“They’re saying that, are they?”
“They’re laughing at you, Mott. I heard a man yesterday say that Stuart had made a fool out of you.”
A flash of anger rose in Mott Castleton. Her words only enflamed a grudge that had never died out. For days after Leah had broken off with him long ago, he had been consumed by the same anger that now rose in him again. He had never liked Stuart Winslow, and now he said harshly, “That’s what they’re saying, is it?”
“Yes.”
Despite the renewed anger that rushed through him, Mott suddenly caught something in Cora’s expression. He thought quickly and then drew back. “What about you and Stuart?” He saw his question stirred something in Cora, and then he laughed. “Oh, so you made your try, and Stuart wouldn’t have anything to do with you! Is that it?”
“Yes. That’s it!” Cora said vehemently. “I don’t like to be tossed aside, Mott.”
“Well, it looks like there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Yes, there is. There’s got to be something.”
Mott suddenly was struck with an idea. He had been hoping for some time that somehow Stuart would break the conditions of his pardon and go back to prison. And now he said slowly, “All he’s got to do, Cora, is get involved in one fight. I’m sure we can find a judge only too ready to return Stuart to prison.”
“He’s too smart to get in a fight,” Cora said quickly.
Mott shook his head. He had a vivid imagination and already was beginning to formulate a plan. “Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.”
Cora stood to her feet and he followed. She reached up, pulled his head down, and kissed him. “That’s my man,” she whispered.
He held her tightly. He was smart enough to know that she was using him. Still, she was a desirable woman, and he was a man who took what was offered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You’re a Coward, Winslow!”
Hack Wilson leaned back in his chair and studied the face of the man in front of him. His dealings with Mott Castleton had been strictly professional, for Castleton had defended him more than once on charges. If there was one man whom Hack admired among the breed of attorneys, it was Mott Castleton, for despite Hack’s contempt for men in general, Castleton had at least been able to keep him out of jail.
“You must want something, Counselor.” Wilson grinned. He was a course and beefy man well over six feet with close-cropped fair hair and close-set blue eyes. He was one of those men who delight in using his physical prowess to intimidate other men and had killed one man in a brawl in New Orleans. He had crippled others so brutally that most men walked around him carefully, fearful of his massive fists and savage power.
Mott had found Wilson in a bar in Lewistown, and now he took a quick drink, then leaned forward. “I’ve got a job for you, Hack.”
“That’ll be a switch. What kind of a job is it?”
“An easy one.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Wilson said sourly. “You just tell me what it is, and I’ll make up my mind whether it’s easy or not.”
“I want a man busted up.”
“What man?”
“Stuart Winslow.”
Wilson’s smallish eyes opened wide with surprise. “Winslow!” He thought for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, you was all set to marry his woman when he got out of the pen. I guess that makes you look pretty foolish, don’t it? I been hearin’ talk about it.”
“Never mind why I want it done. You don’t have any cause for loving Winslow yourself, do you? I remember back in the old days he took you down a few cuts.”
Wilson straightened up, and anger flared in his pale eyes. “That was a long time ago,” he said. Castleton had referred to a fight that Wilson had once had with Stuart in which he had been beaten. It was one of the few times Wilson had lost, and for years it had gnawed away at him. Now he leaned forward and said, “It won’t be any trouble. I can whip him, but if what I hear is true, he won’t fight. If he does, he goes back to the pen. He won’t be fool enough to fight.”
“You’ll have to find some way to make him fight. All he has to do is hit you one time. Now look, Hack. Do what you have to do, but there’s a hundred dollars in it for you if you get him to strike a blow.”
“Two hundred.”
“That’s too much.”
“I meant to say two-fifty. I’m like you lawyers.” Wilson grinned loosely. “My fees go up the more I argue.”
“All right. Two-fifty, but he has to fight. This is not just for beating him up. That won’t help me any.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make him fight.”
“And keep my name out of it.”
“I’ll have half of that money now. I’m a little shy.” Wilson waited until Mott produced some bills, stuck them in his pocket, and said, “I’ll take care of it, Counselor.”
