First Love Wild Love

by Janelle Taylor

  Chapter Eight

  The stage halted in front of the Keystone Hotel in Lampasas. Ensnared by conflicting emotions, Calinda had hardly noticed the changing scenery along her journey or the passage of time. Fortunately she had been the only passenger since the last stop along the Butterfield route. Yet, she hadn’t given any study as to her planned response to her father. As if numb with shock, she had stared out the window for hours at land which was becoming harsher and drier by the mile.

  She accepted her bag from the driver and glanced around. This instantly depressing town was small and crowded. She noticed the common western structures: the hardware store, the gunsmith shop, the smithy and stables, a bank, an adobe sheriffs office and jail, a saddle-shop, stage depot, barber shop and a bath house, two saloons and one cantina, a combination church and schoolhouse, and other mercantile and specialty shops, all of which were ramshackle or soon would be. Decrepit houses could be seen on either end of the dusty and pitiful town. The vegetation present was sparse and thirsty.

  The hard-packed street was noisy with rickety buckboards, wagons, and mangy horses. Decaying hitching posts and murky water troughs were conveniently placed before each building. Calinda was distressed and alarmed by what her wide gaze discovered. What an awful place; why would anyone wish to live under such conditions? She had to admit the Keystone Hotel looked the cleanest, most durable structure in Lampasas.

  What concerned and panicked her most was the abundance of squalid men. She saw men dressed in grimy and wrinkled clothes, men unshaven and unkempt in all manner, men loud and crude, men armed with one or two guns and sometimes knives and rifles. If there were any decent women around, she didn’t see them. Several saloon girls were basking in the sun on porches overlooking the main street, resting or enticing passing males. Calinda couldn’t believe their vulgar chatter or their indecent clothing. Three men halted to speak to her, eyeing her up and down and grinning lecherously. Others gaped at a distance or called their friends’ attention to her. She promptly concluded she didn’t like this place or feel safe here.

  She ignored the offensive cowboys and walked inside the hotel to register. She questioned the bug-eyed, scrawny clerk about Major Jones. When he found his tongue and used it, he told her he didn’t have any Jones staying there. She hastily inquired about Elliott Braxton and received the same reply. After telling the clerk she was expecting either or both men, she registered. She would freshen up and then find the sheriff of this disgusting and intimidating town. Evidently Jones had been delayed. Perhaps the sheriff had news for her. She didn’t like the appearance or the mood of this town and its inhabitants; she would make her powerful contacts known quickly.

  Calinda selected her most modest gown when she bathed and changed. She donned a bonnet to conceal as much of her face and hair as possible. She didn’t want to draw any more attention than necessary to herself. She asked the clerk for directions to the sheriff’s office, even though she knew where it was located. She was hoping he would suggest he escort her along that crowded street. He didn’t.

  Summoning her courage, Calinda left the hotel and walked down the wooden-planked walkway. Since there were saloons on both sides, she had no choice but to pass one or the other. Rowdy men were standing in the batwing doorways or perched on hitching posts, as if they had nothing better to occupy their time and energies in the middle of a workday. She recalled her mother saying that idle hands and bored minds were the devil’s playland. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin proudly to reveal false courage, then steadily continued her walk. Cowboys on horses slowed to observe her progress and beauty. The men she passed halted their talks to stare openly at her, some turning to watch the gentle swaying of her skirt as she moved away.

  She received admiring glances and brazen greetings, all of which she haughtily ignored. As she approached the dreaded saloon, her heart began to run ahead of her. She increased her pace to get by it quickly.

  “Howdy, Ma’am,” one cowpoke said, flashing a broad grin.

  Calinda didn’t slow or speak. “Yer new ’round these parts, ain’t you?” his friend attempted to catch her attention.

  “What’s yer big hurry? How’s ‘bout sharin’ yer name and a little talk?” the first man tried again, reaching for her arm.

  Calinda jerked it away and glared at him. “You will kindly keep your hands and words to yourself, sir,” she admonished him.

