“How did your wife die?”
He crossed the room and lowered himself into a gaily-colored, overstuffed chair that occupied a place of prominence in front of the bay window. “She died right here...sitting in this very chair. She just took sick an’ withered away after a spell. Had a real bad cough that made her cough up blood from time ta time.” He began picking methodically at the arm of the chair with a nervous fingernail.
She went to him and lowered herself onto the circular braided brown rug that the chair rested on. “I-I’m sorry. I truly know how you feel. My own mother died the same way.”
He smiled down at her, placed a hand atop her head, and began stroking her hair lightly. “I hope you don’t die before yer time as well,” he said and tenderly patted the side of her head. He pushed his way up from the chair while she pulled her way to her feet using the arm of the chair. “C’mon, squirt, I’ll show you around the place.
She picked up her things from where she had stacked them just inside the front door and followed him.
The house was indeed delightful, just as her first impression might have indicated. The room he showed her, where she was to sleep, was small but certainly more than adequate. She dumped her belongings onto the comfortable-looking bed that lined one wall and followed him through the kitchen and out the back door.
There were a generous number of yellow and white flowers in full bloom in the beds that lined both sides of the walkway. She stopped to pick one and placed it near her nose. She took a good sniff. “This is a daisy, isn’t it?”
“That it is. That was my wife’s favorite flower. She planted them. Her name was Daisy.”
“Oh...eh...I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said around a heartfelt smile. “Those flowers are still here for a reason. I figger that as long as they keep blooming, she’ll always be a part of this farm.”
She bent forward and kissed him lightly on his cheek. “You’re a good man, Mister Johnny Appleseed...ta be exact.”
Chapter 5
Dolly opened her eyes, feeling completely refreshed and ready to face whatever might come her way. The bed had been as comfortable as any she could remember ever having had the pleasure of sleeping in—even her own out at the J Bar R. She felt a twinge of guilt about that, but let it fall by the wayside. After all, her whole entire life was going to be different now. So what difference should it make if she found new things that pleased her, or even preferred one thing over another?
A light tapping on the door demanded her attention. “Yes? Who is it?” she asked pleasantly, and began stretching mightily until her hands bottomed out against the headboard.
“Who do ya think?” Came Nate’s gruff answer.
She grinned wickedly. “Oh, it’s you. I was expecting Prince Charming, judging from this little castle you’ve got here.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about no Prince Charmin’, or any of them other no-accounts. What I do know about, though, is that we got chores to do and gunfightin’ to learn. So...if I can be so rude as to interrupt your much needed beauty sleep, I’d appreciate it if you was to drag yer butt outta that bed and c’mon out here an’ choke down some of these vittles I just got done fixing.”
She smiled widely while easily imagining the one that had to be spread across his face as well. It was certainly going to be an experience matching wits with Mister Johnny Appleseed...ta be exact.
She listened to his fading footfalls as he retreated. She then folded back the bedding and swung her legs over the side as she sat up on the edge of the bed. She stretched again, this time unhampered by the wooden headboard. The morning air was brisk and she used both hands to rub some warmth into her upper arms. The delightful sound of a bird singing outside her partially open window easily reached her ears.
She smiled with pleasant contentment.
She rose, pulling on her trousers in the process, and then slipped into her shirt. After buttoning it, and stuffing the tail into the tops of the trousers, she held her arm up to her nose and vowed to wash the shirt at the first opportunity. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulled her socks on, while vowing to give them a good going over as well. She then dumped each boot in turn before pulling them on; many nights on the trail had taught her the necessary precautions to insure she didn’t step on some poisonous bug or something that had decided to cozy up in there for the night. She put the finishing touches on by buttoning the pants, buckling the belt, and heading for the door.
“Mornin’,” Nate said without looking up from the skillet of biscuits he was toting to the table. “Yer just in time. Sit yerself down an’ have a mouthful or two.”
“You sure it’s safe?”
“Nope...but then again, I ain’t near come close to giving up the ghost from eatin’ my own cooking. An’ I been bein’ faced with having to partake of it for nigh onto a whole year now.”
She rested a feigned, critical eye on him. “You look like you’re not on the verge of keeling over anytime soon. Might be okay at that.”
She took the indicated seat and sat patiently while she waited for him to take his place in the other one.
“Don’t wait on me,” he said as he dumped the biscuits into a straw basket and covered them with a fold of the towel that’d been placed in it beforehand.
“If you don’t mind, I’d just as soon,” she said.
“Suit yerself,” he replied, and carried the now-empty skillet back to the sink where he noisily let it fall into the basin and sizzle its way into the tepid water. He hastily returned to the breakfast table and lowered himself into the chair. He reached for a biscuit.
She stopped him by placing a hand atop his.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing much. It’s just that it goes against my grain to eat a sit-down meal without first thanking the Lord for it.”
He smiled pleasantly. “Daisy always said the same thing.”
After the grace, they ate every morsel that he’d prepared: bacon, eggs, biscuits, and even all the gravy he ha d whipped up to lavish on top of the biscuits.
