Redemption, Kansas

by James Reasoner

  The woman smiled at him. Bill’s heart thumped hard again. She was that pretty, with dark blond hair framing a face faintly dotted with freckles. She had a tiny dimple in her chin, so small you could almost miss seeing it if you didn’t look close. And her eyes were as blue as a mountain lake, he noted as she came closer.

  “How do you feel?” she asked. “Would you like something to drink?”

  His lips and tongue felt thick. He had a little trouble getting the words out as he said, “Uh, I . . . uh, where . . . where am I, ma’am?”

  “This is Redemption, Mr. Harvey.”

  Bill’s eyes widened. “You mean I’ve died and gone to heaven?” He could almost believe it, as pretty as she was.

  But she laughed and shook her head. “Hardly. Redemption, Kansas. It’s a town.”

  “Oh.” Now that he thought about it, he seemed to recall Hob mentioning the place a few days back. It had a bad reputation among the drovers, and the plan was to swing the herd around it.

  Something else occurred to him. He went on, “You know my name.”

  “Yes, Mr. Sanders told us who you are. He said you were injured stopping a stampede last night.”

  So it was just the night before, Bill thought. He was relieved he hadn’t lost any more time than that. He could probably catch up to the herd without much trouble.

  “Hob brought me into town, did he?”

  “That’s right.”

  Bill nodded. “Yeah, Hob’s a good trail boss. Best there is. I’ll be sure to thank him when I get back to the herd.”

  The woman frowned. “What do you mean, when you get back to the herd? You’re not going anywhere, Mr. Harvey.”

  Bill summoned the strength to push himself up on an elbow again. “I got to,” he said. “I signed on to help take those cows to Dodge.”

  “Well, you’re not going to be able to,” she said with a shake of her head. “You’re hurt too badly.”

  “Yeah, but the doc’s already patched me up—”

  “A doctor didn’t bandage your leg. We don’t have a doctor in Redemption. I cleaned the wound and put fresh bandages on it.”

  His first impulse was to argue with her and insist he was fine, but now that she mentioned it, his leg was bound up so tight he couldn’t move it. Then he realized the full import of what she had just said and suddenly felt as warm as if he’d been out in the sun all day.

  “You mean you, uh, saw my . . . oh, Lord . . . I never . . .”

  “Really?” Mischief glinted in those dark blue eyes. “Never? I’m surprised.”

  That made him feel even warmer. Downright uncomfortable, in fact.

  She laughed and gave a little shake of her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you that way. You’ve been through an ordeal. Please don’t worry about it. I’ve done some midwifery and doctoring before. It was just easier to clean the wound properly without any clothing in the way.”

  Bill turned his head to look at the wall. Where he came from, there were decent women, and there were gals who worked in the saloons and dance halls, and the gulf between them was as wide as the ocean. He swallowed hard and said, “I’m sorry you had to subject yourself to that, ma’am.”

  “You can stop calling me ma’am. I’m not married. My name is Eden Monroe.”

  If she was trying to make him feel better about her seeing everything she had seen, telling him that she wasn’t a married lady wasn’t a very good way to go about it. He said, “I’m really obliged to you for your help, Miss Monroe. But I reckon I’d better try to get back to the herd somehow—”

  “That’s impossible. Mr. Sanders said they were moving on to Dodge City and would come by here on their way back to Texas to pick you up. I’m not sure you’ll be able to travel even then. You’ll have to stay completely off that leg for at least a week, maybe longer. I suppose if they bring a wagon, you might be able to ride in it, but it would still be a grueling journey. The wound might not heal properly. It might even get worse.”

  Bill struggled to wrap his mind around what she was telling him. This was a disaster. He couldn’t afford to be stuck here in some backwater Kansas settlement. The wages he was supposed to receive for coming along on the cattle drive were going to give him a start on saving up for a spread of his own. Now he was going to wind up beholden instead of making money.

  “Don’t worry, you can stay here as long as you need to,” said Eden.

