll call you Dianna. How does that strike you, Mrs. Savage?”

  She smiled. “Perfect, Lucius.” She smiled and held her crystal glass out to be struck again.

  From that moment on, our relationship changed dramatically and, in my opinion, for the better. For the first time since we’d met, the practice of forced societal formality between us fell away. She became almost girlish in demeanor. And at some point during the course of that astonishing evening, the realization of my simmering attraction to Dianna Savage dropped on me like a Butterfield stage coach. The longer the evening progressed, the more difficult it became for me to concentrate on my meal.

  Although probably not on a par with the best offerings of the finer joints in New Orleans, I’m sure, the food at Jewel’s ranked several rungs above anything else I’d had in some time past. The main course consisted of fist-sized medallions of beef, bird, and venison that swam in individual pools of mouth-watering sauces. Huge, almost inhuman, slices of buttermilk pie served as dessert. And when we’d finished, the waiter brought the check to the table with a rose, as he said, “For the lady.”

  Dianna insisted on a promenade around town before we returned to our rooms. She took my arm again. I could feel the warmth of her through my shirt, and found the stunning woman’s perfume damned near overpowering. More than once that evening I felt light-headed. As though no longer attached to this earth.

  We strolled from one end of Willow Junction’s six-block-long Main Street to the other like young lovers. The abbreviated trip lasted barely fifteen minutes. Under an enormous moon, aided by oil lamps and candlelight from behind glass windows in the shops, saloons, and mercantile businesses, everything about our short walk felt right and gloriously comfortable. Finally we made our way up the stairs to her room, and she appeared reluctant to see our evening come to an end.

  Upon arrival at her door she turned, squeezed my arm, leaned forward, molded her body to mine, and pressed her lips against my cheek. Felt her warm, scented breath on my ear. She whispered, “I have not forgotten our first evening together. Memories of that initial meeting are with me at every waking moment. Being near you like this imparts the most fervent upheaval in my anxious heart. Soon. Not now, but soon, dear Lucius.”

  And with that, the most beautiful woman I’d ever known disappeared into the deeper darkness of her chamber. Left me in the rude hallway to contemplate the exhilarating aroma of her perfume. Stood in the intoxicating cloud that came from her body as it swirled around me. Heard the distinctly final sound of the lock as it clicked into place.

  God Almighty, felt like I would explode right on the spot. Never thought any woman could have such a profoundly pleasant impact on me. Stumbled to my empty room, and even emptier bed, in a dense fog of unfulfilled desire.

  9

  “. . . MAN’S KNOWN AS A COLD-BLOODED KILLER . . .”

  FELL INTO MY narrow, empty bed that fateful night. Lay atop the sheets and couldn’t get thoughts of Dianna’s passionate, sensuous body pressed against me out of my mind. I had not allowed any woman to have such a profound impact on me since the day I watched Martye McKee ride out of my life and away from the murderous horrors of Sweetwater and the Nightshade clan. Came to the undeniable conclusion that my total discomfort was exactly what the beautiful Mrs. Savage most probably had in mind for me from the start of our splendid evening at Jewel’s Café.

  Tossed and turned like a bullfrog in a red-hot frying pan. Can’t say with any certainty how much time passed before my eyes finally closed. Hotel and street settled down. The entire world finally got quiet. Sleep crept upon me like a nimble-footed thief carrying a sledgehammer.

  Middle of the night, awoke to the sound of a gentle, almost unnoticeable, tapping at my door. An appeal delivered with such hesitation, I barely heard it. Snatched the rough portal open, and Dianna fell into my waiting arms.

  A trembling hand caressed my cheek and she whispered, “Changed my mind, dear Lucius. It’s a woman’s privilege, you know. Decided I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  Then, as God is my witness, that bold and beautiful girl locked liquid lips to mine and damned near kissed me inside out. Thought I would burst into scorching flame and be completely consumed right there in the doorway.

  Lifted her up in one quick, catlike movement. Pushed the door closed with my foot and carried her to my bed. Tender, inviting arms draped around my neck as we tasted each other again. The heady flavor of her open mouth proved as intoxicating as any powerful liquor. Fingers of fire danced across my shoulders, neck, and around my ears.

  Laid her atop a tangled mass of sheets. In a flurry of heated excitement and pent-up lust, we stripped each other naked. A thin sheen covered our overheated bodies. She glittered and glowed in a hazy obscurity provided by the half-light that stole into my window from an enormous moon.

  Agile fingers seared a flaming path down my belly and caressed the core of me right there in the semidarkness. Sent me into a shuddering ecstasy unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my entire life.

  A whippoorwill, somewhere outside my open window, sang in the shadows as we made love. Immersed in the sweet, violent warmth of loosed passion and vivid arousal, I plunged into her. Immediately lost myself in the uncontrollable inferno. No doubt about it, all those raw feelings and untamed emotions were sparked by Dianna’s astonishing beauty the moment we first met.