  “I’ll swan’, Pete, uh fancy lady,” he remarked, not the least discouraged. “She don’t cotton to us’ens. Uh plumb shame.”

  “Yeh, pretty ’un too,” his shabby friend agreed.

  “Caint blame ’er. Yer smells wors’n kee-arn,” he joked merrily.

  “You boys ain’t pestering this lady, are you?” a steely voice spoke from behind her. “You need some help and protection, Ma’am?”

  Calinda kept moving. The tall gunslinger moved forward to block her path, nearly causing her to tumble against him. “How dare you accost me, sir! Move out of my way this instant,” she demanded.

  A lop-sided grin captured and twisted his lips; his blue eyes sparkled with amusement and pleasure. His playful expression revealed two things: mischief and determination. “It’s a hot and dusty day, Ma’am. Why don’t we go to the cantina to wet our throats? Looks like you need a strong hand and fast gun to defend you against all these hungry wolves. Why I’d be obliged to take care of you.”

  “I don’t need or want your assistance, sir. I’m on my way to the sheriff’s office, and I can find it alone,” Calinda informed him, fighting to control her tone of voice and trembling.

  “You got a long wait, Ma’am; he’s out at the Hardy Ranch. You’d best come along with me till he returns. This here ain’t no safe town for a lady.” His gaze leisurely scrutinized her.

  Calinda watched the devilish lights play in his blue eyes. He wasn’t dissuaded. “Then I shall return to the hotel and wait for him.”

  She turned to leave, but Clint Deavers wouldn’t allow it. “Unhand me this instant or I’ll scream,” she warned.

  Clint laughed. “Ain’t no need to do that, Ma’am. Wouldn’t matter anyway. See these guns? No man here would challenge them, including that lily-livered sheriff. Now you don’t want to go making Clint angry. Let’s have us a nice drink and get acquainted.”

  “I don’t care to drink or converse with you. Release me!” she shouted at him, trying to pull free.

  Clint patiently waited for her to realize she couldn’t get away and no one would come to her aid. She looked around. No one had moved. Anyone watching them seemed afraid of going against those guns Clint had boasted of earlier. It was apparent she was defenseless. She wished she had the gun Rankin had purchased for her. If so, this ruffian wouldn’t be treating her in this vile manner.

  “If the sheriff is out, then perhaps my uncle has arrived. I can assure you he will not be bullied as these other so-called men. Do you know if Major Jones of the Texas Rangers has arrived to meet me?” She desperately attempted to trick this persistent man.

  “Your uncle’s a Ranger? He’s coming here?” he asked, trying to conceal the panic which glimmered in his eyes before he could hide it.

  So, she hastily decided, it was true; all men feared the Rangers, even a solitary one. Her lagging courage returned. “Yes. Why else would I come to a horrible town like this! If you do not show me the respect due to a lady, my uncle will deal severely with you.”

  “He ain’t here now, and he might not come,” Clint called her bluff, grinning as if undaunted by her claims or the Rangers’ power.

  “When he does arrive, he will be furious at your treatment. Have you ever known a Ranger to be denied the man he seeks? And I can assure you, he won’t rest until he finds you and punishes you.”

  “I think Major Jones will be happy I took such good care of you.”

  “I doubt Major Jones will view your conduct in that same light,” she sarcastically sneered, sensing this man wasn’t going to back down.

  “We
ll, I tell you what, Miss Jones; when your uncle arrives, I’ll be the first to see if he minds you having a drink with Clint Deavers.”

  “You’ll be wasting your time, Mister Deavers. My uncle doesn’t permit me to associate with gunslingers or strangers, nor to partake of strong spirits.” With that refusal, she pulled her arm free and headed for the hotel, forcing her steps to be light and confident.

