by Jory Sherman
“You believe him, of course,” Wanda said.
“I’ve had my doubts of late.”
“Well, Roy said Martin’s own son is not going to help him fight that Mexican, Aguilar,” Hattie said.
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Ursula said.
Hattie looked away as something caught her eye. “Here comes that haughty waitress, Millie,” she said. “I saw her batting her eyes at Roy and David when they left.”
“Oh, Mother,” Wanda said.
“I mean it. Did you see her clinging to Martin at the funeral yesterday? She ogles every man she sees. If you ask me, she’s nothing but a hussy.”
“Mother, be quiet,” Wanda said. “She’s almost here.”
Millie walked up to the table and smiled at each woman. “Is there anything else I can get you ladies?” she asked.
“We’re just fine,” Hattie snapped.
“I’d like more water,” Wanda said.
“I would, too,” Ursula said.
Millie looked at their glasses. “I’ll send someone over to your table to fill your glasses,” she said.
“I’ll have you know, Miss Collins,” Hattie said, “that Roy Killian is taken. You keep your hands off him.”
Millie took a step backward and a look of surprise suffused her face. “I beg your pardon?” she said.
“You know what I’m talking about, young lady,” Hattie said. “I saw you batting your eyes at Roy and David a minute ago.”
“You have good eyes, then,” Millie said. “I smiled at them and thanked them for their patronage, as I do with all our customers. If you saw me bat my eyes, then I must have been having a fit.”
“What?” Hattie asked.
Millie smiled. It was an indulgent smile such as one would use with the simple, or the very daft. “I’m saying that I normally do not bat my eyes at anyone, madam. So I must have had a severe tic or a mild case of Saint Vitus’ dance that affected my eyelids. I’ll see that your water glasses are filled, ladies.”
With that, Millie turned and left the table. Hattie’s mouth sagged open. “Was she making fun of me?” she asked.
Both Ursula and Wanda suppressed giggles, which nevertheless seeped out of their mouths as titters.
“Now you’re both making fun of me,” Hattie said, squirming like some large bird ruffling its feathers.
“No, Mother,” Wanda said. “It’s just funny, that’s all.”
“What’s funny?”
“Millie. Her tic. Her eyes with the Saint Vitus’ dance.”
Ursula began to laugh aloud. She covered her mouth with a napkin, but the damage was done.
“I will not sit here and be mocked,” Hattie said. “Wanda, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Wanda looked at Ursula and burst into laughter. Ursula could no longer hold back her mirth and she began to laugh louder. Hattie glared at both of them and shoved her chair away from the table with a loud scraping noise.
“I’m leaving,” Hattie said. “When you two get over your girlish cruelty, I’ll be outside.”
Wanda looked at her mother and tried to speak, but only doubled up with laughter. Hattie shook herself into a tight turn and clumped across the room and out the door.
“It was pretty funny,” Wanda told Ursula. “Wasn’t it?”
“Hilarious,” Ursula said, still chuckling.
“I mean, what Millie said.”
“Yes. What Millie said. Very funny.”
And the two continued to laugh until the boy came with a pitcher of water and poured their glasses full.
“Seriously,” Wanda said, “I don’t believe Millie is any threat to me, with Roy and all.”
“No, I don’t think so, either.”
“But, she does have her eye on Martin Baron.”
“Now that he’s a widower,” Ursula said, “isn’t he fair game?”
Wanda drew a breath and, as if withholding more laughter, let it out and said, “For any woman with an eye tic.” Then Wanda leaned back and laughed until tears seeped from her eyes.
“Or the Saint Vitus’ dance,” Ursula said, and they both laughed so hard, everyone in the Longhorn turned to stare at them.
Later they drained their water glasses and wiped their eyes dry, and when they left, they strolled like two ladies of dignity who would never behave in a silly manner for any reason whatsoever.
18
ROY STOPPED AT the counter and paid Millie for the breakfasts.
