by LeMay, Jim
Maude was already getting painfully to her feet. “Out back. I’ll get him. He ought to be in here.”
“Yes he should,” said Matt. “Let me mention something before you go after him though. We don’t expect any trouble from these people. They aren’t the kind to go around hurting people they don’t know, and they certainly don’t have anything against you. Or against me either. They don’t know me any more than they do you. In fact, I’m going to sit right out here in front of your door and talk to them. Just go along with everything I say and we’ll make it just fine.”
He tried giving them a reassuring smile but knew it came across as wan. They regarded him with various levels of apprehension and distrust. The one named Clarence or Claude was still openly hostile. Maude’s expression was more ambiguous.
“We don’t particularly care if you all kill each other,” she said, “your gang of ruffians and that other one. But not in our town. Not with John here. That’s why we’ll back you, so that you’ll leave and carry on your business elsewhere as soon as possible.” She went out the back to fetch the boy.
Matt nodded his thanks, tried to smile again, and closed the door. He squatted on the sidewalk with his back against the wall beside the door. He waited. Only then did he begin to worry that one of the men had inadvertently left something lying around that would give them away, or that some factor had escaped their consideration. And then too, just how reliable were these townspeople?
It was too late to do more now. They’d soon know if their ruse had worked or not and if they had been right to trust the townspeople.
It began to seem as though his vigil was drawing out too long, even accounting for the stress of waiting. Occasionally he looked down the street. No sign of them. But he couldn’t see as far as the southern edge of town where the Fever sign was posted. He could visualize them hesitating while studying the sign, trying to decide whether to continue their quest in the face of disease, wondering if this could be a new outbreak of Chou’s with its promise of a nearly certain death sentence.
At last he saw them, tiny with distance, a knot of men moving up the pocked street. One of them noticed him and pointed. As they approached, another dread assailed him – that he could not play his role convincingly. He had left his broad brimmed slouch hat in the basement because such hats were favored by scroungers. He wore the moccasins he took trucking for use in camp instead of his boots. The boots were of a type only to be acquired in places like Nellie’s Fair and would seem incongruous in an isolated community like this.
They were close now. He took on the vacuous stare he had practiced for this role, one so common in these disintegrating little towns, the look of a man who had lived with fear and loss so long that even fear had become monotonous and loss made him long for death just to get it done with.
At last the men stopped before him. Their leader approached him alone, leaving the others in a nervous huddle in the center of the street, as if they felt threatened by the cadaverous buildings looking down on them. He remembered that the gang had huddled around Mitch in much the same fashion when they first come to town. A shotgun rested in the crook of the leader’s arm. He looked tired and despondent as though he disliked his job. He regarded Matt with pity and contempt, evidence that Matt’s act had worked so far.
“You the only one here?” the man demanded.
Matt looked up slowly as if he had just noticed the man, took his time answering.
“There’s some old folks inside. And a boy. The others died.”
The man’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Was he suspicious? Matt’s heart beat a little faster. He forced himself to remain motionless, expressionless.
Without warning the man lifted his foot and planted a solid kick to the left side of Matt’s head against the door. The door flew open with a splintery crash. He knew the man was watching him for some reaction. He remained as still as the wall behind him, didn’t flutter an eyelid.
The man stepped inside the room with his shotgun ready, looked around for a moment and stepped back outside, glared down at Matt.
“Any men come through here? ’Bout a dozen. Armed.”
“Nobody comes through here. Scared of the Fever.”
The man continued looking at Matt without speaking for a moment, tiredly, sadly.
“These men we’re lookin’ for, they’s criminals,” he said. “They’s thieves and murderers. If you know anything ’bout ’m, it’d be t’ your good t’ tell us. Could save your skins.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you none.”
