Hell to Pay: The Life and Violent Times of Eli Gault

by J. Lee Butts

  I quickly offered my thanks, said good-bye, and flew back downstairs to my own room. Burst in unannounced and found Trixie in my bed with a big hairy churnhead who was going at her like a hard-rock miner finding his first gold strike. God Almighty, but I've never been so mad in my entire life. Couldn't believe she had nerve enough to bring the big goober to my bed for cryin' out loud. She'd never done it before. Leastways, if she had, I didn't know about it.

  Pea-brained, dim-witted fool didn't even bother to stop what he was doing. Looked me straight in the eye and said, "Gonna have to wait your turn, mister. Still got a lotta riding left 'fore I head this bangtail to the stall."

  Well, what he said got all over me like the smell of rotting meat on a July afternoon in West Texas. Stomped over to the bed, grabbed the big dumb ox by the neck, and jerked him off of Trixie's still-bouncing body. Got to admit, she was smarter than her customer. Death had accidentally found them both, and Trixie knew it. Agitated gal jumped out of the bed buck-assed nekkid, and went to running around the room screaming like the whistle on a steam engine.

  Reached out and grabbed her by the wrist as she raced for the still-open door. Placed the muzzle of the pistol against her chest and pulled the trigger. Dirty-legged whore hit the floor like a sack of bricks.

  Gal's last customer crawled under the bed. I fired all four of the remaining rounds into the mattress. Wasn't sure I hit him, but I was in too big a hurry to find out. Grabbed as much in the way of food, clothing, and other valuables as could be had, and hoofed it for the street.

  Fogged out of town and headed south as fast as good horseflesh could travel. No doubt existed in my mind I was followed, because killing a woman, even one of astonishingly low repute, tended to be frowned on just about everywhere.

  Jayhawkin' sons of bitches almost caught up with me a few miles north of the Canadian. But I headed east, and hid for several days in Red Rock Canyon. Good water and shelter available there, plus plenty of places to fort up should my pursuers have found me. Guess none of them bastards had ever even seen or heard of the place, thank God. Started running again soon as it felt safe. For the next three weeks, I rode, ran on foot beside my animal, walked uncountable miles, and hardly slept a wink.

  At times, me and the horse kept moving for eighteen hours at a stretch. Had damned little to eat—mostly what I could steal from any farm or ranch that presented itself along the way. Trip was particularly hard on Fuzzy, my mount, but it had to be done. And all glory be to the Man Upstairs because once we made it into the safety of Texas, them Kansas lawdogs finally gave up the chase.

  Slipped into Fort Worth, and got myself completely reoutfitted and resupplied before kicking for points farther south. Didn't stop running till I got to Uvalde. Along the way, I promised God that if he let me survive my escapades in Dodge, I'd try my best to behave. Sometimes, it's damned hard to keep a promise. Especially those we make to the Man Upstairs.

  16

  "Beautiful, ain't it, Moon?"

  Couldn't believe my luck. Stopped at the first cow country oasis I came upon in Uvalde. Rugged back-country watering hole had a weathered plank sign over the door that looked a hundred years old. Flame-burned lettering dubbed the saloon the EL PERRO BLANCO CANTINA.

  Picked up a bottle at the bar and headed for the farthest corner. Good God, but I was as dry as the bleached bones of a year-dead longhorn lying in the wastelands of the Big Bend country. My trail-tender behind hadn't hit the chair good when I overheard a hatchet-faced feller at the table next to mine trying his best to rent a small horse ranch to a less-than-interested leather pounder. In spite of a more-than-reasonable-sounding offer, his cowboy customer appeared so broke, he couldn't have changed his mind or paid attention. Discussion got so heated, the frustrated brush popper abruptly pushed his chair away from the table. Wooden legs squealed against rough-cut flooring, and he angrily stomped out.

  Sounded like a good opportunity to me. And being as how my suit coat, wallet, and saddlebags probably contained more money than anyone within a hundred miles had seen in years, I leaned over and said, "If he's not interested, mister, I am. Been looking for a small spread to settle on for sometime now. Willing to pay you whatever the asking price is, so long as we can work up some kind of mutually acceptable plan whereby my rental payments can be applied to a future purchase."

