by J. R. WRIGHT
“I don’t have the time to be waiting on anyone,” he said. “Now where is she?”
Luke simply pointed up. He didn’t want to get on the bad side of the only man in these parts who could possibly help Breanne. Nellie could fight her own battles with this man, if she disliked him so.
As luck would have it, Nellie emerged from the room just as Scott reached the top of the stairs.
“Hope you brought something for pain,” she said to him. “That little girl has a lot of it.”
“Laudanum,” he said, and moved past her into the room. “Pierre said she fell down some stairs.”
“Stairs don’t kick in ribs or break a jaw,” Nellie said.
Hearing that from downstairs, Luke went outside. He couldn’t bear to hear any more. Now he knew he would need to kill somebody.
CHAPTER SIX
Pierre was in the kitchen when Luke arrived. He was busy at chunking up the shoulder meat from the pork they had butchered that morning and grinding it in preparation for making sausage.
“How is she?” he asked, gumming his pipe. Pierre only smoked that pipe when he was overly wrought up about something.
“Not good. Broken ribs, her jaw is broken. Doc has her on laudanum for the pain. He reset the jaw and wired her teeth together so it will mend right. One tooth is missing. Where is Hans? I need to talk to him.”
“Now Luke, I don’t know as I would go looking for Hans just yet. He’s terribly heated over you not going to the docks this morning. He’s there now looking for a replacement for that Cajun whore that ran off.”
“I need to ask him if he has any idea who did that to Breanne.”
“You listen, boy! Now’s not the time. Later maybe, but now I need to ask you for the money pouch. Hans ordered me to get it from you.”
“I guess that means I’m washed up here,” Luke said and pulled the pouch containing the supply money from his pocket, tossed it to Pierre, then headed for the basement.
“Hans will get over it! You just lay low for a few days, here!” Pierre shouted after him.
Breanne had little in the way of belongings. Luke was able to stuff it all in a single fifty pound flour sack he had taken from the kitchen. With another he took some of his things and, most importantly, his savings. It was a hundred and sixty dollars in gold he kept hidden behind a loose rock in the basement wall.
As he passed back through the kitchen on his way out, he flipped Pierre a five dollar gold piece. “Put that in the pouch. I borrowed it today to pay the doctor.”
“Where’ll I find you?” Pierre asked.
“Jake’s. He’s been trying to hire me for a while. Now he’ll have his chance.”
“I’ll come when I can.”
It was at Jake Brumond’s livery, just a block up from Nellie’s, where Luke had often hid out and played as a child. That is, until he was of an age to be of help around the Blue Bear. After that, Jake saw less of him. In recent months, he came by on occasion to rent a horse on behalf of the Blue Bear, for rides into the country in search of butcher stock at surrounding farms.
“Luke,” Jake said, backing away from the forge when he saw Luke walk up toting the two filled bags. “What you got there?”
“I need a place to store these for a spell.” He dropped the bags to the dirt.
“On the fritz with Hans?”
“Don’t reckon I’ll be going back, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Does that mean you’re ready to trade the apron for a manure fork?” Jake laughed heartily, which caused his big belly to bounce precariously.
“If you still have a need?”
“I do, Luke. Good help is hard to find. Leastwise, those that ain’t afraid of getting dirty. Not like it used to be. St. Louis is a city now.”
“Then I’ll take the job.” He forced a smile for the sake of friendship. Inside, however, he had nothing to be joyous about. Breanne hurt, and now Hans acting the way he was.
“Good! You can put those bags in the store room. The rats haven’t found a way in there yet,” Jake said, and turned back to the forge where he had a horseshoe near red hot. He pumped the bellows a few more times for extra heat. Moments later he glanced around and saw Luke already at work mucking out a back stall. The going rate for this kind of work was fifty cents a day. But he would give Luke twice that, only because he expected him to earn it. He was one of few Jake knew who wasn’t shy of a good day’s work.