  As I choose to remember our night of unfettered ardor, the firestorm of passionately meshed bodies, and quietly murmured words of affection in my mind, the lovemaking lasted for hours. At some point, spent and exhausted, I must have fallen asleep—perhaps for only a minute.

  When I jerked myself awake again, she’d vanished. Gone as though she’d
never been there. Nothing left but the sweet, heady odor of musk that lingered on me and my damp, rumpled bedclothes. Came to wonder if the whole encounter had been nothing more than a wildly pleasant fantasy—an outrageous, vividly realized dream. Stared at the blank ceiling till fatigue came and claimed me again.

  Early the next morning, the sound of rough knuckles pounded on my door and snatched me away from astonishing dreams. Dreams I sometimes still have this very day. Raspy voice from the hallway called out, “Ranger Dodge? Are you there, sir? Ranger Dodge, are you awake, sir?”

  Made my muddled-headed, bleary-eyed way to the knob and jerked the portal open. Blockheaded feller, who looked like he’d made every effort possible to appear like Marshal Matthews’s exact duplicate, stood in the hallway. His deputy’s badge was pinned on the wrong side of a greasy leather vest. The faded bib-front shirt beneath smelled from what gave every appearance of months of accumulated sweat, dirt, and grime-impregnated grease.

  “Who the hell are you? Better yet, what the hell do you want?” I snapped.

  Stupid son of a bitch didn’t even react to my mild rebuke. Lamebrained fool had all the outward personality of a stick of stove wood. Started talking like some kind of mechanical music box. “Name’s Porter Atwood, Ranger.” He made a halfhearted motion at his badge. That’s when I noticed one point of the star was broken off. “Deputy Marshal Porter Atwood.”

  “Well, you’ve answered one question. Second one’s still the same, Deputy Atwood. What the hell do you mean wakin’ me up this ungodly time of morning?”

  Hooked his meaty thumbs behind filth-encrusted suspenders, grinned like a tubby possum eating peaches, and proudly declared, “Marshal sent me over. Always do what the marshal says. Yessir. Always do.”

  Had begun to feel that I’d been awakened by the village idiot. “Why?”

  “Whaddaya mean, Ranger?”

  “Look, Atwood. Want you to think about my next question very carefully. I’m only gonna ask you once. Why did Marshal Matthews send you here to wake me from a sound sleep?”

  For about the count of three he looked like a Hidalgo County brush popper who’d just woke up and discovered a tarantula the size of a pullet in his boot. After several seconds of puzzlement, some kind of light went on behind his heavy-lidded eyes and he said, “Oh, Marshal said as how he shore could use yore help, if ’n you’ve got the time and inclination.”

  “Help doin’ what?”

  Well, he looked at me with all the confusion of a wood-pecker in a petrified forest. Shook my head and said, “Go back to the jail and tell him I’ll be down in about fifteen minutes. Think you can do that without gettin’ lost along the way?”

  He rubbed tobacco juice dribbles off his nasty chin with a stained shirtsleeve and nodded like a drunk duck. “Hell, yes, I can do’er. Ain’t nothin’ to it, Ranger.”

  “Head on out then, Deputy. I’ll be down shortly.” Poor churnhead nodded like he understood. ’Bout the time he got to the end of the hall I called out, “Remember now, try not to get lost.” Certain he didn’t understand the joke either time, but at least he grunted like he heard me.

  Got myself in no hurry. Dressed and armed up in my own sweet time. Passed the entrance to Dianna’s room on the way out. Wanted desperately to see her. Hold her. Hear her voice again. Smell the heat and fire of her.

  Stopped and quietly pressed my ear to the closed door. No movement inside. Considered knocking. At the very least I should have let her know what had just transpired, but thought better of such action when I checked my two-dollar Ingersoll pocket watch and realized just how early the hour truly was.

  Stepped into Ridley Matthews’s office to find the portly marshal, Atwood, and another deputy who appeared even shorter on thinker-box filler than either of his fellows. Tall, thin, and hawk-nosed, the unnamed lawman gave the red-faced appearance of someone who spent way too much time in one of the local whiskey emporiums with a dipper of stump squeezin’s attached to a trembling, clawlike hand.

  Matthews hopped up from his desk like a man who’d been struck by lightning, or caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Coffee, Ranger?” he asked, and gifted me with a blazingly counterfeit smile.

  Seemed an odd response to my expected entrance. Puzzled me some at first, but I accepted the tin cup and flopped into the only empty chair. Figured they were all idiots just this side of being institutionalized in the nearest insane asylum and had to be humored.

  Matthews resumed his well-worn seat and assumed a surprisingly officious air. “You know, Ranger Dodge,” he droned, “few years ago a feller named Herman Wallace ranched some out on Turkey Creek. Got into a dispute over borrowed cattle. Seems Wallace harbored the belief as how a neighbor, Simp Richards, spent most of his time throwin’ a wide loop on animals what belonged to the owners of surrounding ranches. Guess one day ole Herman finally got all he wanted. Rode over to Simp’s place and shot the man dead as a rotten fence post. Then, Herman went to runnin’ and hidin’. Nobody around these parts would admit to havin’ seen the man since. Mighty frustratin’ for a lawman, as you might well guess.”