  My God, you'd have thought I magically grew wings, a halo, and floated down from Heaven on a golden cloud. Gaunt gent jumped out of his chair, grabbed my hand, and damn near shook it off. "Name's Justin Farnsworth, sir. I can assure you beyond any doubt whatever that we can work out a deal. Hell, I'll even let you draw up the agreement. Word it any way you like. We'll take it to my lawyer, Mr. Arnette Dagget, and have him notarize the deal. You can move in at your earliest possible convenience."

  "How many acres we talking about, Mr. Farnsworth?"

  The stringy rancher rolled himself a smoke, lit up, took a puff, and said, "More than enough to start you on the way to a working horse operation. Guarantee you'll love the place."

  "Would I have to do any building and such?"

  "No, sir, not a bit. Property has an existing ranch house, fine barn, and a split-rail corral large enough for at least thirty head. Now, I'll admit the accommodations are a bit on the rough side, but they should prove more than adequate for a start."

  "I gather someone did a lot of work."

  "Feller who recently vacated the property leased this acreage from me for more'n ten years. Poor son of a bitch knew about as much about raisin' horses as I do about building steam engines. Should have knowed better when he arrived here from New by-God York."

  Well, that was something of a surprise. Said, "You rented land to a greenhorn from New York?"

  His nose scrunched and he looked a bit too sly for a second or so. "Said he'd raised horses afore somewheres in the green and grassy areas in the northern part of that fine Yankee state. 'Course, I'll have to admit, that's a damned long way from the rough and tumble of workin' with the bangtails here in South Texas."

  "Couldn't make a go, I take it?"

  "No, sir, he couldn't. Man just never was able to adjust. His wife and young 'uns had it even tougher. Felt right sorry for them kids of his. On top of everything else, I had to make downward alterations in his rent every year, till he finally went bust. Guess he's back home in upstate New York by now. Son of a bitch snuck off. Left me holdin' the bag on a whole year's worth of back rent."

  Sipped from my glass, then said, "Sure would like to take a look at the place before I sign any papers or give up any money."

  Sounded like a carnival barker when he said, "Oh, hell, yes. Understand completely. As you can see, I ain't busy at this very moment, and can take you out to the ranch right now if you'd like." Slapped me on the back like a long-lost brother when I stood, and away we went.

  Farnsworth led me more than an hour west, almost to the Nueces River. Country was wild, rough, and desolate. Steep, rocky arroyos covered with tangled brush sliced down to a shallow, slow-moving creek not far from the coarse ranch house. Some of the water-carved gullies were so uneven, you couldn't cross them for long stretches. No doubt in my mind that the creek eventually found its way to the Nueces.

  Can't say it surprised me in the least that a native New Yorker would have trouble making a success of it in such a rough and untamed spot. But, hell, couldn't condemn the man much, because I wasn't a rancher either—simply needed a place to lay low.

  We reined up on the east side of the creek. I sat on Fuzzy and let him drink. Turned to the property's owner and said, "I'll take it."

  Farnsworth smiled like I'd saved him from the fiery pit. He said, "Damned glad to hear it, sir. Oh, didn't get your name."

  "Moon. Henry Moon. And I do require one thing, Mr. Farnsworth. Privacy. The ranch seems to afford me plenty, being as how it's so far from town and all. But I must insist on being left to myself. My visits to Uvalde will be limited—perhaps only to attend an occasional worship service, or resupply wh
en necessary."

  "No need to worry, Mr. Moon. Your closest neighbor is a Mexican family. Juan Martinez and his brood have a hacienda about five miles north and west of here. Doubt you'll see any of them folks more'n two or three times a year."

  "Noticed a storefront church when I arrived."

  "Yes indeed. The Reverend Nathanial Hobbs runs the Baptist version of the come-to-Jesus business in these parts. He arrived in town two years ago. Our congregation has only recently begun construction on a real honest-to-goodness church building. Hobbs preaches out of what once served as an express office a few doors down from the saloon. Sure he'll be pleased to have you attend."

  "And law. What about that?"

  "Reverend Hobbs sees to our souls. Town Marshal Hector Stamps sees to the habits that land us outside Mr. Hobbs's purview. Hector's getting on up there in years, but we don't need much in the way of law here in Uvalde anyhow. Right tame. You're gonna love how peaceful it is around these parts, Mr. Moon."