At sundown Luke went to Nellie’s, where he found Breanne pillowed up on the bed, Nellie spooning her broth. The swelling had gone down some on her face, and it appeared, even though through a slit, she could see from both eyes. He noticed her perk up as he entered the room.
“About time,” Nellie said.
“How is she?” He saw a glimmer of light bounce off the silver wires in her teeth as she parted her lips to receive the broth.
“Why don’t you ask her? You’ll need to come closer; she can only whisper.” Nellie sat the broth down, got up, and left the room.
Breanne was trying to form a smile as he approached. But it didn’t take. Soon heavy tears began flowing down her twisted face.
He had come here hoping she would be well enough to tell him who had done this to her. And perhaps she was, but now it didn’t seem a good time to be bringing it up.
“Don’t cry,” he said, suddenly feeling miserable.
In time the sobbing stopped, and he sat in the chair Nellie had vacated and patiently spooned in the remainder of the broth. During this, her bloodshot eyes never left him, seldom even to blink.
Finally, out of the blue, she forcefully whispered, “Hans...!”
Not wanting to worry her, he said, “He understands. You’ll be back to work in no time. You needn’t worry. Now get some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake.”
With that, her eyes slowly closed, and she was asleep. It was the tincture of opium – the laudanum Nellie had given her just before the broth that put her under.
Hours later, Luke crept up into the night shadows of the corral at the rear of the Blue Bear. Pierre was in a habit of spending a great deal of time outdoors when it got hot in the kitchen, even in winter. But it wasn’t Pierre who opened the rear door and stepped outside, it was Hans. He quickly looked around in the dim light that flowed through the open door, then went back inside.
“Where in hell is that Frenchman?” Luke heard him say, before the door fully closed. Apparently he wasn’t there, he gathered by that, and he turned to leave. But just as he did, he heard something to his back and saw Pierre emerge through the same door and dash away into the darkness.
Luke took off after him and caught up just as Pierre reached the alley that led to Second Street.
“I was coming to find you,” Pierre said excitedly when Luke caught up to him. “I think Hans is the one that did that to Breanne.”
Luke found it hard to believe what he just heard and became suddenly angry. “Why?”
“I don’t know that, but I do know he found that Cajun gal that ran away and gave her the same treatment. Beat her bloody and locked her in the basement.”
“That’s not the first time that has happened to a runaway,” Luke said. “But why did he do that to Breanne? She had no intention of running off that I know of.”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Hans beat your mother that way once too. When that happened, I quit for a spell.”
“Why did you wait till now to tell me?” Luke fumed.
“Abigail made me promise never to tell you.” Pierre smoothed his full head of graying hair. “You were sent away to Nellie’s until she healed. She was the one that begged me to go back. Her reason was so I could watch after you when she couldn’t, but I suspect Hans put her up to it.”
“That son of a bitch!” Luke turned back for the Blue Bear.
“No!” Pierre grabbed his arm, halting his movement. “He’ll kill you! He wants you to come. Go back to Jake’s and wait till you hear from
me. I left some sausage and bread for you there earlier.”
“How can I just walk away and leave that bastard be after what he’s done?”
“We won’t! We just need to wait till things calm down a bit. He’s got those people in there believing you were the one that beat Breanne and helped the Cajun get away. If you go back now, they’ll do his dirty work for him.”
“I’ll wait, but I’m not saying for how long!” Luke said angrily.
Luke went to Jake’s as Pierre asked and found the livery barn open as it always was, even when Jake wasn’t there. Strangely though, it was dark inside. Usually there was a lantern or two left burning to light the interior for those who came and went in the night.
“Luke,” Jake said from the darkness. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Thought I’d have a bit of sausage, then bed down in the loft.”
“The loft is there for you, but I’m sorry to say the sausage is near gone. Pierre ought to know better than leave that laying around where I can get at it,” Jake said, then belched loudly.
Jake lit a match and stuck it into a lantern, then came from a chair off to the side.