  Once inside her room, she cried softly to release her tension and terror. She decided she would leave this horrible place tomorrow if Jones or her father failed to appear today. Why had Jones asked her to come to such a dangerous place and then be late? She was distressed by the terrifying confrontation with Clint Deavers. He appeared a man who didn’t take no for an answer, one who would rebel against deceit and resistance. If he suspected her trickery and vulnerability, he might press her again. It was petrifyingly clear that the daring gunslinger feared only the Rangers, and there were none around.

  When Cal finished her evening meal and stood to leave, she froze in trepidation as she sighted Clint Deavers leaning negligently against the doorpost, watching her every move. He tipped his felt hat and smiled seductively at her. He pushed himself away from the doorframe, winked and smugly swaggered outside.

  Calinda wished she had known of his intense observation. If so, she could have prevented the telltale alarm from crossing her pale face. Her unmasked panic would inspire more aggressiveness in him. She wanted to know the truth, but not this badly. It was crazy to stay here. She shouldn’t have come. She would leave in the morning.

  Calinda sounded the bell on the desk many times before the clerk came to answer her summons. “Has there been any word from Major Jones or Elliott Braxton?” she inquired first.

  “Nope,” he said, vexed at being disturbed.

  “I see,” she murmured thoughtfully. “I don’t wish to wait any longer in this awful place. I’ll leave a message for them, if that’s all right with you, sir. What time does the stage leave for Fort Worth?”

  “Ten o’clock…next Saturday,” he sluggishly replied.

  “Next Saturday!” she exclaimed incredulously.

  “Yep. She runs once a week, to and from Fort Worth, each Saturday,” he said, unconcerned by her dismay.

  “But surely there’s another stage sooner?” she helplessly debated.

  “Nope. Didn’t you check the schedule back there?”

  “I just assumed it ran every day or at least every other day. I was planning to buy my return ticket here, after I saw my uncle. He must have been delayed. Please don’t take offense, sir, but I dislike your town. You have so many ruffians. It is not the place for a lady.”

  “Yep,” he readily agreed. “This here area has the reputation as an outlaws’ stronghold. I kin see why your uncle would come here, being a Ranger. But I don’t gain a reason for him ’viting you to meet him.” The weaselly fellow was looking at her oddly, doubtfully.

  “I’m certain he felt I would be perfectly safe under his protection, even under his name alone. I’ll send a telegram to Waco tomorrow and check on his delay,” she announced shakily.

  “Can’t. Telegraph office ain’t open on Sunday.”

  “Can I pay you to deliver a message to the sheriff? I don’t care to walk those streets again with so many rude cowboys lining them.”

  “Can’t tonight, but I’ll take your money come sunup. Sheriff’s out to the Hardy Ranch collecting a horse thief afore those Hardys stretch his neck. Anything else tonight?” he asked impatiently.

  “Nothing, thank you. I’ll speak with you in the morning.”

  Calinda went to her room and locked the door. Just to be on the safe side, she propped a chair beneath the knob and checked her window. Her room was on the second floor and had no porch, so she felt safe leaving the window open for fresh air. She fumed over the clerk’s behavior; he almost appeared delighted over her troubles. She scolded herself for her carelessness. She hadn’t even considered the stage schedule. What if neither man arrived? She was trapped here for another week! She was afraid to leave this hotel. But she needed to send a telegram and see the sheriff. With luck and a little money, she might get the sheriff to come here. If fate was agreeable, things might work out.

  As the hour grew later and darkness engulfed the town, Calinda dared not undress for bed. She reclined on the lumpy mattress, but didn’t close her eyes. Her heart refused to keep a normal pace, and she couldn’t halt her tremors. How she wished she were sleeping peacefully in her room at the ranch, instead of lying awake here in this perilous town and quaking in terror.

  As the clamor from the street below increased in volume, Calinda wondered what was taking place. Surely such rowdiness didn’t occur every night? She rolled off the bed and went to the window. The wooden sidewalks and dusty street were filled with boisterous men. As her curious gaze travelled down the way, she noticed a group of about fifteen men who were the center of attention and the cause of the commotion. Her green eyes widened as she watched them.