  By nightfall, we'd visited lawyer Arnette Dagget's office and drawn up an agreement that was more than generous in my direction. When I dropped two years advance rent on the property in his lap, thought Farnsworth would weep.

  Next morning, I purchased a spring wagon, and bought everything I could lay my hands on at the local mercantile. Store was run by a cheerful, ruddy-cheeked feller named Lorenzo Jacks who appeared to have never met a meal he didn't like. He even gave me a first-timer's ten-percent discount on everything I bought. Leastways, he claimed he did.

  I spent the next few months putting my newly acquired house back in order. After the previous occupants of the dwelling had left, several varieties of varmints had moved in. Worst of it was the snakes and scorpions. Found a rattler as big around as my arm under the bed. Scared up a long-handled hoe out near the corral, and chopped his big ole head off. Became real careful about flinging my feet to the floor every morning upon waking after that unnerving discovery. Got to where I took a long hard look all around the room before getting out of the bed from then on. Harbored no hankering for a fate like that poor drover of Mr. Bloodsworth's.

  The former residents had departed in such a rush, they'd left most of their furnishings. Covered with a thick layer of dust, those fixtures would never have been thought of as the best money could buy, but they served me well enough.

  I especially favored the Excelsior cook stove kept under a lean-to shed attached to the end of the house farthest from the sleeping area. Couldn't find a spot of rust on its beautifully forged body. Cast-iron beast came all the way from Quincy, Illinois. Looked brand-new. Couldn't imagine why anyone went to such an expense. Most times, the weather was so hot I was reluctant to fire it up. But I still liked the thing anyway.

  Attended the Reverend Hobbs's church twice during that first month. Sat on the back pew. Had totally forgotten how much I missed the company of good people, heartfelt music, and the presence of a forgiving Lord.

  Second time I showed for the whooping, hollering, preaching, and singing, spotted a damned nice-looking gal a few pews closer to the front. Tall, rangy, and auburn-haired. Her chiseled good looks made her something akin to tomboyish in appearance. Really liked the way her short-cropped hair curled around her ear. The curve of her neck lit me up like a Roman candle.

  Did some discreet inquiries, and discovered she was the only daughter of my landlord, the peerless Mr. Farnsworth. Don't know why, but he wasn't in attendance on the days I spent eyeballing her every chance I got.

  The talkative Mr. Jacks said, "Her name's Ella. She's a fine young woman, but headstrong as hell. I've heard as how she's tomboy enough to have beat the hell out of most of the young men in these parts at one time or 'tother. Most of 'em figure she'd make a right fine catch bein' as how her father's the richest man in these parts. Yeah, Ella's 'bout as beautiful as they come, but rough as a cob."

  Next time I showed for services, caught her sneaking glances my direction. Stopped Farnsworth on the boardwalk outside the church and kept him talking, until the girl presented herself. He introduced us. Could tell right off she was way more than a little bit interested in Henry Moon, and a lot better-looking the closer I got. Gal had sky blue eyes and the kind of mouth that could make a man think less-than-pure thoughts.

  Way she batted those big blues at me left not a single doubt in my mind as to her intentions. It's like that with small-town girls. Local boys get all the new wore off of them quicker than double-greased lightning. Stranger comes along, and a whole new world opens up for such love-starved females. Leastways, that's what I always thought, and told myself, at every lustful opportunity.

  Next morning, Ella Farnsworth reined up outside my front doorway before daylight hit. Woke me from a dreamy sleep when she fired off a pistol. Grabbed my own smoke pole and jerked the door open. Came damned close to shooting her off that pinto pony she rode. But I have to admit, I wasn't a bit surprised by her fiery appearance. Fact is, I expected her.

  Gal still held the smoking gun when she crossed her arms over the saddle horn and said, "Get dressed, Mr. Moon."

  "What the hell for?" I mumbled through the haze of unfinished repose.

  "Sun's comin' up in a bit."

  "Usually happens every morning, if I remember correctly, Miss Farnsworth. Could be wrong about such definitive statements, though, seeing as how, most mornings, I sleep until good daylight wakes me up."

