by Reece Butler
“Stay still, or I’ll use my knife.”
She immediately stopped struggling.
“Ya shouldn’t’a married an Injun when they’s white men goin’ wantin’.”
She gagged when the smell of his whispered words passed her nose.
“I kin show ya what a real man does to a woman.” He ground against her clenched buttocks. “Feel that? White meat waitin’ fer ya.” He inhaled deeply. “Mmm, yer gonna be mine. Me and my pardner, we’ll show ya.” He banged his groin against her in a disgusting parody of what she shared with Ross. “Ye’ll soon be a widder, and mine. And don’t tell about this warnin’ or I’ll kill yer sister’s brat.”
He pushed her forward. She stumbled on the rough ground. When she caught her balance and turned, the passage was empty. She leaned her back against the rough brick to catch her breath. She brushed away furious tears. She would not be scared by the ridiculous threats of a coward.
Beth had stood her ground and defended herself against three men determined to hurt her. She’d even shot two of them! Though the man who hired them, Big Joe Sheldrake, was still around, Beth hadn’t been hurt since.
Ross said the MacDougals came from a long line of warriors. She was part of that line now. God willing, she’d produce strong sons and daughters to carry the proud name forward into the future.
She would not be cowed by nasty words from a disgusting blowhard. And how dare he think the color of his skin made him a better person? Nevin and Ross on their most cantankerous days were from a different species as that beast! If he scrubbed his hide and mouth for a week, dressed as the finest dandy, and had enough money for hot and cold running servants, he would still be a brute!
Amelia set her shoulders back and stepped around the corner. Though she held the banister, she went upstairs with steady steps. She washed her face and right hand with soap, wincing but knowing it was needful to clean the scrape. Fresh water on her handkerchief, dabbed over her eyes, would hide her ridiculous tears. She then used her damp cloth to wipe away the few stains on the arm of her dress. She took another moment to put the whole episode behind her then descended the stairs as if wearing a Paris gown at the Christmas ball.
As she neared the street, she stumbled on a loose board. She caught herself, but the incident made her heart race once more. She rested her hand on the brick for a moment while she rotated her ankle to make sure she hadn’t sprained it. A thought came to her. If Ross asked about the marks on her hand, she’d tell him she stumbled in her new boots, which was true. She’d say her hand got scratched by the brick, which was also true. He didn’t need to know the two didn’t happen at the same time.
After all, she had little to tell him. A smelly man a few inches taller had held her arm for a moment and said he wanted her. Considering the looks she caught from the miners while at the Elliotts’, a lot of the men wanted to find a woman of their own. This one just happened to catch her unawares. That would not happen again.
She’d ask Patsy for a small knife in a sheath, one she could sew a pocket for under her skirts. Beth had done the same with her pistol and killed the beasts who threatened her. Her plan was women’s business, something Ross didn’t need to know about.
She looked both ways, lifted her skirts high to avoid the dust and dung, and crossed the street to the mercantile.
* * * *
Ross pushed the mercantile’s door open, causing the bell to tinkle. Everyone in the place, including his wife, stared at him. Patsy Tanner stared because he usually came in the back and spoke with her husband about his needs. The other women dropped their eyes and turned back to what they were doing though the volume dropped a bit. You’d think his being married and wearing white man’s clothes would make them less skittish.
Amelia turned away as well, her color high. Had she been talking about him? Something was bothering her, something to do with him. His lip twitched. Maybe she was explaining why she’d screamed his name so many times that first night.
He wanted to haul her into his arms and show those flustered hens how a real man kisses his woman. Instead, he lifted his hat to them. Mrs. Dawes looked him in the eye and smiled. The shy woman had gotten to know the MacDougals better as Prue traded her handmade lace for preserves from Mrs. Dawes’s kitchen. He nodded politely as he passed by.
He grabbed a big dill pickle as he passed the stove. Since it wouldn’t be used for the summer, John Tanner stuck the pickle barrel on top. He held the pickle high so Patsy would see and add it to his bill. He crunched down, relishing the sour taste that zapped his mouth. It was gone by the time he entered the back room, the aftertaste sweet on his tongue.