She sat back from the table and patted her stomach contentedly. “That, Sir, was a handsome breakfast. You always cook like that?”
“Yep...up until now that is. From now on, though, you got the job. You do know how to cook, don’t cha?”
“That I do...but I don’t mind telling you that I’ll be hardpressed to beat what you just whipped up.”
He rose and began gathering some of the dishes together. “That’s okay. I ain’t expectin’ you to beat it...just do as well is all what’s necessary.”
She rose also and started helping. “I’ll certainly do my best,” she assured him and chuckled her amusement.
The chores amounted to nothing more than scattering some feed for a handful of chickens, collecting the meager offering of eggs from the coop, and milking the Holstein that was about as docile as a newborn kitten. He milked the cow while she tended to feeding the sparse gathering of chickens and collecting the usual two or three eggs.
The next order of business was for them to get right down to the brass taxes of what it was going to take to give her a better than even chance of survival once she lit out after the three varmints whose memory continued to consume her.
They sat side by side on the swing that took up most of the available space on the modest front porch.
“Sure is pleasant here,” she said softly, and looked around at the ample shade trees that graced the area around the farmhouse and surrounding buildings.
“Does that mean yer content to forget about this whole revenge an’ killin’ business? Might even be that you’d opt for taking part in the apple-growin’ business.”
She placed a hand on top of his as it rested on his knee. She looked into his saddened eyes. “I wish it did,” she said softly. “I truly wish it did,” she repeated wistfully.
Figuring that she was about as set in her ways as anyone could be, he sighed heavily. “Okay then, first things first. You need to
know that no matter what yer motivations are for killin’ someone, the day’ll come when the motivation will have left and all that’ll be left inside of you will be a hard inner core without any feelin’s to speak of.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Call it what you will. But I’d just as soon call it a bad time in my life that lasted way too long...six nearly devastating years ta be exact.”
“You wanna tell me about it?”
“No…but I’m gonna anyways.”
She listened with genuine interest as he told her a story that was nearly beyond belief. It was one of being on the dodge from the law while being called-out by a multitude of young gunnies that had a hankering to add to their fledgling reputations. He told of having no place to hide, no place to call home, or no place to even lie down and die if he took the notion to. He told of more than one occasion when he had decided to let the next challenger drill him dead center. But it was always the same. When it came right down to kill or be killed, his basic survival instincts would kick in and he’d shoot first and straight.
“How many gunfights were you in, and how many men did you kill?” she wanted to know.
“I ain’t proud to say that I honestly don’t recall for sure. I quit countin’ an’ carving notches after the eighth one.”
She was incredulous. “Eight? I just can’t believe that you would—”
“Well, be that as it may, all told the final tally was most likely right around twelve poor unfortunate souls...near as I can recollect.”
“But why...why didn’t you stop? And what got you started in the first place?”
“Those, my pretty little lady friend, are the two questions that nearly drove me clean outta my mind in later years. I guess it all got started cuz I was a fool, feisty troublemaker that didn’t know no better. I figgered I was a hard case and practiced up to the point of where I needed ta test my abilities against another fella instead of all them cans ’n bottles perched atop fenceposts. Once I bested that first man, things just kinda got all blowed up outta proportion after that. As far as stoppin’ went...well, I reckon things just kinda kept gettin’ further ’n further outta hand, while the young guns that kept bracin’ me made sure my skills were never allowed to get rusty.”
“I-I’m sorry...it must’ve been terrible.”
“Don’t be sorry, Dolly. If you don’t change yer mind right now…before it’s too late, yer more’n likely gonna be in for the same kinda misery. Leastwise until you either finally go up against someone who shades ya, or you get fortunate enough ta find the right motivation to make ya call it quits...same’s I finally did.”
“And what was that?”
“Daisy,” he said simply, stood, and walked to the edge of the porch. “Last chance, Missy,” he said, then turned and looked down at her. “You still wanna get yerself all tangled up in things you’ll have little to no control over?”
“No sir, I don’t, but I don’t see where I have much choice.”
He returned to where she sat. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he said remorsefully, resumed his seat in the swing, and sighed heavily. “Okay then, if that’s the way it has to be then I reckon that’s the way it has to be. Let’s begin by you tellin’ me what you know about them fellas. It always pays to size-up yer opponent right before ya kill him.”
She drew back from the harshness of the words. “I-I—”
“Don’t be going soft just yet, Missy. You ain’t even kilt no one yet.”
She sucked in a deep breath, taking in its calming effects before beginning, “Like I said, there were three of them. One was older. The other two were his sons.” She searched her memory before continuing. “I remember that he introduced them by name. One was Jacob or Jake or something like that.”
“You need to be absolute sure of a fella before you set out to kill him. Now think real hard. What was the name?”
Her face grew ashen as she remembered back to that faithful day, reliving as much of it as she dared. Finally, she looked him straight in the eye. “His name was Jake and the other one was Wes...no, Walt. His name was Walt.”