  The band of men was heavily armed, their heads and identities concealed by dark hoods. It didn’t require a keen mind to realize something criminal and dangerous was taking place near the jail. Many of the men were carrying fiery torches. A gunshot rang out over the din of ominous noise. Then a man’s screams and pleas could be faintly heard. Calinda didn’t want to see what was going on, but she couldn’t pull herself away from the open window.

  From her lofty position, she saw a struggling man dragged from the jail into the street, then thrown into the dust. Masked men crowded around him, kicking and cursing at him. She could make out only a few words: “Horse-thief…Get yore due…Example …Skittish sheriff…Law of the West…”

  As if hypnotized by violence, she helplessly waited and watched. A rope was tossed over the beam which held the sign reading, “Sheriff’s Office.” A noose was skillfully made, then placed around the man’s neck. He was squirming and shouting his innocence. Chilling laughter and shouts of “caught in the act” and “guilty as sin” rang out in answer. The lanky man began to cry in fear and plead for mercy. He was ignored and shoved to a waiting barrel. He was placed on the deadly perch, and the rope around his neck was tightened. The leader of the crazed mob shouted, “Die like a man, you filthy rustler! The sheriff ain’t gonna stop us; he’s anxious to live a day longer!”

  The leader kicked the barrel from beneath the man’s feet. The beam groaned in protest of the weight placed on it with this wicked deed. The alleged rustler’s body jerked spasmodically and gagging sounds left his lips, then he was still silent. The group quieted down as they watched the limp body sway to and fro. Shortly, they dispersed, slowly parting as if leaving a friendly barbecue. The crowd which had witnessed and encouraged this foul action gradually scattered. Soon, only a few men were left on the darkened street along with the body which continued to swing aimlessly in the still night.

  Calinda’s attention was drawn to a sudden flash of light directly across the street from her window. She went rigid as the dancing flame of a match revealed the man’s face as he lit a cigar. His face was held upward and his hat was pushed back from his forehead. He seemed to purposely hold the lighted match close to his face so she could identify him. He stepped into the street, his taunting gaze never leaving her window. He swept off his hat and grinned. “Goodnight, Miss. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he smugly vowed, then headed for the Mexican cantina, patting the late telegram in his pocket.

  Calinda couldn’t move or scream. As Clint Deavers passed the suspended body, he laughed coldly and started the dead man to swinging again. The rope and beam sent forth their combined sounds of eerie warning. She inhaled raggedly, knowing that repulsive rogue would definitely be around tomorrow. Before she left the window, a man approached the body and cut it down. He carried it inside the jail, then appeared once more to return the barrel to its proper place under the water spout on the corner of the jail. Tears began to ease down her flushed cheeks as she fearfully watched the pale moonlight glitter
ing on the silver star which announced him as the town sheriff. My God, she sobbed silently. If a man of the law can’t halt a lynching, how can he possibly help or protect me?

  That night was the longest one Calinda had ever known. When she dozed, she was plagued by nightmares. Once, she slipped into restless slumber for half an hour, to awaken in a drenching sweat, sobbing and thrashing on the bed. She splashed her face with tepid water, then sipped some to moisten her aching throat and dry mouth. She could almost hear Lynx’s past warnings echoing across her weary mind. Why hadn’t she listened? Why was she so obstinate and impulsive. When she got back to the ranch, she would never leave it again! She began to cry once more. What if they wouldn’t let her stay this time? If she couldn’t get out of Lampasas until next week, she’d never be able to keep this futile quest a secret.

  Finally about four in the morning, Calinda fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. The rapid sound of gunfire around ten o’clock jerked her to full awareness. She jumped up and ran to the window. She instantly berated herself for looking. In the street below, Clint Deavers was lazily replacing his pistols in their holsters. Down the street, two men lay dead or wounded, while Deavers hadn’t received even a minor scratch. “Take ’em away, my good man; they won’t be troubling me again,” he told the black-garbed undertaker.