John Tanner placed another hundred-pound bag of beans on a pile. He wiped his forehead and nodded at Ross.
“Ah put three bags of beans aside,” said John in his slow drawl.
“My wagon’s parked out front this time. I’ll carry them through.”
“Got yerself a wife.”
“Yep.”
“Good. Settle ye down some.”
Ross followed John out the wide door to the street behind. The mule team was gone, but the heavy wagon wasn’t yet unloaded. Both men lifted a bag onto their shoulders. Nothing else would get done until John had the wagon unloaded and everything put away.
They worked in tandem for fifteen minutes. Though John must have been over fifty, he worked as quickly and efficiently as Ross. The extra help wouldn’t be mentioned, but John kept his eye out for those who knew how things should be done.
“Big order came through.”
“Smythe?”
“Ah, yep.”
“I don’t trust the man.” Ross set the last bag down. “Fool thinks to prove his worth by building a fancy house.” He snorted. “I won’t do business with anyone who bets their ranch on the turn of a card.” He rolled his shoulders. “Unless he pays in gold up front.”
“You tryin’ to teach me to suck eggs?”
“No, sir. You may be old, but you’ve never been stupid.”
Though Ross received a grunt in reply, the older man looked pleased. He picked up a broom. Ross lifted half-full barrels so he could sweep underneath.
“Saw a couple strangers. Think they’re sneakin’ into the Emslow place.” He stopped to catch Ross’s eye. “I get up for that fool dog at night. Last full moon, I seen ’em while he was doin’ his business.”
“I thought she locked the doors at nine o’clock.”
He nodded. “One of ’em reminds me of her. Couldn’t right tell with his nose drooping into his neckerchief.”
Ross scratched his jaw. “Who was he with?”
“Some two-bit drifter. Covered the bottom half of his face just the same.” John bent over to get the broom into a corner. “Seems to me you been lookin’ for somebody a long time.”
“Could be.”
“If’n I knew what to look for…”
Ross kept working. Only Gillis knew he wanted vengeance, but he didn’t know why. Nobody else knew, except the three men he would kill or die trying. Amelia had interrupted his plans. Stuck at the ranch, he couldn’t search or follow up rumors. John was in the right place.
“Three men,” he said. “One’s got the bottom of his nose sliced with a knife.”
“That would hurt.”
“I sure hope so. The other has powder burns on the bottom part of his face from way back. They might have faded some.”
“A woman?”
Ross nodded.
“How long?”
“Most of my life.”
John hesitated for a moment then kept sweeping. Ross let him work it out.
“That why you come back from your ma’s folks?”
“Yep.” The Tanners had welcomed his mother to the town they’d created. They valued her healing, especially when babies came. Her skin color didn’t matter a damn then, and his didn’t matter now.
John sucked his teeth as he worked. This time, he stood to look Ross in the eye. He had to tilt his head a bit to do it,
but there was no loss of power because he was shorter.
“You said three.”
“My raven went after the other’s head. Blood was pouring down when he raced his horse away.”
“Grow back hair, wear a hat, and nobody’d know.”
Ross shrugged. “Maybe he’ll go bald. Lose his hat.”
John nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned his back and walked away.
Ross picked up a bag, put it on his shoulder, and headed to the front of the store.
Chapter Nineteen
“Yer Pa’s drunk agin’.” The barefoot boy whispered the words to his ragged companion. “Ya gotta run away.”
“I cain’t, Billy. If I run, he’ll find me, lock me up where nobody’ll see, and beat on me regular. I’druther be dead.” The second boy’s harelip made him mumble the words.
“What’cha gonna do? He’s got such a mad on, he’s like to kill ya.”
Ernie looked around. Their hiding spot, behind two barrels separating the mercantile and Mrs. Dawes’s dress shop, was almost useless. Baldy’s Saloon was across the street and down a bit. His father was inside, spending the gold dust someone had given him. He sure as heck hadn’t worked for it. Work was something other men did.