He regarded Matt for another moment as one might a sickly animal, then turned and gave an order for the main street to be searched. The men split into two groups and moved in both directions along the street, examining the buildings in the same perfunctory manner the leader had checked the townspeople’s apartment, by kicking open the doors and glancing briefly inside. Their hearts clearly weren’t in their mission. Matt knew how they felt; with medical facilities practically non-existent, entering a possibly disease ridden town was a potential death sentence, even if the disease were less virulent than Chou’s. That they had come to the town at all reaffirmed two things to Matt: that their fear of their boss was stronger than their fear of Chou’s, and that Chadwick was set on exterminating the remainder of Johnson’s gang.
After what seemed an eternity, the gang regrouped with their leader where they had started in the middle of the street. A brief discussion ensued in which they convinced each other that there was no need to search the rest of the town. The skinny guy was certainly right, they said; it didn’t look like anybody else had lived here in a long time. It didn’t make sense, they said, to keep poking around here while these “criminals” were getting farther away every hour. They wouldn’t catch up with the others until way after dark even if they left now.
The leader came back to stand over Matt.
“Listen, if y’all see these guys or hear anything ’bout ’m let us know. If you can git t’ Columbia – you know where that is? – good.” (His expression showed he didn’t think it likely that Matt or the others could make it that far.) “Then ask for Boss Chadwick or Del Matheson.” (So Mitch’s shot hadn’t hit Matheson, or at least hadn’t seriously injured him.) “They’ll see that it’s worth your while. Winter’s comin’ on, and I reckon y’all ‘d welcome a few pack horses full of vittles ‘fore the cold hits. Maybe some blankets.”
He spoke in an almost kindly manner. Matt looked at the leader closely for the first time. He had a weathered brown face, a rather thin brown beard, and strangely sad brown eyes. A brown man, maybe not an altogether bad guy.
But he had helped kill three of us, Matt reminded himself. And he wants to kill the rest of us.
“I’ll remember what you say,” he said. I promise I won’t ever forget what you did. And I’ll get even with you for it if I ever get a chance.
The leader rejoined his men and led them out of town the way they had come. Maybe the man was sincere, he thought. Maybe he was a fairly recent recruit that joined Chadwick’s entourage after he took over Columbia and believes what he’s been told about Johnson and his gang, that they were “criminals”.
But he still participated in the ambush. Those with him did, too.
Matt didn’t allow himself to feel relief until the men were out of sight. Then he went to the barn and watched from the haymow as they reached the highway, turned west, and rounded the bend into the woods that their companions had taken earlier. Only then did he roll over on his back, in much the same position he had found Kincaid a couple of hours earlier (only two hours!?) and let out a tremendous sigh.
Then he returned to the apartment. Amazingly, the oldsters had gone back to their card game, though John huddled closely by Maude’s side. Matt stepped awkwardly around the door, which hung from one hinge, partially blocking the doorway.
“I’ll fix the door for you before bad weather gets here,” he said.
“Clarence can do that,” said Maude with
out looking up from her hand. “He does things like that for us. You’ve probably got too much education to be very handy.”
Matt shrugged. “I suppose that’s true, but it’s our fault the door’s broken. We should be responsible for fixing it.”
Clarence (not Claude) glared up at him. “Yeah, but we want t’ know it’s fixed right. We don’t want it whipped open by the first heavy wind an’ have snow blowin’ up our ass. I’ll fix it t’ make sure.”
Then Maude looked up. “I assume your, uh, colleagues are gone.”
“Yes. Yes, they’re gone. I don’t expect them back.”
“Good.” She turned back to her hand.
He looked down at the crouching boy, John. “You were a brave kid.”
The boy smiled shyly, his chin trembling slightly. Matt left to rejoin his men.
Chapter Eight
As soon as Matt rejoined the gang, Mitch sent Miller and Rossi to the guard posts – just because Chadwick’s men had gone did not preclude their return – and called a confab with the rest to determine their next move.
“First of all,” he said. “Let’s figger out where we stand.”
“That’s easy,” said Doc. “We’re nine men, mostly purty banged up, runnin’ from a hunnert or so murderers. They killt three a us, are fixin’ t’ stiff the rest, took ever’thing we had, our truck, our scratch, our food, our mules. And here we set, prob’ly within a week a their hole-up in Columbia.” He looked around. “Am I wrong?”
