“He has consumption. When Pa died, I didn’t know what to do. I was engaged to be married but when Lee, my fiancé, found out about my brother, he went away. I never heard from Lee again.”
Tears formed in her eyes. Durant stood up and pinched out his cigarette. As he tossed the butt out the window he made another check of the street. It was empty.
“So you came here and Ragnall hasn’t showed up yet. When is he due?”
“He said he’d meet me here as soon as he could.” Her eyes clouded with worry again but she managed a small smile. “I’ll be all right, Mr. Durant. I’ve caused you enough trouble. However, I am worried about those three men. I don’t know why they should want to bother me.”
“I’ll handle them,” he said. “You fixed okay for money, Miss Grant?”
Angela lifted her head and smiled warmly. “Yes. But thank you. You’ve been very kind.”
Blake shifted his gunbelt higher on his waist. “You have any more troubles, call in the law. By the sound of the sheriff outside a while back, he can handle those three jaspers in a blink. Better still, stay indoors and wait for Ragnall. If I hear he’s in town, I’ll find him and send him on.”
“Thank you again.” Angela held out her hand. Blake looked thoughtfully at her for a moment, then shook her hand. Her eyes stayed fixed on him.
“Everybody needs somebody,” he said. “Don’t let anybody shift you off from what you’ve decided to do.”
He went on his way, leaving her staring curiously after him. The way he had stood up to the three troublemakers had impressed Angela Grant a great deal. Now she sat and listened to his firm footsteps on the boardwalk outside. She presumed he would go to the saloon and drink. He looked to be that kind of man, a man’s man.
Who exactly was he? The question disturbed her. He had come out of the night and had calmly taken charge of things. She wondered if she had expressed her gratitude sufficiently. But then she realized that his abrupt manner had kept her from saying more. He had a hard way about him, but he wasn’t cruel. She felt that he had had more than his share of suffering.
Angela sighed and settled back as the night grew quiet around her. She thought of Zeb Ragnall, wondering what he was like. His letters had told her little, but then she had never taken much notice of anybody’s talk. It was what a person did that counted.
Perhaps Ragnall had changed his mind about meeting her here. As this thought struck Angela, she gasped and felt alone, miserably alone. Blake Durant had offered her money. Perhaps, she should have accepted. Then she stood up, smoothed down her frock again and chided herself for being a fool. She had come this far to meet Zeb Ragnall. All right; she would meet him and make the most of it. Her brother was really the one who counted. He had to be looked after. Later, perhaps, when he got a little better, he could come and join them. She crossed to the foyer clerk and picked up her key.
As she turned away, the clerk said, “Going to be a hot night, Miss Grant, but I wouldn’t open my window if I were you. Lot of damn hellions gettin’ drunk in town; could be some trouble later.”
Angela thanked him and went up the stairway to her room.
“It’s him all right,” said bald-headed Mark Madie. “No doubt about it. I seen him ride in on that big black. Matthew mentioned that, didn’t he—a big man, wide, ridin’ a black?”
“Lots of black stallions in the territory,” his brother Luke said.
In the background stood the runt, John Madie, peering nervously at them while he picked his nose.
Mark gave an angry snort. “I know damn well there’s a lot of black horses. But he went straight up to that woman, that Miss Grant, didn’t he? Got her away from us, damn him to hell and gone!”
“Pa said we shouldn’t cuss, Mark,” put in John Madie. “And you just cussed. Pa hears you, he’ll skin you.”
Mark turned on his young brother and scowled. “I said for you to shut down, damn you, John. I’m sick of hearin’ you talk about pa. Pa this, pa that. Shut your miserable flap!”
John took a backward step and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Just tellin’ you, Mark,” he whimpered. “If pa heard you, he’d go for all of us. You know how pa is.”
“I know how pa is, and I know how you are, blast you! Git lost! Luke and me got things to discuss. Git now!”
John went another couple of backward steps. His face was pale and his skinny hands shook. The wind whipping down the street plastered his shirt to his sunken chest. He was inches shorter than either of his brothers and looked a pathetic creature with his clothes hanging limp on a body that was more bone than flesh. He eyed them miserably, swallowed a few times and finally found words.