He had to get out of town without being seen. In front of the mercantile was a wagon waiting to be loaded. As he watched, a tall, dark-skinned man came out of the door with a hundred-pound burlap bag over his shoulder. He set the bag in the wagon with a thump and went back inside. Everyone knew that man always carried at least three knives and that he could throw them in a flash.
But he saw the same man rescue the Tanners’ old dog. A pair of drunken cowboys, yelling and shooting, had raced their horses through town as the dog crossed the street. Everyone knew the dog was deaf and half blind. He watched in horror as the horses raced toward the dog. Suddenly, a man ran into the street, swept the dog into his arms, and ran across the street just before the horses flew past. When he let the dog into the mercantile, light shone on his dark face. He looked directly at Ernie. He touched his finger to his lips and walked toward the hotel.
When it was full dark, Ernie stopped by the hotel to see if they’d tossed any scraps out. Instead of fighting the dogs for a gnawed bone, he found a wooden bowl and spoon set on a barrel. Stew, still warm, with a handful of biscuits to dunk in it. Since then, every night, there was a little something for him in the bowl. Mrs. McLeod had even hired him to do some chores now and then. Thanks to Mrs. MacDougal giving him a nickel for hauling water, he almost had enough for a new pair of pants. If she was that nice, maybe her man wouldn’t kill him.
“I gotta get me a job.”
“Pa said a rich dude hired him to build a fancy house. Maybe you could work there.”
“Naw, it’s gotta be somewheres else.”
Billy stared from the wagon to his friend and back. “Not with the MacDougal Devil?”
“Yep.”
“He’ll kill ya!”
“Cain’t be worse’n my pa.” He scratched at the healing scab on his shin. “Ya better leave afore he sees ya.”
Billy heaved a sigh. “Wish ya could get a job with my pa.” They stood up. Billy held out a dirty hand. They shook solemnly. “Hope ye don’t get killed,” he said before running away.
Ernie brushed off his ragged clothes as best he could. He used both hands to push his long, matted hair out of his eyes. He raised his head high. Pa hit him whenever he saw his ugly face, so he grew his hair long and tilted his face to cover his ugly lip. No more. Mr. MacDougal never let anyone push him around. That was the type of man he wanted to be if he lived to grow up.
He pushed his shoulders back and walked over to the wagon with fists clenched and chest tight. Even though the man had saved a dog, it didn’t mean he would want the spawn of the devil working for him. If his father hated the sight of his face, why would a stranger take him in? The man set the second bag in the wagon. He stood up, facing away.
“You tryin’ to sneak up on me, boy?”
“No, sir, Mr. MacDougal. I come over askin’ fer a job.”
The huge man turned and glowered down at him. Ernie automatically ducked his head then forced himself to look up. He’d never seen anything other than hawks with those strange, gold eyes. He felt like a mouse right before huge claws caught him and carried him away to eat.
“You scared of me?”
“Yessir.” He heard the tremble in his high voice. He swallowed and tried to sound older, more confident. “But I need a job. I’m small and skinny, but I kin do lots of chores. I don’t eat much, and I kin sleep in the barn.”
“Yer pa found some dust?”
Ernie nodded, his face heating.
Mr. MacDougal suddenly had a knife in his hand. A long, thin, wickedly sharp one. He held it near the tip and dug out a sliver from his palm. Ernie imagined that knife sliding between his ribs, killing him faster than he could think. He gritted his teeth to stop them chattering and locked his shaking knees. Those eyes flashed at him for a moment, and the knife disappeared.
“Mrs. MacDougal’s from the city. She’s not used to hard work.” The big man spoke over Ernie’s head, gazing down the street as if watching one of the stray dogs scratch fleas. “Can you keep the wood box and water barrels full, do chores, and keep the barn clean and tidy?”
The man’s golden eyes suddenly bored deep enough to see into his soul. Unable to speak with his throat so tight, Ernie nodded. He was careful to keep his hands still and in sight.
“Git in the wagon between the beans and settle yourself. Then don’t move no matter what. Understand?”
Ernie’s breath shuddered out in a gasp. He blinked hard. At a nod from his new boss, he scrambled into the wagon. He had to lie on his side to fit between the bags. The stink of fresh burlap clogged his nose, but nothing was going to stop him from escaping. A prickly blanket settled over him. It smelled of sweaty horses. He heard the footsteps of his new boss fade as he walked back into the store. Though the sun shone down hot on that blanket, he shivered.