“Here!” He handed Luke a short piece of smoked sausage that clearly had been gnawed on by a person with few teeth.
“You go ahead, finish it.” He wasn’t much in the mood for eating anyhow.
“What’s bothering you, Luke?”
“Hans! Hans is bothering me.”
“You want to tell me about it?” Jake hung the lantern nearby, then turned to face Luke.
“Naw! No sense in you getting involved. This is between Hans and me, and I aim to keep it that way.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with that young gal laying over at Nellie’s?”
“How did you find out?”
“Phineas Scott came by, said somebody beat her.”
“Pierre thinks Hans did it.”
“Maybe you ought to go to the police?” Jake suggested.
“A fat lot of good that would do. Hans has all them in his pocket.”
Hans had always paid special attention to any lawmen that came through the doors of the Blue Bear and gave them anything they asked for, free of charge. He even put pressure on the whores never to accept a fee from them. Hans could kill a man and they would look the other way, Luke was sure of it. It was these lawmen that Hans sent after the whores that ran away. And often times it was them that handed out the brutal punishment. The worst of them was Jeb Dunlap, the captain of the newly expanded police department. Now there were forty of them to hand out injustice at his direction.
“Looks as though I’ll be leaving St. Louis,” Luke said. “I’ve been thinking on it for a while now. It’s just going to be a bit sooner than I planned, now that this happened.”
“Where will you go?” Jake asked with disappointment in his tone.
“I don’t know yet. Somewhere out west, I reckon. Maybe I’ll try my hand at trapping.” Regardless, he knew he would need to run somewhere after dealing out what he had planned for Hans.
“I’ll miss ya,” Jake said, coming in for a fatherly hug.
“Likewise,” Luke replied and turned to the door where he saw Pierre hurrying toward him.
“Get back inside,” Pierre said and ran passed him.
“What’s wrong?” Luke asked as he followed Pierre to the back of the barn.
“Jeb Dunlap is looking for you. That Cajun gal died of the beating Hans gave her, and he told Jeb you must of done it since she was found down in the basement.”
“God damn Hans! What’ll I do?”
“You’ll have to get out of town!” Pierre said excitedly.
“I ain’t going without Breanne. She can’t be moved yet. I’ll just have to hide out until she’s better.”
“Dunlap will find ya and kill ya, just as sure as I’m standing here. Get out to one of them farms where you buy the butchering stock. I’ll come for ya as soon as she’s better.”
“If it’s alright with Jake, I’ll be staying right here. That way I can slip over and visit Breanne at night. I’ll hide in the loft during the day.”
“Won’t work,” Jake said. “This is the first place they’ll look.”
“I could go out to the Nelsons. Tom’s a good sort.”
“You know where they live, Jake?” Pierre asked.
“Sure do. Just past Onion Creek, and to the left about three miles. Near a half day’s ride, I’d say.”
“Good. Then one of us will bring Breanne when she’s fit to travel,” Pierre said.
“Can I see her one more time before I leave?”
“There’s no time for that. You’ll need to leave now,” Pierre said.
“You can take that bay mare. She’s the fastest horse I’ve got,” Jake said, moving quickly for a saddle.
“Will you tell Breanne?” Luke asked.
“I’ll go to Nellie’s from here,” Pierre said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As expected, Jeb Dunlap showed up at Jake’s not an hour after Luke left. He didn’t waste any time with questions at first, but instead sent his three main goons on a thorough search of the premises, including the loft, where they stabbed pitchforks through every pile of hay and straw up there.
“Where is Luke McKinney?” Jeb faced up to Jake afterward.
All the while since Luke left, Jake had been pulling heavily at a rare bottle of scotch whiskey he had been saving for a special occasion. At this moment, he was in a cavalier mood that prompted him to land a ham hock fist squarely on Dunlap’s nose. It was an action that sent Jeb reeling into two of his deputies, knocking all three off balance and sprawling to the ground.