“I just figured—”
“You ain’t got nothin’ to figure with. Get washed. You stink to hell.”
Mark took a threatening step towards John and the runt turned quickly and picked his way along the boardwalk. At the saloon doors, he stopped and looked fearfully back. His brothers were staring sourly at him. He entered the saloon and immediately had to dodge out of the way of two big cowhands heading for the batwings. Muttering, glancing in all directions and sniffing loudly, he reached the saloon counter. He pulled out some change, counted it twice, then looked up in alarm as the big apron stopped before him.
“If you ain’t drinkin’, mister, step away and let those who are get in to me.”
John looked at his money again and shakingly pushed it forward. The barkeep dug a finger through the coins, picked up most of them, then filled a glass with rye. He gave John a disgusted sniff and went on to serve other customers. John picked up his drink, looked nervously about him, and sipped at the whisky. Then he lowered the glass and looked at himself in the bar mirror. His wrinkled face looked like a thrown-away boot. He didn’t care. He’d never cared about himself, only about pa. Pa was coming and when pa heard about Matthew being killed, Luke knew all hell would break loose. His nose was running again, as it mostly was, so he wiped it dry with his sleeve. A big man shouldered past him and Luke was propped into the swill of noisy drinkers. He looked about for more room for himself and hoped Mark and Luke would hurry. Then he saw the big man who’d helped the Grant woman. He was standing alone at the other end of the counter, emptying a glass down his throat. John turned and broke into a run. He bumped into men on his staggering, dodging way to the swing doors, and curses rained after him.
On the boardwalk, he looked about anxiously for his brothers. Dirty sweat ran down his face and he sleeved it off. His tattered shirt flapped against his skinny frame as he went down the boardwalk in search of his brothers, limping because he had lost a heel on the boards coming out of the saloon. He looked down at his scuffed boots and moaned.
Pa would be mad. Pa was always mad when he wore something out. John gulped, wiped away more sweat, then dug his nails into the palms of his skinny hands and limped on, muttering about his bad luck.
Mark and Luke Madie had gone fifty yards down the street, and now they nervously watched a group of close-bunched cowhands who were in turn watching two lawmen making their rounds of the street. The angry murmurs from the group warned Mark and Luke that these hardcases meant trouble for somebody. They wanted no part of it.
A freighter clattered along, lifting dust from the wide street. A woman giggled as she went past, pressed close to a tall townsman who looked anxiously about him as if afraid he might be followed. When they turned into an alleyway, Mark muttered:
“No mistakin’ what they’re up to, eh?”
Luke nodded. His eyes had devoured the young woman’s lushly curved body and it brought on the memory of the one woman he’d slept with. Desire churned inside him. He cursed. One damn woman in his whole life, and no likelihood of finding another, not the way pa kept badgering them, watching them, damning them to hell if they as much as looked at a woman’s ankle.
“When we fix Ragnall, I’m gonna skit off,” Luke said. I’m goin’ to a town where nobody knows me, and don’t know pa, and where pa can’t find me. Gonna get
me a woman and a good drink and maybe I’ll gamble some. Damn it, I’m twenty-nine and I never knowed hardly any fun.”
Luke scrubbed a hand across his grubby neck and looked bleakly about, keeping tab on the cowhands. He heard the creak of leather behind him but ignored the sound. Then something hit him in the middle of the back and sent him sprawling. He let out a howl of protest as he slammed into the wall and nearly broke both wrists stopping his momentum. He heard a yell from Mark, then Mark crashed against him. Pushing his brother away, Luke scrambled to his feet. His face was flushed with anger that died almost at birth. His mouth gaped.
“Idlin’, like you always done, both of you. Never a day in your lives have you known the sweat of toil which cleanses the body, the mind and the soul!”
Mark was also speechless at the sight of the man astride the pure white stallion, a huge and powerful man, garbed in severe black.
“Pa!”
“Minds contaminated with evil! Eyes which see nothing but the vices of the world! Mouths dirty with desire! Disciples of the devil!”
The big man’s voice bellowed across the boardwalk and Luke and Mark stood huddled together, hands at their sides, looking miserably up at him. Isaac Madie dismissed them with another seething look and turned his attention to the town about him. His big jowls bulged with disapproval. His eyes sank back in his head and his bushy brows came down. Then a rumble of noise came from his deep chest.