  "Well, you're already up now, Moon. No time to waste. So put your pants on. We're going for a ride."

  I figured what the hell. Might as well go along. Didn't have anything to lose, and not much else to do. Like most men, I got to thinking—and hoping. Told myself it could be she had something special in mind. Something real special.

  I couldn't have been more wrong about her purpose. She led me out to what had to be the tallest pile of rocks within fifty miles. We tied our animals to a mesquite tree at the base, and started our climb to the top along a narrow, steep, but well-worn trail.

  As I struggled along behind her, she said, "Ain't as high as Turkey Mountain. Don't even have an official name as far as I know." She stopped just long enough to point out a barely visible rock formation ahead. "Been callin' this spot Elephant Butte ever since I was ten years old." In the rapidly diminishing shadows, the stack of stones truly did look something like an elephant. "There's a fine view of your place from up here, too, Mr. Moon. 'Course we won't be able to see it till good light."

  By the time we arrived at the peak, I huffed and puffed like a fully loaded M.K. & T. freight trying to get started on oil-slicked rails. We hadn't managed to settle ourselves more than a minute or so when she handed me a bacon and egg sandwich. I was hungry as hell and appreciated her good sense. 'Bout then, a glorious sun peeked over the horizon and introduced a barren but wildly beautiful world to a whole new day.

  Soft, amber glow crept across a desolate land in vivid hues that started with purple, turned to blue, then brown and orange, with hints of almost every color of the rainbow. Remember thinking, it's breathtaking and deceptively peaceful.

  Ella sounded captivated when she breathed, "Beautiful, ain't it, Moon?"

  Tried, but couldn't remember a point in years when I'd had either the time or inclination to stop and appreciate anything like a sunrise. Been running and killing ever since I broke the chains that held me to my abusive, lunatic father. The realization of how barren the lonely life I'd lived up till then was hit me like the entirety of Elephant Butte had fallen on me. Felt as though God dropped an anvil on my heart, all the way from Heaven's front gate.

  Only thing I could choke out was, "Yes, Ella, as you say. It's absolutely beautiful."

  Thought the gal was still engrossed in the event, because she didn't turn my way when she said, "I've never brought anyone else to this spot before, Moon. This is a very private place for me. I love my time here, mainly because I can't remember anyone else showing up to bother me. Never thought the boys here'bouts would appreciate just sitting and watching the sun come up. I knew
you would as soon as Pa introduced us yesterday." Then she grabbed my hand and said, "I could feel it when you touched me."

  That act of unpracticed tenderness, shown by a girl who'd been described to me as wilder than an uncurried fuzztail, came as a complete surprise. Like just about every other woman-hungry man in the world, I thought for sure her aim that glorious morning was to see how fast she could get me out of my pants and into hers.

  But as time passed, and we marveled together at the waking of the world, I came to realize that Ella Famsworth obviously lived with the burden of a misleading reputation. To put it bluntly, she was lonely. About as lonely as anyone I'd ever met.

  Although the morning light revealed hints of a hardened personality etched in the fine lines of her young face, I quickly determined those marks were most likely the result of the only defenses available for a very private person forced to lead a public life as the solitary child of Uvalde's richest man. For those reasons, and others, I felt an immediate kinship and affection for the girl.

  From that morning forward, till it got so hot even Satan would've hunted for some shade, Ella came by every other day or so, and we headed for Elephant Butte to watch God bring the world back to life. Beautiful girl kissed me for the first time up there. Sweetest, most invigorating contact I'd ever had with any female—well, maybe with the exception of Charlotte Hickerson. Difference was that Charlotte gave up everything quick as she could. Ella offered ruby lips and the burning possibility of mysterious things yet to come. Been my experience that, when it comes to women, mystery wins every time.

  But Elephant Butte wasn't that gal's only surprise. After about three weeks of our early morning raids into the wilds for her sunrise ceremonies, she showed up extra early on one particularly beautiful daybreak. Carried several cane poles and a can of worms.

  "What's all this?" I asked.

  "Don't know if Pa showed you or not, but there's a stock tank about two miles northeast of here. Actually, it's on the land you leased. Has some mighty good pan-sized fish. We're going fishin', Moon."