****
“Okay, everybody get in,” Stuart called. Stuart started the car, and as Leah put Merry in the front seat and then sat down beside her, he said, “Where’s Raimey?”
“He had to go back and get his money. He’s planning to buy that new pocketknife he’s been saving for.”
Raimey, at that moment, came bursting out of the house and jumped in the backseat of the Ford. “I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s go fast, Dad.”
Stuart laughed and put the car in gear. Turning around, he left the yard and glanced over at Leah. “Be nice to have a day off,” he suggested. “You’ve been working too hard.”
“No, you’ve been working too hard. Those pigs take all of your time. I declare,” she laughed, “I’m getting jealous of them.”
“Well, if that don’t take the rag off the bush!” Stuart grinned. He turned around and winked at Raimey. “There’s a woman jealous of pigs. How about that!”
“Daddy, can we go to see a picture show?”
“I don’t see why not,” Stuart said. “I hear Mary Pickford’s got a new one out. What do you say we get our shopping done, get that new knife for Raimey, get you a new bonnet, get your mama a new dress, and then we’ll go.”
“What about you, Dad? Don’t you want anything?”
Stuart reached back and pulled Raimey’s cap down over his eyes. “I’ve got you and your sister and your mama. What else could a fellow want?”
Stuart was feeling good. April had brought fine weather, and the pig venture was working out better than he had dared to hope. As he drove along waving at neighbors out the open window from time to time, the thought crossed his mind, I never thought I’d be happy over a few pigs, but I am. He glanced over at Leah, pleased with the serenity in her features. She turned to face him, and she seemed to grow prettier as he watched her. He was struck again at how her features were often a reflection of her thoughts. Laughter and a love of life these days seemed to lie behind her eyes waiting for release. The gray dress she wore set off her figure, and with one hand she reached up and caught her hat, which nearly blew off.
“That’s a foolish hat,” he said.
“Don’t you be taking my hat in vain,” Leah said. “I paid a dollar and a half for this hat at Montgomery Ward’s.”
“We’ll get you a better one in town.”
Her lips became soft. She shrugged slightly, then suddenly reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. The thought of a smile touched her lips, and everything about her pleased him. She was looking at him silently, and he wondered what thoughts filled her mind. But Stuart Winslow knew that a miracle had come to him in these last days. The awe of it now filled his mind, and he felt a thrill of excitement at how God had delivered him from all that he had been and restored his family to him.
“Look, the town’s full up!”
“Sure is,” Stuart said as he drove slowly down the main street. “It’s not Saturday, is it? I don’t reckon they’re having a cattle sale or anything.”
Pulling up to the curb, Stuart got out and saw Luke Garrison leaning against the wall of the barbershop. “What’s going on
, Luke?”
Leaving his position, Luke came over and said, “You haven’t heard? Congress has declared war.”
Leah had come up, and she grabbed Stuart’s arm. “War! Is it certain?”
“Yes. It’s all set. Not gonna be nice, either. War never is.”
“No, it isn’t,” Stuart said soberly. He turned and walked slowly along the Winslow Mercantile Company, his thoughts on the battlefields so far away. “There’s gonna be some good Americans dying in that war,” he said.
Leah did not speak. She could not tell him what was on her heart. More than once she had breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that out of all the trouble that Stuart had, at least he would not have to go to this war!
They entered the store, and Richard immediately came forward. He leaned over and picked up Merry with a laugh and said, “I know what you want. Candy.”
“Yes! Lots of it, Grandpa!”
“Well, we’ll have to see about that. What about you, Raimey?”
“I been savin’ up the money for that deer knife, Grandpa. I got almost enough. If you’d just give me a little discount, I could take it home today.”
Richard Winslow laughed. He doted on these grandchildren, and now he said, “A discount, is it? Well, I can see you’re going to be a businessman. You go look at that knife, and I’ll be right there.”
Still holding Merry, Richard said, “You heard about the war?”