“Sinners’ paradise! Sodom and Gomorrah!” was his final opinion as he heaved his weight out of the saddle. Luke came forward to take the reins of the horse and hitch it to the rail. Mark stood back, licking nervously at his lips.
“Pa! Pa!”
John Madie came running down the boardwalk, his face afire with excitement. Isaac Madie watched him come, his fat lips curled back in a sneer, his sunken eyes glaring at the slight figure of his third son. He noticed that John’s clothes were a little more tattered, his shirt torn at one shoulder, and something was wrong with one of his boots. John skidded to a halt, grinning sheepishly. Isaac Madie’s nostrils quivered and he reached out and pulled John to him. He put his nose close to his son’s mouth and fierce anger rose in his throat.
“Drink!” he roared. “Hell’s brew!”
John let out a whimper as the big man’s strong hands almost crushed his arm. Then he found himself lifted from the boardwalk. Isaac Madie stormed down the street until he came to a trough. He plunged John’s head into it, and kept ducking him until finally he cast the spluttering, half-drowned youth to the dusty street.
“One week away from my guidance and Satan gets his hooks into you!” Isaac wheeled about, his big boots grating on the warped boards. He pulled Mark to him and heaved him against the wall of the store. He went to grab for him again but Mark dodged away and stood beside Luke, trying to push in behind him.
Mark said, “Ease off, Pa, you got it all wrong. We had to keep going after what we learned.”
“’Bout Matthew,” Luke put in nervously.
“Better for me to have cast my seed on the barren ground than to be cursed with the likes of you,” growled the big man. He moved in closer and John cringed. Isaac cuffed him upright and when John whimpered Isaac blew out a hot breath. “I did my best, as the good Lord knows, and now I stand before Him to do my penance for failure. As you will, too! Pray for salvation, ye sinners! Pray to the good Lord and beg His forgiveness! Bow your heads and—!”
“Matthew’s dead,” Luke said abruptly.
Isaac stood there, battered Bible pressed against his broad chest. His whole body stiffened and his head came down, the muscles on his neck puffing out. His look went to Luke and settled there, a fire flaming in his eyes.
“What did you say, boy?”
“Matthew, he’s gone, Pa. Was killed back in Cheyenne.”
“And we been followin’ a woman to get a bead on his killer, Pa,” said Mark. “All the way to here. Sent you word.”
John sniffed and wiped water from his face and hair. He sleeved his nose and coughed. When his father’s look burned at him, he nodded urgently and whimpered, “All the way, Pa, three of us, lookin’ for him.”
“Quiet, boy,” growled Isaac Madie. He thumped the Bible into his left palm and the sound made John jump. Isaac then studied his two older sons and finally he nodded at Luke. “You talk now, and nothin’ fancy and no lies. If my boy’s dead, then I want to know the absolute truth of it.”
Mark mopped at his bald head as Luke spoke. “We was ridin’ into Cheyenne when Matthew caught up with us, Pa. He had two bullets in him and was dyin’. We did the best we could for him, but he was goin’ fast. We buried him on that slope we prayed on alongside you, Pa, before ridin’ into Cheyenne.”
Isaac’s face turned gray and his eyes went cold. A nerve jumped at his temple. When he said nothing, Luke went on quickly:
“Afore he died, Pa, he—”
“He was christened Matthew and blessed with the name of Madie. Call my son right, boy!”
“Sure, Pa, sure, I forgot,” Luke apologized. “Matthew, afore he died, he told us somethin’. He was caught up in a robbery with a man named Ragnall. They ... they robbed the Wells Fargo office in Cheyenne, Pa!”
Isaac stepped forward and caught his son by the throat. “What’s that, boy? You brand your brother a thief? You’ve become a Cain to your brother?”
Luke choked and tried to grunt out a reply, but his father’s fingers were closed tight on his windpipe.
“Speak, boy! You claimin’ my boy was an agent of the devil?” Isaac shook Luke whose eyes seemed ready to pop from his head.