“Be careful, Roy,” Millie said, handing him his change.
“Oh, I don’t expect much will happen today, ma’am.”
“You never know,” Millie said.
Outside, Roy let out a long breath. “’Egods, them women are a caution,” he said.
“They’ve got you pretty well hemmed in,” David admitted.
“I don’t blame them none, but I wisht, sometimes, they’d just leave me alone.”
“They care about you, especially your mother.”
“They’re smotherin’ me, Dave, for danged sure.”
The two men walked to the livery stables down the street. They could hear the hammering inside, but it was mild compared to the din they heard when they opened the door and walked in. Ken Richman waved to them and said something they could not hear. Five men surrounded an oversized wagon that consisted of a large bed and struts of planed boards on each of the four corners. Two other men worked on wide flat boards that they were hinged together with wood screws.
“Is that it?” Roy asked, when he got close enough to yell into Ken’s ear.
“Just about finished. What do you think?”
“It might work,” Roy said.
“It’ll damned sure work. Martin’s counting on it.”
“His idea?” David asked.
Ken nodded. His face was oiled with sweat, florid from the heat inside the stable. Stains spread from his armpits onto the shirt that was plastered to his back. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it and showed David and Roy a set of drawings.
Roy whistled and David smiled and nodded as he looked over each picture.
“When in hell did Martin draw this?” Roy asked.
“Yesterday. Right after the funeral, when we went to the house. He just sat down in Caroline’s office room and drew it all out and said he needed the wagon built by today. Some of these men have been working all night.”
“What are those boards jutting out from under the wagon bed for?” Roy asked. He pointed to the drawing and then to the wagon itself, where he saw that the boards were actually poles.
“Come on over here,” Ken said, “and I’ll show you how it’ll all work.”
David and Roy followed Ken over to the wagon. When they looked inside, they saw that there were boxed-in places all around the bed, and nails driven every two inches, twenty-penny nails, at that.
“Those poles are wide enough so that two men can grip each pole and carry, or turn, the wagon,” Ken said.
“Why did he box the bed on all four sides?” David asked.
“Those open from the inside,” Ken explained. “We’ll put sandbags inside. For protection against rifle and pistol fire.”
“And the nails sticking up from them?” Roy asked.
“To hold more sandbags, with spaces in between for rifles to poke through.”
“Like a fort on wheels,” Roy said.
“Not only on wheels, but the whole shebang can be lifted up by sixteen men and turned on a dime.”
“And what are those panels with hinges?” David asked.
“Those will enclose the entire wagon,” Ken said. “And I’ll rig ropes through eyeholes, so that all four sides can come down when the fighting starts.”
“Hmm,” David said. “Let me see those drawings again.” Ken handed him the sheet of paper. Roy and David both studied it.
“I see,” Roy said. “When it’s all set up, it will look like a chuck wagon or such.”
“That’s ri
ght,” Ken said. “Nothing will show. There will be men inside, and underneath. There will be skirts hanging down from the wagon bed to hide those men who will man the poles. The skirts will drop like veils when a single rope is pulled and the wagon will still be supported by the wheels.”
David walked over to one of the poles in the center of the wagon. He leaned over and pretended to lift it. “Damned ingenious,” he said. “The poles are placed just right so the wheels can be lifted off the ground.”
Roy stepped away and looked at the wagon again, then closed his eyes. In his mind he saw the men hunkered down inside, and the men bent over, huddled beneath the skirted wagon. Then he saw the men emerge from underneath and grab the poles, move the wagon 180 degrees, then swing it in another direction. He saw the cannon mounted atop the wagon, manned by two Mexicans, and those at the sides, front and rear, aiming rifles and shooting at charging attackers.
“Slick,” Roy said. “When will it be ready?”
“We’re just about finished,” Ken said. “Al will be over here any minute now and ride back with you boys.”
“What about the cannon?” David asked.