“Yes,” Stuart said. “Too bad.”
“Well, it had to come.” Richard shook his head sadly, then turned to Leah. “Why don’t you go pick out a nice new bonnet?”
“What’s wrong with the one I’ve got?” Leah said.
“Every woman ought to have two bonnets.”
“All right. Come along, Merry. We’ll get you some candy, and then you can help me pick out a bonnet.”
The two men stood there and, as usual, Stuart felt uneasy. His father had never completely relaxed in his attitude toward him, and Stuart was saddened by the wall he still sensed between them.
“How are things out at the farm?”
“Nothing much to raising pigs. I hope there’s a good market for them.”
“There will be. With this war going on, there’ll be lots of salt pork shipped overseas.”
The two men talked for a time, then Richard said, “Well, I’ve got to get back to work.”
He left abruptly, which grieved Stuart. He longed to be closer to his father, but he did not know any way to heal the breach between them.
When they left the store an hour later, everyone had something. Raimey had the deer knife in a brand-new sheath on his belt. He would pull it out, admire the brightness of the metal until his mother said, “Put that thing away. You’re going to hurt somebody.”
Merry had candy and a new outfit for her doll, and Leah had a new hat and a dress to match. Stuart had bought a razor, and as they left the store, he said, “Let’s go get some ice cream. I feel like chocolate. What about you, Merry?”
“Vanilla.”
The four made their way along the sidewalk, the sun warm on their backs. They were nearly to Richardson’s Drug Store when suddenly a voice drew them up shortly.
“Hey, Winslow!”
Stuart turned, and his eyes narrowed as he saw Hack Wilson approaching. Wilson’s eyes glinted, and there was a cruel smile on his face. Instantly Stuart grew cautious. He had had trouble with this man long ago in the past. The two had never liked each other, and now he saw at a glance that Wilson was half drunk. “What do you want, Hack?”
“I just want to talk,” Hack said. He came up and stood directly in front of Stuart, and the odor of alcohol, tobacco, and rank sweat burned Stuart’s nostrils.
“We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Wait a minute! You’re not going to walk off and leave me!”
Stuart tried to edge by, but Hack had reached out and put his massive hand on his arm. “You think you’re better than I am? You’re nothing but a stinking jailbird!”
A crowd had begun to make a small circle, for Hack Wilson’s reputation was well known. Leah said nervously, “Come on, Stuart. Don’t pay any attention to him.”
“Hey, lady, don’t you want to know what kind of a man you’re married to?”
Stuart knew at that moment that there was more to this than was apparent. Wilson’s eyes were not those of a man completely drunk. He was crafty and vicious, and a coldness went over Stuart as he tried desperately to think of some way out. He had been strictly warned about getting in trouble with the law again, and if he had one fear in life, it was of going back to the penitentiary. Now that he had been restored to his family and things were going well, he determined at that instant that nothing would change that.
“We’ll just move along, Hack,” he said. “No trouble.”
Hack reached out suddenly and grabbed Stuart by his shirt-front. He held him there and said, “No trouble! You’re nothing but a yellow-bellied coward, Winslow! You always were!”
Stuart reached up and grabbed Hack’s wrist and ripped it away, but at that moment a tremendous blow caught him in the temple. The world seemed to be full of rockets going off, and he had the taste of metal in his mouth. He heard Wilson’s taunting as he fell to the ground.
“Get up! Show this kid of yours you’re not a coward, Winslow!”
Stuart shook his head and got to his feet. “I won’t fight you,” he said, and even as he said it, he knew it was hopeless. Another blow came to him. He managed to slip it and could have at that moment delivered a killing punch into Wilson’s face. When he did not take it, he suddenly was driven backward by a barrage of blows from the burly Wilson. They came from every direction, and Stuart barely kept his feet. He heard Leah crying out for Wilson to stop, but he knew now that Wilson never would. I’ll have to take a beating, but that’s better than going to prison. . . .