  “I’ll pay you,” he choked out. “I reckon Hob’ll have to dock my wages some since I didn’t finish out the drive, but whatever you’re out on me, I’ll see that you get it back somehow.”

  “Didn’t I just tell you not to worry?”

  “Yes, ma’am . . . I mean Miss Monroe . . . but I was raised not to take charity.”

  Actually, charity of any sort was pretty much an unknown commodity in the house of the relatives who had taken him in after his folks died, when he was just a shirttail kid. He’d been another mouth to feed, and his aunt and uncle had made sure he earned every bite.

  “We’ll talk about that later. I’m sure we can work out something that’s agreeable to my father.”

  “Your father?”

  “Perry Monroe. He owns the store. I’m sorry we don’t have a better place for you to stay than this old storeroom, but—”

  “No, this is fine. Mighty fine. I’m sure I’ll be comfortable here. I just don’t want to be a burden to you folks, that’s all.”

  “We have bigger burdens than taking care of you, Mr. Harvey, I assure you.”

  When she said that, Eden’s voice sounded like she was carrying the weight of the world. Bill wanted to ask her what was wrong, but at the same time he knew there was no point in it. After all, as long as he was laid up like this, there wasn’t a blasted thing he could do to help her.

  After a moment of awkward silence, Eden took a step toward the cot and said, “Maybe I ought to check those bandages again—”

  Bill tightened his grip on the sheet and tugged it higher. “They’re fine,” he said. “The leg feels fine.”

  “Really? After seeing what that longhorn did to you, I’d imagine that it hurts like hell.”

  Her plainspokenness surprised him, but at the same time it made him want to grin. He said, “Well, to be honest, it does. I’ve got a pretty bad headache, too. And my mouth’s mighty dry.”

  “Of course it is. You’ve got a hangover.”

  Bill frowned. “A hangover? I don’t remember doing any drinking. Hob doesn’t allow any of that on a drive.”

  “But I’ll bet he carries a bottle of whiskey in his saddlebags for medicinal purposes, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he does,” said Bill. “They must’ve poured some of that who-hit-John down my throat to keep me quiet last night while they were working on my leg.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  Knowing it would probably hurt, Bill tried not to shudder as he thought about old Samuel Haddon roughly cleaning his ripped leg. Uncle Sam, as all the cowboys called him, had never been gentle with anything in his life, as far as Bill could tell. He was glad he’d been drunk, passed out, or both while that was going on.

  “You really need to drink something,” Eden went on. “Between the hangover and the blood you lost from the wound, I’m not surprised you’re thirsty.”

  Bill licked sun-cracked lips. “Yes’m, I surely am.”

  “I’ll bring you some tea. Stay right there.” She started to turn away but stopped to laugh. “Of course you’re going to stay right there. Where could you go, in the shape you’re in?”

  That was a good question, thought Bill, and the answer was, nowhere. He couldn’t budge from the cot.

  Eden went out into the store. Bill lay there with his eyes closed, resting and trying to come to grips with what had happened to him.

  When he heard a footstep about a minute later, he thought Eden was back already and opened his eyes. The pretty blonde wasn’t the one who stood in the doorway, though, with a shoulder pr
opped casually against the jamb.

  The newcomer was a lean, dark-haired man with a scar down his left cheek. Something about him struck Bill as being vaguely familiar. Maybe he had seen the man earlier when Hob and the boys had brought him into Redemption.

  Whoever he was, he didn’t look the least bit friendly. In fact, as he sneered down at Bill, he looked like it would suit him just fine to draw the revolver from the holster on his hip and fill the Texan with lead.

  Chapter 4

  Bill’s skin crawled under the scar-faced hombre’s hostile gaze. He’d been wearing a pistol when the stampede had started the night before, but he didn’t know what had happened to it. His eyes flicked around the room, searching to see if Hob had left it with him, even though he knew that, short of throwing himself off the cot, he probably couldn’t reach it.

  And he damned sure couldn’t reach it and get a shot off before this fella ventilated him.