  “And what, Marshal Matthews, has any of your profoundly sad tale about rustlin’ and murder got to do with gettin’ me out of bed at the butt crack of dawn?”

  His confused eyes swirled around in a beet-red face before he said, “Well, ’pears the murderous son of a bitch decided to return and, from all indications, has taken up residence in his old ranch house out Turkey Creek way. Just wondered if you might be willing to come along with us. Help make the arrest.”

  Couldn’t believe my ears. “You mean to tell me Willow Junction’s three fearless, redoubtable, and mostly stalwart lawdogs can’t get this job done on their own?”

  Matthews dismissed my obvious slur with the wave of a nervous hand. “Herman Wallace is widely known as a cold-blooded killer, Dodge. More trouble than we can handle, to tell the absolute truth. Don’t have many killers here’bouts, or a famed Texas Ranger available to offer aid and assistance in such matters.”

  “Hell, Marshal, hate to be the one to point out the obvious again, but there’s three of you boys. Ain’t that enough?”

  “Look, Dodge, sad truth is us town boys don’t really have much in the way of experience when it comes to dealin’ with brazen murderers. You got to admit, this ain’t Fort Worth, Dallas, or one of them Kansas railhead towns, like Wichita or Abilene. They’s mostly nothin’ but farmers and ranchers here’bouts. Not many man killers. None but Herman Wallace since I’ve been in office.”

  Racked my brain, but couldn’t readily figure any way to weasel out of his appeal. Man had politely requested assistance and, in obedience to my sworn oath, I felt compelled to comply.

  Matthews wanted to leave as soon as possible. Told him I’d be glad to help, and headed directly for the livery. Met back up with him and Atwood about fifteen minutes later.

  “Where’s your other deputy?” I asked.

  Matthews leaned on his saddle horn, threw a nervous glance over his shoulder, then said, “You mean Jiles?”

  “That his name?”

  “Yeah. Pinky Jiles. Well, he’s fine enough here in town, but ’bout as worthless as half a haircut for any kind of real action. Man can’t hit his own ass with a set of antlers and five jabs.” He and Atwood laughed at his lame joke. “Even worse with a pistol. Main reason I asked for your help, Dodge. Besides, I cain’t just go off and leave all our fine upstandin’ citizens completely bereft of at least somethin’ akin to law. Just never know what might come to pass during my absence.”

  The revelation that Deputy Pinky Jiles was about as useful as a screen door in the bottom of a rowboat didn’t come as any great surprise. However, I cared not one whit about leaving the town, and especially Dianna, in the care of a man not worth his feed. Ugly threat of Nate Coffin, or any number of his henchmen, making an unexpected raid loomed large in my mind as we spurred our animals and headed for Turkey Creek.

  Much to my increasing vexation, Willow Junc
tion’s chief lawman had failed to let me know, in advance, that the Wallace spread lay out in the briars and brambles nearly thirty miles from town. After we’d traveled over rolling hills for nigh two hours, I got to wondering just how long the trip would take.

  “How much farther, Marshal Matthews?” I asked.

  “Oh, not more’n five miles. Should be there in another forty-five minutes, maybe an hour at the most. Ain’t that far away.”

  Whole irritating situation had begun to get under my skin by that point. Went to thinking as how I should have stopped at the hotel desk and at least left word for Dianna as to my intentions. Now the unplanned trip was taking much longer than I expected. Virtually all the law in that part of the country had vacated town, left it in the care of a known drunk and idler. Man very likely couldn’t have saved himself from any problem much more threatening than which brand of tarantula killer to swill down first.

  About the time I had given up ever arriving at the Herman Wallace spread, we stopped under a sheltering stand of cottonwoods on the bank of what Matthews proclaimed was Turkey Creek. Heat forced me to remove my hat and cool an aching head from a canteen. Stepped down and refilled with clear, running water from the rocky stream.

  Matthews pointed to a spot a bit farther up and said, “Ranch building is just over yonder, Dodge. You can barely make it out ’cause of all these trees here on the creek. Herman built as close to water as he could get. Live oaks all around the main house as well. Bit tight in this spot here, but plenty of cover provided by several sizable boulders all around the place. Should be able to sneak up on him unawares. Have the murdering skunk under the gun and in our custody plenty quick.”

  Pulled my big popper and strapped a bandolier of shotgun shells over my pistol belt. Neither of the other lawmen bothered with any kind of additional weapon. Stuck with a handgun each. Being as we’d made the trip in search of a known man killer, it puzzled me some that they didn’t at least carry their rifles. Way I had it figured, both would have been a hell of a lot better off toting a shotgun. Tied the animals in scrubby bushes and silently picked our way from spot to spot for the rest of the way.