“It’s already at the Box B. That’s the last thing to be mounted, and Martin wanted to supervise that himself. I’m sending along several kegs of black powder and some ball shot. He’ll have everything he needs.”
“I hope it works,” Roy said.
“It’ll work,” Ken said. “Martin will make it work.”
“Did you know Anson left the Box B this morning?” Roy asked.
“Martin said he wasn’t going to stay there and fight Matteo.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Anson is his own man. He and Martin don’t get along too well sometimes.”
“But it’s Anson’s ranch, not Martin’s.”
Ken shook his head. “On paper, maybe. But that’s Martin’s ranch and Anson knows it always will be, no matter whose name is on the deed.”
“It don’t make sense,” Roy said.
“Martin’s blood was on that land long before Anson’s was, Roy. Both men know it. Anson is stubborn, but he’s smart, too. He knows Martin wouldn’t give up that ranch without a fight. Maybe he left because he wanted Martin to play out the hand.”
Roy and David exchanged looks. David shrugged. “I don’t know the man,” he said. “Anson, either.”
“Anson runs deep,” Roy said.
“Well, Martin sure isn’t any shallow ditch,” David said.
Ken laughed. “You’ll never figure it out, if you live to be a hundred years old. Anson has a deep respect for Martin, and Martin, I think, doesn’t really know what makes Anson tick. There were too many years when Martin was gone and Anson was growing into a man. Big gap there that Martin hasn’t yet figured out.”
“Funny,” Roy said. “Martin gave me my land but I always thought the gift came from Anson. In a roundabout way.”
“Maybe it did,” Ken said.
“I sure thought Anson would be right up there in front if anyone tried to take the Box B away from him.”
“Well, the bad blood is between Martin and Matteo. Anson hardly knows anything about the Aguilar family. Martin knows it all.”
“Hell, I don’t even know much of it,” Roy said.
“And you don’t want to,” Ken said, turning back to supervise the finishing touches on the wagon.
Just then Al Oltman entered the livery, followed by Ed Wales. Al’s face was contorted with worry and Ed’s complexion was ashen.
Ken looked up from one of the wheels and straightened when he saw the faces of the two men.
“Something happen?” Ken asked.
“Fort Sumter was fired on,” Wales said. “Confederate forces.”
“Lincoln’s calling for volunteers,” Al added. “It sure as hell looks like war.”
“When?” Ken asked.
“A couple of weeks ago, April twelfth,” Wales said. “I just got the news from a rider who came in from Austin. Throckmorton’s now a brigadier general.”
“Where in hell is Fort Sumter?” Roy asked. “Somewhere in Texas?”
“It’s in South Carolina,” Wales said. “Close enough. There’s going to be a civil war, for sure.”
“Sumter’s a federal garrison,” Al said. “Lincoln wants volunteers to preserve the Union. It’s war, all right.”
“Jesus,” Roy said. “And Texas is the Confederacy, right?”
“Right,” Al said. “But there’s hell to pay in Austin and Fort Worth and everywhere else. People are already choosing up sides. Some want the Union to stay put; others want the Confederacy to break away. Throckmorton’s a secesh, and so is most of the government.”
“We’d better tell the womenfolk,” David said.
“They already know,” Wales said. “I’m getting out an Extra, but the whole town is buzzing with the news.”
“That wagon ready, Ken?” Al asked.
“Two minutes,” Ken said.
“Well, we’d better get it rolling pretty quick. When Aguilar gets this news, he’s liable to start war on Martin Baron quicker’n you can blink your eye.”
“Lopez, you got that wheel set?” Ken asked one of the Mexicans.
“It is ready, I have give it the grease.”
“You can take this to Martin now,” Ken said. “Tell him I wish him luck.”
“I’ve got to get back,” Wales said. Nobody paid him any attention as he scurried from the livery.
The Mexicans brought mules out of stalls and hooked up the wagon. When it was all boarded up and skirted, it looked like a box on wheels.