Stony rolled his one good eye and said, “As usual, yes. First of all, even though some a us got knocked aroun’ a little bit, we’re gittin’ better, in spite a you takin’ care a us. In the second place, we’re settin’ in a town full a truck. Looks like only the main drag’s been scrounged. If we can git the truck t’ Billy Kane’s place, he’ll prob’ly have mules t’ sell us. An’ we don’t have t’ pay him all at oncet. Though we do have the stash t’ fall back on if we need it. An’ some a us got a little savings in the bank.”
“It don’t bother you none,” said Doc, “bein’ this close t’ Columbia?”
“Best place we could be,” said Stony. “Now that they been through here, they won’t come back. They’d never ’spect t’ find us this close t’ home anyways.”
“I swear t’ God,” said Doc, shaking his head, “if ‘twas up t’ you y’d lead us right up t’ Chadwick an’ say, ‘Here we are’.”
“Maybe Stony could cook for him,” said Lou, “and get rid of him once and for all.”
The others laughed, Stony along with them.
Mitch cleared his throat and drew his black brows together. “I think we’re gittin’ off track. We’ve spent enough time figgerin’ out where we are. It’s time t’ plan our next moves: c’lectin’ the truck, gittin’ it t’ Billy’s, buyin’ the mules.”
“How do we git the truck to Kane’s?” asked Leighton. “Wish it there? In case ever’body forgot, them assholes got our mules.”
“We’re probably not too far north of the Missouri River,” said Matt. “If we can get it that far, we can float it down to Wild Billy’s. We could make some rafts, maybe even be lucky enough to find boats.”
“Floatin’ down the river takes us t’wards Columbia,” said Doc.
“But not all the way,” said Mitch. “Kane’s Cove is still this side a Columbia, an’ it’s a ways up the Grange River from where the Grange meets the Missouri. I think it’s a good plan. If we git t’ work right away, like tomorrow, we can c’lect truck and find a market – hopefully a far piece from Columbia – afore the harvest season’s over.”
“But this only solves the immediate problem,” said Doc, “which is how t’ git some quick income, replace our scratch an’ our mules. Then we gotta face our main problem. What t’ do ’bout Chadwick.”
“I think we oughta head for safer country,” said Lou. “There’s truck all over America just waiting to be had. No need to stay here; we can do our business anywhere. We got our stash and savings to stake us to get out of here. I say we get as much truck as we can out of this town, sell it, retrieve our stash, and head out as soon as possible. I’m from Colorado, a helluva lot friendlier climate than this and a long way away from Chadwick. I wouldn’t mind heading back there before I get too old for trucking. I’ll bet there’s a lot of truck along the Front Range and a lot of folks to buy it.”
“That sounds like a plan t’ me,” said Doc. “I don’t even give a shit ’bout the truck in this godforsaken place. I wouldn’t mind just gittin’ our stash an’ headin’ out. The sooner we go the less chance Chadwick’s boys has a findin’ us.”
“Colorado sounds good t’ me too,” said Stony, “but I think we oughta gather up an’ sell this truck we’re settin’ on. I mean it’s right here, we’re right here. We could sell it on our way t’ Colorado.”
“What’s Colorado like?” asked Kincaid, clearly excited by the prospects of a new adventure.
Lou grinned. “There’s a huge long city that stretches along the east side of the mountains, which are called the Front Range, from Fort Collins down through Denver to Colorado Springs and beyond. There’s mountains that touch the sky, the biggest sky you’ve ever seen. Air so pure you get higher by just breathing than by smoking the best weed in Nellie’s Fair. Air so clear you could see all the way around the world till you see the back of your head if the mountains weren’t in the way.”
Stony applauded. “I didn’t know you engineers was such poets.”
Matt grinned. “Only when they’re from Colorado and they get a chance to lie about it.”