Onlookers that had been gathering on the street for an hour, since it all began, instantly broke out into laughter at the sight of what Jake had done. Then, when Jake dragged Dunlap over to the anvil and draped his head over it, then held it there by his hair, they cheered loudly and chanted, “Kill him…! Kill him…! Kill him…!”
With hammer in hand lifted high into the air, Jake had every intention of doing just that, when a gunshot from one of the deputies brought him to his knees. A second bullet then struck his head, and the big man lazily fanned out onto the livery floor.
With that, Dunlap gathered himself, collected his hat, and stomped away. He was followed closely by the three deputies.
Doctor Scott, who had been one of the onlookers as his office was only two doors down, was one of the first to reach Jake, but there appeared to be little he could do. That is, until Jake opened his eyes and asked for another drink of the scotch, which was brought to him immediately. After a long pull from it, Jake rolled to his belly, got his knees under him, and, with help, got to his feet. There were cheers all around!
As it happened, the first bullet, after passing through a heavy leather vest, lodged in a rib. The second, even though it had entered the skull just above the right ear, seemed not to be a bother, except for a splitting headache. Scott filled both bullet holes with a salve often used on animals and went on his way as if he had just performed a miracle.
Jake finished off the bottle of scotch, then with help from others, made it to his bunk in a small room behind the office. There he fell asleep and never woke up.
Pierre was devastated when he heard the news of Jake’s death. With anger over everything that had happened, he began collecting his things. Within a few short hours, in between food orders put into the kitchen, he had it all loaded onto a cart behind the Blue Bear. Then, without so much as a goodbye to anyone there, he wheeled it all to Jake’s livery where he expected to top the load with Luke and Breanne’s things that was stored there. But to his surprise when he arrived, he saw Jake sitting in a captain’s chair out front, his eyes wide open, head propped against the wall, looking very much alive. It gave him pause for a moment, until Rosa suddenly appeared from inside.
“I don’t know who done it,” she said. “He was that way when I got here.”
Rosa was Jake’s married
daughter, who lived only a few blocks away and was summoned immediately upon discovering he was surely dead this time.
“They probably did it to keep people from looting the place. A lot of people feared him when he was alive, you know,” said Rosa.
“Yep, but he was a friend of mine, thank goodness,” Pierre said and sorrowfully glanced over at Jake again.
“What do you have there?” Rosa said, eyeing the cart loaded with pots, pans, sausage stuffer, rifles, and traps.
“Just some things I had stored at the Blue Bear. I come here to get Luke’s things. Jake let him keep it in the storage room.”
“Then what will you do with it?”
“Take it to my room at Nellie’s, I reckon.”
“Store it here if you want,” Rosa said. “I plan to keep the place open. I know Pa and my husband never saw eye to eye, but Quinn is a good smithy.”
“The bay horse will be coming back to you in time. Jake loaned it to Luke,” Pierre said, knowing the whole story of the many differences between Jake and Rosa’s husband, Harmon Quinn. Quinn, who worked at another livery two blocks over on Water Street, was a competitor of Jake’s.
“Good of you to tell me that, Pierre. Now, you may as well unload that cart into the storage room so we can use it to tote Pa over to the undertakers. Will you help me do that?”
“Be honored, ma’am,” he said humbly. Pierre was no stranger to death; he had been around it all his life. In his eyes, it was an expected event, not so much if, but when. But it was the untimeliness of it that often angered him. Jake had gone way too soon, and so had his brother Franz.
While unloading the cart, Pierre sat the two rifles left over from his trapping days aside. He would take them to Sam Hawken, a gunsmith over on Washington Street, and have them converted to the new percussion cap mechanism he had recently heard about. But before he could do that, he would need to fire off the loads that were in the guns and had been for over a decade. Once a flintlock was loaded, there was only one way to unload it, and that was to discharge it. He hoped now the black powder in them hadn’t gone stale and lost its explosiveness.