  “Is he awake, Zach?” asked another man’s voice from behind the one in the doorway.

  “Yeah, he’s awake. Looks kind of spooked, too.”

  “I want to talk to him. You go on back to the office.”

  “You sure you won’t need my help, Marshal?” drawled the first man.

  “I think I can handle one Texan. Especially one who’s laid up.”

  Zach moved out of the doorway. “Whatever you say.”

  An older man took his place. This one took off his hat to reveal graying sandy hair and gave Bill a pleasant enough nod. “Hello,” he said.

  “Howdy.”

  The lawman, who wore a tin star of office pinned to his vest, moved into the room and asked, “Your name’s Harvey, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Bill Harvey. From Texas.”

  The marshal grunted. “You don’t need to tell me that, son. I was there when those other cowboys brought you into town.” He hooked a three-legged stool with his boot toe, dragged it closer to the cot, and sat down. “Normally, we don’t allow Texans inside the town limits of Redemption, especially cowboys.”

  “Well, sir, I’m, uh, mighty glad you made an exception for me.”

  “Miss Monroe insisted on it.” The marshal shrugged. “I’ve made it a rule never to argue with a pretty girl unless I absolutely have to.” He held out a hand. “I’m Frank Porter, by the way.”

  Bill was still weak, but he lifted his arm and gripped Porter’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Marshal.”

  “I expect you’ve heard talk about Redemption among the trail herds, haven’t you?”

  “Some,” admitted Bill. “But just that the herds all go around it. I reckon it has something to do with that rule against Texans.”

  “It’s a rule the town council put into effect for a reason. This is a quiet town. Only one saloon. We can’t handle a bunch of rowdy cowhands coming in here to blow off steam, and folks don’t want their gardens ruined by a bunch of cows trampling through them, either.”

  Bill understood that, but Marshal Porter’s words indicated there had been trouble with trail herds in the past, and that surprised him a little. Redemption was south of the railhead, so when the herds came through this area the cowboys wouldn’t have been paid off yet. That didn’t happen until the cows were sold. So they wouldn’t have had much money for celebrating, or any real reason to celebrate since the drive wasn’t over.

  However, some trail bosses had been known to give their hands a small advance on their wages and let them visit towns the herd bypassed. Hob wouldn’t do that, but some did. That might have happened here in the past. Just like some trail bosses wouldn’t take the herd around but would drive straight through a settlement if it lay on the shortest route to the railroad. Bill was a Texan through and through, but he was also smart enough to know that some fellas were jackasses, no matter where they came from.

  “You don’t have to worry about me causing any trouble, Marshal,” he said. “With this leg of mine, I couldn’t even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I just want to heal up so I can go on about my business.”

  Porter nodded. “That’s good to hear. But for the record, Harvey . . . I wasn’t worried about you causing trouble.”

  Bill might have asked him what he meant by that, but just then Eden stepped into the storeroom again, carrying a cup and saucer and saying, “I’ve got that tea for you—” She stopped short at the sight of Porter sitting there on the stool. “Oh. You’re here, Marshal.”

  He smiled at her as he stood up. “I sure am. I was just having a talk with Mr. Harvey, making sure he understands how things go here in Redemption.”

  “Would you like some tea?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve got to be movin’ on. A lawman’s always busy, you know. But thank you mighty kindly for the offer.” Porter put his hat on and leaned over to pat Bill on the shoulder. “I hope you get to feelin’ better real soon there, Mr. Harvey.”

  The marshal gave Eden a pleasant nod as he left the storeroom. Bill heard Porter’s feet on the floorboards as he walked out through the mercantile.

  Eden set the cup and saucer on a crate and said, “Let me help you sit up a little.”

  This was going to be awkward, thought Bill, and sure enough it was, as Eden came over to the cot and bent down to slip an arm around his shoulders. That put her face right next to his, close enough he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek and smell the fragrance of her hair. He was all too aware, as well, of the soft thrust of her left breast against his arm as she lifted him.