“Another great thing about Colorado,” said Lou. “None of this goddamned humidity. After you step out of a bath in this muggy heat, it doesn’t help to dry yourself off. Rub yourself all over with a towel and you end up still wet. And the towel’s wet too! When you get out of a tub in Colorado, the air’s so dry you’re dry before you grab the towel.”
They talked further about the logistics of collecting truck and how to get it to the river and from there to Kane’s. Leighton was uncharacteristically quiet. Finally he said, “What about us, me an’ Miller an’ Rossi an’ Jack? You always make it clear as hell we don’t git none a that fuckin’ stash so how d’ we replace our scratch? When there’s a confab, y’ send two a us t’ the guard posts so y’ can decide ever’thing just like we don’t count. It ain’t our fault we got our scratch stole an’ almost got our ass shot off.”
“Red has a point,” said Matt. “It’s true that the stash belongs to us older guys because we got it before they joined the gang. But like Red pointed out earlier the ambush wasn’t the younger guys’ fault. We older fucks are responsible. They got involved only because they happened to be with us. But they faced it as bravely as we did. Leighton and Miller stayed with Lou and me to hold off the gang while everyone else got away. I think the stash should be used to replace their scratch along with ours. They’ve earned it.”
Leighton looked at him in a new way, not with gratitude exactly, but a little surprised, and without the usual hostility.
Mitch listened intently, then looked at the other older men.
“I don’t think nobody has a grievance with that. Right, boys?”
“Hell, no,” said Lou. “Matt’s absolutely right.” Then he laughed. “Hell, these kids are our next generation.”
“That’s a scary thought,” said Doc with a sour grin. “But even I agree with Matt. Y’ all know I ain’t a big fan a our young’ns, but they ain’t no denyin’ they’ve carried their share a the load. We owe ’m their scratch.”
“Okay,” Mitch said. “T’ summarize: We start scroungin’ this town in the mornin’. Early. We spend two weeks, max, c’lectin’ all the truck we can. Then we find the river, south a here somewheres, carry the truck down t’ it, and head for Wild Billy’s. We buy mules from him, on credit, pack our truck t’ some market as far as we can git from Columbia. Then sell it, dig up our stash, buy all the scratch we need, and head out. Does ever’body agree on Colorado, somew
here ’round Denver?”
Everyone did.
“Okay, Colorado it is. We’ll work out details as we need to.”
“There’s one last thing,” said Lou. “The guys at Summerfield Crossing.”
Mitch’s brows drew together in thought for a moment. Then he looked at Lou and said, “You an’ Matt go take care of ’m tomorrow. But git up early and git back by nightfall. One day’s all we can spare y’. We’re shorthanded the way it is. And for God’s sake be careful – Chadwick’s assholes could be anywhere. Like I said,” with the slightest of grins, “we’re too shorthanded to lose any more. The rest of us’ll start scroungin’ t’morra.
“Now I vote we all go down t’ the draw an’ take some baths and wash some clothes. I can’t stand the smell of y’ any more ’n y’ can stand me. And Stony, why don’t y’ fix us a really great dinner?”
They eagerly headed for the draw, free at last to leave the increasingly noisome confines of the basement. As Stony and Doc built a fire and heated water for baths and laundry, the others sat around and talked quietly in the dark. The fire drew them all together in a certain sense of camaraderie. Soon Lou fell asleep on the grassy side of the draw, lulled by the fire’s heat. Mitch sat apart from the others, perhaps planning their next few days’ activities. Matt found himself alone in a comfortable silence, enjoying evasion of their foes, at least for now, with profound relief.
In today’s confab, Mitch had again fortified Matt’s confidence in him as a good leader. He had let the others talk everything out, give their opinions on all the issues and kept them focused if they strayed. He was able to give the impression that the men themselves were making the decisions, but it was he who guided the conversation, simplified seeming complications, and cloaked his decisions in the guise of gang consensus. He had displayed these qualities as Johnson’s second in command even though the boss could, and often did, veto him arbitrarily or capriciously. He had always accepted Johnson’s pronouncements with equanimity, but now he was free to use his talent for leadership without compromise.