Wilson stopped and laughed at Winslow’s bleeding face and bruised lips. “What’s the matter with you? Ain’t you any kind of a man at all? Come on. You were so tough a few years ago.” He looked over and saw Raimey Winslow staring at his father, his face pale. “You don’t want your kid there to think you’re nothin’ but a coward, do you?”
“You know I can’t fight you, Hack.”
“I don’t know anything about that, but I know I’m going to beat you to a pulp if you don’t.”
Hack threw himself forward, and a blow caught Stuart in the chest. The force of the man’s power was behind it, and Stuart fell over the curb, sprawling out headlong. He saw Hack draw his foot back and curled himself up. Wilson’s boot struck him, and pain shot through him, making him gasp.
“You’ll fight or I’ll kick you to pieces!” Wilson roared. He drew back his foot, but the kick was never delivered.
Ace Devainy had come running when someone had told him that Winslow was into it with Hack Wilson. He arrived just as Wilson delivered his first kick. When the burly man drew back his boot again, Ace quickly reached out and picked up a heavy cane-bottomed chair from the outdoor café outside Richardson’s. He raised it high in the air and brought it down with all of his force on Hack Wilson’s head. The force of the blow drove the man to the ground and opened up a cut in his skull so that a gush of red blood flowed out. When Hack tried to get up, Ace raised the chair again and brought it down. This time he splintered the chair with the force of the blow. Wilson was driven down face first to the ground, and blood seeped into the street.
Breathing hard, Ace reached over and pulled Stuart to his feet. “Get your family out of here, Stuart.”
Stuart took one look at his friend’s face. “Thanks, Ace.”
“Get out of here. Don’t stop.”
“This’ll be trouble for you. You know Hack.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Ace watched as Stuart moved along with Leah clinging to his arm. He saw them get into the car, start it, and then leave town. Only then did he turn back to Wilson. The man was stirring, and Ace looked up to see L
uke Garrison, who had joined the crowd. Luke did not say a word, but his eyes were watchful.
Hack rolled over, grunted, and got safely to his feet. Blood was running over his ear and left a crimson track down his face. He stared at Ace in confusion and then down at the remains of the chair. “Did you do that, Devainy?”
“Sure I did,” Ace said. He stepped closer to Hack and had to look up at the other man. “Leave Stuart alone, Hack, or I’ll rub you out.”
Hack shook his head, sending drops of blood flying. He growled and said, “We’ll see—” He suddenly halted, for Luke Garrison had come around his line of vision. Garrison did not say a word, but his eyes were fixed on Hack Wilson. Something in them gave Wilson pause. With a muttered curse he wheeled and turned and elbowed his way through the crowd.
“That’ll be trouble for you, Ace.”
“You know what he’s doing, don’t you, Luke?”
“I know, but there’s not much I can do about it.”
The two men stood considering each other, and finally Garrison said, “If I were you, I’d start carrying a gun. You know what Hack’s like.”
“Not a bad idea, Luke. I think I’ll do it.”
****
The scene with Hack Wilson had shaken Leah. None of them had spoken on the way home. Merry had cried, but Raimey had sat bolt upright, his face pale, his lips drawn in a fine line.
When they had arrived home, Stuart had changed clothes and said, “I’ve got to go see about a little fence mending.”
As soon as he was gone, Raimey turned to his mother and said, “He could have fought back, Mom.”
Leah turned to Raimey, her face set in an angry mold. “You don’t understand, Raimey. Your father’s still considered an ex-convict by most people of the law.”
“I know that.”
“Do you know the conditions of his pardon? If he ever gets into a fight with anybody, he’ll for sure have to go back to prison. Can’t you understand that?”
Even as she spoke, Leah saw the resentment and pain and grief in her son’s eyes. She understood the code of honor that her son saw all around him constantly. Men who would not fight were cowards. Already there was no gray area. A man either fought or he didn’t. If he did, even if he lost, he was a man. Leah knew this code existed even on the school grounds and that a boy who would not fight was a sissy by everyone’s definition.
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