Mark said quickly, “Luke is right, Pa. Hell, Matthew told us himself. He damn well said it as plain as—”
Isaac released Luke and hit Mark with a backhand. When Mark gaped back at him, he howled, “No cussin’, I told you! I told you not to use any words that ain’t written in the Good Book. I got to beat your fool head in to make you understand? One boy an agent of the devil and you cussin’ and him snivellin’ and Luke lyin’.” Isaac rolled his eyes heavenward. “Why, Lord, why?”
After a moment’s spluttering to regain his breath, Luke grated out, “I ain’t lyin’, Pa. It’s God’s honest truth.”
Isaac shuddered as if somebody was raking his body with hellfire. He continued to stare into the dark sky above, moving his lips soundlessly. Then he raised the Bible to his lips and kissed it. Finally he turned back to them, his face more composed but his stare just as fierce.
“I’ll have it all now, Luke, but no interruptions from cussers or snivellers. None, you hear?”
John nodded so hard he hurt his neck. Mark merely gave an affirmative grunt and rubbed his jaw where his father’s backhand had struck him.
Luke cleared his throat. “Like I said, Pa, Matthew and Ragnall robbed the Wells Fargo office and Matthew was to meet up with Ragnall once they gave the posse the slip. He did that and got two bullets for his trouble. But Matthew said, afore he died, that Ragnall was easy to pick—a big man riding a black and headin’ west. So we sent word on to you and came after him. Sure enough we picked up his trail and we darned near cornered him in Barnaby in a hotel.”
“Near?” Isaac barked.
Luke coughed again. “Seen him going into the hotel and followed him to his room. When we busted in he cleared out through the window and all we seen was the back of him.”
“Fools!” Isaac thundered.
“We made him run, Pa. He went so fast he left his saddle pouches behind, and in one of them we found these here letters, addressed to him, Zeb Ragnall. So we was on the right trail, eh, Pa?”
Isaac plucked the three letters from Luke’s hand and shoved him away roughly. “Boy, you never been right on one thing in your whole accursed life.” He opened the envelopes and moved to read the letters under the oil pot street light. His three sons stood watching him, hardly daring to breathe in their terror of him. After a few minutes, Isaac came back to them and growled out:
“This woman, this Mi
ss Angela Grant. What of her?”
“She’s in town here, Pa,” Luke said, brightening. “We missed Ragnall in Barnaby, but we picked up his trail right enough just outside the town. And, like it says in them there letters, Miss Grant was to come here by buckboard and meet him. Well, we high-tailed it here and seen her drive in, buckboard and all, and later a jasper riding a big black came in, only we wasn’t sure, as Mark said, if it was Ragnall. But when we challenged this Grant woman, this feller came packin’ a gun and forced us off. We been waitin’ for him to show again, only you showed up first, Pa. What do you want us to do now?”
“That feller’s in the saloon,” John put in quietly.
Isaac swung fiercely to him. “What’s that, boy?”
John gulped. The wind flapped his shirt and trough water sprayed over Mark’s boots. John pointed over his shoulder. “In the saloon, Pa. I just seen him. I came out to tell Mark and Luke.”
Isaac breathed a long sigh, then he stuffed the letters in his pocket, straightened his black string tie and patted trail dust from his trousers and black silk coat. After that he opened the Bible and thumbed through the pages before he read aloud:
“Prepare ye the way of the Lord.”
He lifted his head and his three sons stood in silent attention, listening to his muttering. When he finished, Isaac turned and strode down the boardwalk with his sons trailing. At the batwing doors, he glanced back at them, gave a contemptuous snort at the bedraggled John and said:
“What we do now will be the work of the Lord. Sinner for sinner and both to dust. Point him out.”
Luke and Mark exchanged a worried look but Isaac grabbed them both and pitched them into the saloon. When John went to hurry past, the big man planted himself in the doorway. John bumped into him and was knocked aside. Ignoring his son’s cry of pain, Isaac went inside.
Three – “Fools!”
The saloon was packed as Luke and Mark Madie were pitched headlong into the throng. The earlier brawl had whetted the customers’ appetites for excitement and two men coming headlong and skidding on their chests suited them just fine. Then the mountainous figure of Isaac Madie loomed inside the doorway and silence fell. Isaac let his scathing look sweep the crowd, contempt in his face for each and every one of them. Luke and Mark struggled to their feet and Isaac said, “Where is he?”
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