He waited, hot and thirsty, as things were piled around him. Some light packages were even set on top of his shoulder. He didn’t move. Finally, he heard the high laugh of a woman approach. The wagon barely moved as Mr. MacDougal set her on the seat. The wagon shook when he climbed up. The wagon jerked a bit before rolling forward.
“Where’s that ugly brat of mine? You git here now, or I’ll tan your hide!”
Ernie’s heart spasmed as the familiar slurred voice erupted almost beside him. The saloon was in the wrong direction out of town, which meant his pa had come looking for him. Though it was dark under the blanket, he jammed his eyes shut and pretended he wasn’t there. The wagon kept on rolling, leaving the yells of rage behind.
“Soon as it’s safe, we’ll stop and let you out,” said Mr. MacDougal quietly.
“What are you talking about?”
When the woman spoke, Ernie could almost hear a laugh in her voice. Had his ma ever sounded like that? He would never know as he’d killed her by being born.
“I hired a boy to help with the chores.”
“But—”
“He can do chores a he—heck of a lot better than you. If you have more time, maybe you’ll learn how to cook.” The missus sputtered. She was suddenly silent for a minute then sighed. When Mr. Ross spoke again, he sounded like he had a frog in his throat. “We’ll have more time to work the ranch. It’ll be good to have a man around to see to you when we’re away.”
Ernie stopped himself in time when Mr. Ross called him a man. He’d almost inhaled deep. The dirt and straw dust from the blanket would have started him coughing and choking. They’d know he listened in on their private conversation and toss him out of the wagon.
“I’ll have you know, Mr. MacDougal, that I can cook just fine!”
She spoke so uppity that Ernie winced, waiting for the slap and cry of pain. Any woman or child talking back got hit. Men got punched or shot.
“Your biscuits are getting a mite better, but I didn’t marry you to get a cook.”
Mr. MacDougal didn’t sound angry. Ernie heard quiet murmurs and…kissing? He gulped. Too bad he couldn’t close his ears like he could his eyes.
Finally, Mrs. MacDougal cleared her throat. “I do have more than one talent. I know how to draw, though I need more practice, and—”
“That’s not what I want to practice with you, wife.”
She laughed at his growled reply. Ernie wasn’t sure why, but hearing that laugh made him wish his mother had lived. Maybe then his father wouldn’t be so mean.
It was another half hour before the wagon stopped. His right shoulder and hip were sore from being knocked against the wooden boards of the wagon, and half his body felt cramped. The light packages were lifted off, but he still waited.
“Don’t move,” growled a deep voice.
He heard a ripping sound. Sunlight poured down between the slices of thick blanket. Mr. MacDougal stood over him holding a large knife in his hand. Ernie blinked in the light. The big man smiled, and Ernie tensed. He knew men who did that right before they attacked. But Mr. MacDougal winked, twirled the knife, and made it disappear. When he held out his hand, Ernie grabbed for it. A strong grip lifted him high and set him on top of his temporary hiding spot. He gulped fresh air, shuddering in relief.
“This is Mrs. MacDougal. You’ll call me Mr. Ross. What’s your name, boy?”
“Ernie Thompson.”
“I think it best you get a new name. That way, we won’t forget and use it in town and find your pa showing up one day, stomping mad.”
“I’ve always like the name Daniel,” said Mrs. MacDougal.
“That’s a pretty powerful name,” said Ross. “You up to fighting off lions like in the Bible story? They don’t have shaggy manes in these mountains, but they’ll kill you just the same.”
“Don’t know Bible stories, but I’ll fight lions and rattlers and anything else, sir.”
Ross pointed to the bags of beans. “Take a seat. Amelia, where’s that lunch basket Mrs. McLeod sent? I think Daniel could use some breakfast.” Mrs. MacDougal leaned under the seat. Mr. Ross tilted his head and watched her. When she began to straighten up, he winked. “How old are you, Daniel?”