  Throw in the way he had to keep a tight grip on the sheet, lest it slip down, and those few seconds were mighty tense and uncomfortable. He was glad when she propped the pillow behind him and stepped back so he could lean against the wall.

  “I’m obliged,” he told her. “If you’ll just hand me that cup and saucer . . .”

  “And have you dump hot tea in your lap because you’re too weak to hold them?” She shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea, especially under the circumstances. Do you?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  She sat down on the stool the marshal had been using and lifted the cup to his lips. He took a sip of the tea. It was hot, but not so hot he burned his mouth, and it tasted good. The overwhelming thirst he felt made him want to empty the cup in one gulp. But with Eden giving it to him, he had to be content with sips. That was probably better for him anyway.

  “What did the marshal have to say?” she asked.

  “Oh, he was just explaining about how folks here in Redemption don’t usually let Texans come into town.”

  Eden nodded. “There’s an ordinance against them being here.”

  “Seems like that would be sort of hard to enforce. I mean, you can’t always tell where a fella’s from just by looking at him.”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, if a lone Texan were to ride in here and stop for a while but didn’t cause any problems, Marshal Porter might not run him out of town. The purpose of the ordinance is really just to keep the trail herds and their drovers from causing trouble.”

  “That’s happened in the past?”

  Eden gave him another sip of tea and said, “Last year several herds drove straight through town. Right up Main Street, in fact. We didn’t have any law here then, so there was no one to stop them. The first time it wasn’t so bad, but when it happened again and people complained to the cowboys about the damage, they went on a rampage and caused even more. They shot out windows and pulled down false fronts and injured several of the townspeople.”

  “Lord,” Bill said as he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I got to tell you, though, Hob would never let a crew of his get away with something like that. Every trail boss is different and does things in different ways.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” said Eden, “but after that happened, the town council decided they didn’t want to take a chance. They passed the ordinance, and the next time we saw the dust of a trail herd approaching from the south, the mayor and a couple of councilmen rode out to tell the Texans they
’d have to go around Redemption.”

  “What happened?”

  “The mayor and the other men came back into town on foot. They’d been attacked and beaten by the cowboys. And then the herd came through anyway, and I think the Texans made sure the cattle wreaked as much havoc as possible.”

  Bill frowned. “No offense, Miss Monroe, but that doesn’t sound like something anybody I know would do. Most of the boys on these trail drives are just simple, hardworkin’ fellas who only want to get the cows to the railhead and collect their wages. They’re not interested in causing trouble.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes,” said Eden.

  “I don’t doubt that,” Bill said quickly. He’d meant it when he said he didn’t want to offend her. “It just strikes me as a mite odd, that’s all.”

  She shrugged. “After that incident, the town council advertised for a marshal, and Frank Porter showed up and took the job.”

  “That fella with the scar.” Bill touched his left cheek. “He’s Porter’s deputy?”

  “That’s right. Zach Norris.”

  The dislike in Eden’s voice when she mentioned the deputy’s name was plain to hear.

  “Looks like a pretty tough hombre.”

  “He thinks he is, anyway. And I suppose he really is. He’s fast with a gun, there’s no doubt about that.”

  “A pistoleer, is he?”

  “I don’t know exactly what that means. But he’s killed two men in gunfights since he’s been wearing a badge here.”

  Bill wasn’t surprised. He’d seen the killing urge in Zach Norris’s eyes for himself. Down in Texas, there were men like that, men who had been so embittered by the war and the oppressive reconstruction following it that human life, their own or someone else’s, no longer meant much to them. If they were crossed, even if it was just a minor confrontation, they instinctively reached for a gun.

  “What about Porter?”

  “What about him? He’s not like Deputy Norris, if that’s what you mean. He’s tough enough that no one wants to argue with him—he’s been a lawman in several other towns, I’ve heard—but he’s not the same sort of cold-blooded killer Norris is. In fact, he keeps Norris under control. Between the two of them, they see to it the trail herds don’t cause us any more trouble.”