“Yer sure?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anythin’ about either of ’em that sticks in yer mind? Anything atall? Any marks or scars? Anything?”
She again searched her memory, unable to readily come up with anything unusual.
“Was any of ’em wearin’ their iron tied down?”
“I don’t think so. I mean...no.”
“Well, if yer sure about that, then that’d be a good thing. At least they most likely weren’t gunnies.”
“I’m pretty sure they were just saddletramps out to see what trouble they could stir up,” she said.
“That ain’t likely. It’d be unusual for a gent to have his two boys out roamin’ the countryside without some kinda purpose in mind. I ain’t sayin’ it ain’t possible though. But for now...” He rose. “You need to go get yer six-gun an’ show me what I got ta work with here.”
“I don’t know. I-I—”
“Look, Dolly, this ain’t no time to be gettin’ all bashful or self conscious about things. You just said you was wantin’ ta get on with this whole shebang...and now yer—”
“Alright! Alright! It’s just that it’s such a big step.”
“You got that right, squirt. Now, either you make up yer mind once an’ for all and go get yer hogleg, or forget the whole entire thing an’ quit wasting my time…and yers.”
She hesitated for a few more seconds then resigned herself and went into the house to strap on her gunbelt.
At the same time she headed for her room, he went to the screened-in porch at the back of the house, and after rummaging through a dilapidated trunk, was able to come out with a pearl handled Colt Peacemaker that rested snuggly in a black holster that was wrapped inside a stud-lined black gunbelt. The belt, as well as the pistol, had been well oiled and appeared to be in tip-top condition. He cradled it against his chest. Tears of remembrance appeared almost instantly and clouded his vision. He quickly brushed them aside and rose. He unwrapped it, and slung the belt around his waist with practiced familiarity. He caught the other end as it came around and expertly buckled it. The tears threatened to reappear. He forced them away, closed the trunk, and went back into the main part of the house.
When he reached the front porch, she was already there. The first time he had ever laid eyes on her he’d seen that she was not only left handed, same as him, but she wore her gun waist high. “You figger that’s the best way to wear a shootin’ iron for a fast draw?” He began to tie the leather thong that would hold his holster securely against his thigh.
“Well...I-I...I guess I never thought much about it before.”
“Might wanna start givin’ it some thought. The less motion a fella needs to use when goin’ for his hogleg the better. Watch.”
As she looked on, he assumed a slight crouch. The next instant the gun was in his hand.”
“What the—?”
“See what I mean?”
Her eyes had grown to nearly twice their normal size. “Yeah, I see. But...holy cow! That was fast!”
“That was only fast by comparison. Years ago I’d a been bested if I’d a drawed anywhere near that slow. No…you might wanna change yer way of thinking about what’s fast an’ what ain’t. Now, let’s see what cha got.” He flicked an index finger toward her pistol.
She was hesitant but did as she was told. She did the best she could to imitate the slight crouch she had just seen him use. After all, it stood to reason that it had to have something to do with an old man like him being able to draw the way he just did. When she was ready, she went for the gun. He had his out way before she’d even gotten a good hold on the handle. And as far as she could remember, he hadn’t even used the crouch.
“I think I need some work,” she offered sheepishly.
Nate replaced his Colt, letting it slip effortlessly into the holster.
“You might have a point there, squirt. But work ain’t what I got in mind. Fact is...I’d just as soon think of it as learning. The word work has an unsavory kinda meaning stickin’ to it when it comes to improving yer skills. Work would be more like going out inta them orchards and pullin’ them apples off’n them trees. No…I’m figgerin’ learning an’ practicing is what you’ll be doing.”
“You don’t need to split hairs about it,” she said, wondering why he had been so...so adamant about the difference.
“Splitting hairs is one thing, but keepin’ yer interest in what’s most likely gonna be a long, drawn-out learning’ experience is another. No…learning an’ practicing is the best way to be goin’ about it alright.”
“I-I...I guess I see your meaning...I think.”
“I hope so. Cuz if you don’t then this whole thing will be for naught in the long run. If yer ever gonna be as good with a pistol as you’ll need to be, you’ll be needing to take a whole lotta pleasure each time you reach for it.” He sucked in a deep breath. “So, now...what say we spend some time with me showing you the best way to handle and care for the gun itself? After maybe a week or so, I’ll start lettin’ you show me if ya learnt anything.”
“A week? A whole week? Why so long? Heck...I just wanna learn to draw real fast and shoot things, like those bottles and cans you were talking about.”
He smiled and shook his head slightly. “You got it all mixed-up squirt, that’s the practicin’ part. What we need to work on first is the learning part.”
Chapter 6
Dolly devoted herself to the task ahead and quickly learned the workings of a pistol inside and out. Her knowledge quickly grew to the point where she could take one apart and clean it with her eyes closed. Once she had reached that point, he showed her the same with a rifle. Although she couldn’t understand why it was important to know all there was to know about a rifle, she didn’t object. Instead, she took it all in, eager for anything he could teach her.
She Wore It Tied-Down Page 4