Roy took the lead, with David and Al as flankers. They rode through the town and not a soul showed any curiosity whatsoever. The people were gathered together in clumps and some were waiting by the Bugle offices for the paper to come out. Roy looked everywhere for his mother, Hattie, and Wanda, but he didn’t see them. David looked, too, and his face was wooden as they left Baronsville behind in a spool of dust.
Roy’s heart quickened. If there really was going to be a war between the North and the South, he might have to fight for the Confederacy. He looked back at David and wondered where his loyalties might lie. There was something exciting about the prospect of war, he had to admit. But there was also a feeling of dread that filled his heart like a dark shadow drifting across the face of the land as a black cloud obscured the light of the sun.
19
PEEBO LOOKED UP at the Big Dipper for the sixth time. His gaze swept the constellation, fixed on the polestar once again. He shook off a touch of giddiness and lowered his head to readjust himself to level ground.
“Just where in hell did you stake out them packhorses, anyway?” Peebo asked.
“Back there,” Anson said, his curt tone cryptic as the night itself.
“‘Back there’? Back where?”
“Yonder.”
“Well, son, there’s all kinds of ‘yonder’s and I’m wondering why we’re heading south instead of east all of a sudden.”
“Oh, you noticed that, did you?”
“Well, I ain’t blind. I can see that North Star same as you, and we’re headin’ south of it.”
“We’re going to cut west in a while,” Anson said.
“West?”
“Somethin’ I want to show you, when the sun comes up.”
Peebo looked to the east and saw the horizon paling, turn ing a lighter color than the stygian blackness of the sky overhead.
“Seems to me you’d be ridin’ in circles, son.”
“A half-circle, really.”
“Mind tellin’ this old son why and what for?”
“Reckon I can, now,” Anson said, and he turned his horse to the west and they rode through clumps of mesquite glistening with starshine and ducked under branches until they came out in the open plain turning pewter in the soft eastern glow that spread skyward behind them. “’Member when I took off after the funeral and followed Bone’s tracks?”
“Yeah,
and then you and that Lorene…”
“That ain’t got nothin’ to do with what I’m tellin’ you, Peebo,” Anson snapped.
“Well, you said those were Bone’s tracks, I recollect.”
“He come over to the Box B for a look-see and then he rode back toward the Rocking A. I aim to track him on back and see what’s going on there. Bone had a reason to come over that day, and that means Matteo Aguilar probably sent him to spy on us.”
“So?”
“So I’m thinkin’ that Matteo must be mighty close to makin’ his move. If Dave Wilhoit was right and Matteo plans to run us off the Box B, I want to make sure he doesn’t get very far.”
“Your pa know about this?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought. You told him he had to fight this battle without you and here you are going after Matteo toe-to-toe. How come all the secrecy, son?”
“Coupla reasons,” Anson said, so low Peebo had to strain to hear him above the scrape and plod of the horses’ hooves. “He’s got a lot on his mind, already, with Ma’s death and his grief, and Aguilar breathin’ down his neck. And if he thinks I’m gone, he’ll fight all the harder to keep the ranch from that Mexican bastard Matteo.”
“There ain’t no packhorses waitin’ for us back yonder, are there?”
“Nope.”
“Any other surprises you got, Anson?”
“A couple, maybe.”
Peebo kept silent and so did Anson as they doubled back toward the trail Bone had left two days before. Then Anson turned to the south again, and as the dawn broke, Peebo was amazed to see that they were right on track. He could see the hoofprints of Bone’s horse going in two directions. The wind had blown dirt into them, but he knew they were the same tracks as the ones Anson had found after his mother’s funeral.
Then Anson halted his horse and held up his hand to stop Peebo from riding on.
“What’s wrong?” Peebo asked.
“Nothing. Just wait.” Anson whistled like a meadowlark, a curly, high trill that sounded remarkably like the bird itself.
In a moment, there was an answering call.
“I’ll bet a Dixie dollar that warn’t no meadowlark callin’ back,” Peebo said.
