Head West (The Collected Western Stories of B.J. Holmes)

by BJ Holmes

  He remained seated in the darkening house. He was used to sitting alone these days. Eth staying overnight at her sister’s was becoming a regular thing. Said she needed a break.

  This can’t go on, he thought. Time to put some effort into patching things up. But how?

  Then he had an idea. He went into the kitchen and made reconnoiter of the stocks. He was no cook but he could make an acceptable chili, and there was enough food in. That’s what he would do. He’d lay the table complete with candles––a flower vase too––and mosey over to his sister-in-law’s, turn on the Shuker charm and persuade his missus to return; then treat her to a romantic supper. The most romantic supper she’d ever had.

  Once again in buoyant spirits he made preliminary preparations, and headed to the other side of town. His sister-in-law looked a little flustered when she saw him at the door.

  ‘Oh, what a pity,’ she said when he’d explained his plan. ‘I’m sorry, but Eth’s retired early.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said pertly. ‘I’ll have a word with her. I think I can talk her round to coming back this evening.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea, Jonathan. See, er, she has a raging headache.’

  He grimaced, let out an ‘Oh’, then accepted the situation. ‘I see. Suppose I’d better leave it at that. Well, be sure to tell her I called. I’ll see her in the morning: He touched his hat. ‘Goodnight, Pat!’

  ‘Goodnight, Jonathan.’

  As he strolled back he mulled things over. A headache? Strange. Eth didn’t have headaches. Leastways, if she did have one it would be the first. OK, always a first time. He pondered more as he walked. But why go to her sister’s, then retire early even if she did have a headache? She could have rested just as easily at home. What if she didn’t have a headache? What would be the point of Pat saying she’d had one?

  But as he walked home these thoughts were replaced by the other matter eating away at his brain––the practical problem of acquiring a horse. A couple of days trying to handle his lawman duties without the means to travel around the town and region had proved the job to be unworkable. Not relishing a sleepless night in an empty house with nothing to do other than chew the matter over, he decided to try to bring the thing to a resolution. He would call on Mr Peplow at home and talk it through man to man. The guy was a banker, for god’s sake. What was a hundred bucks with the thousands he’d got in the safe?

  So he made a detour, to take in Peplow’s house. It was a big place, set back just out of town. There were lights on so he knew the fellow was at home. He pushed through the gate and advanced to the door. He was just about to knock when he heard voices coming from within. It was a warm night and the windows were open. What stopped him in his tracks was the laugh. There was only one person with a laugh like that––Eth. He walked to the side of the house in shadow, and edged along the wall. He came to a window. Jeez!

  Eth and Peplow were sitting closely beside each other, each with a drink in hand. As cozy as could be. He fell against the wall, his brain numb as the sight and sounds of the scene registered. His immediate reaction was to shoot round to the front door, kick it open and confront them. He imagined the likely scenario. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she would say. ‘Breaking in on two friends having an innocent drink together.’ What a jerk he would look. Such action would make things worse.

  As the discovery sank in, he leant his back against the wall, his eyes closed. What should he do? He still hadn’t come to a decision when he became aware of footsteps on the boarded floor inside and of the voices getting fainter. He looked through the window again, just in time to see the couple disappearing upstairs.

  Dazed and increasingly sickened, he moved away and trudged slowly homeward. He’d never lied to his wife. Likewise it had never occurred to him that she would lie to him. Of late things had been difficult between them but he had never lied to her. Like a jackass he’d assumed she didn’t lie to him. Back in the house he lay sleepless on the bed. His wife’s affections were now obviously and solidly elsewhere. Things fitted into place. Despite the town suffering bad times, Peplow was still well to do. A choice prize for a woman. And what had Jonathan to offer? Zilch. Hell, what should he do?

  Long before morning he had come to decision.

  He opened his eyes. Sunlight was pouring in through the undraped window. It took a few seconds for things to come back to him. The short sleep had provided no respite and he was achingly tired––but he knew what he had to do.

  He went downstairs, washed and shaved. By the time he had taken a bite to eat, Eth still hadn’t returned. It didn’t matter. He gathered a few things and stashed them in his warbag. He slung it over his shoulder and walked to the livery stable.

  ‘You going anyplace in the next half an hour, Ike?’ he asked.

  ‘No plans,’ the hostler said. ‘Why?’

  Jonathan dropped his warbag to the hay-strewn floor. ‘Can I leave this here for a spell?’

  ‘Sure,’ the hostler said and, before the puzzled man could ask what it was all about, Jonathan had disappeared.

  A minute later he was in the bank. There was a woman customer at the counter. He dropped into a seat and watched while the lady completed her business.

  ‘What you come back for?’ Peplow asked from behind the grille, suddenly noticing his new visitor.

  ‘Just a chat, is all.’

  ‘We got nothing else to discuss,’ the bank man said, ‘If it’s about that damn horse, we’ve said it all!’

  ‘All the same,’ Jonathan said, and remained in the chair. When the woman made to leave, the lawman leapt up and opened the door for her.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.

  ‘A pleasure, ma’am,’ he said, touching the brim of his hat. When she’d gone he closed the door, threw the bolts, turned the notice to CLOSED and drew down the blind.

  ‘What in tarnation are you doing?’ Peplow queried. ‘I’ve only just opened. It ain’t closing time,’

  ‘Oh yes, it is,’ Jonathan said, pulling his gun. Before the startled bank man knew it, the sheriff was behind the counter with his pistol leveled.

  ‘It’s the time of reckoning,’ Jonathan said, opening the drawer where Peplow kept one of his two means of protection. He took out the shiny, unused Colt,45 and pushed it into his gunbelt.

  ‘Dunno what you mean,’ the bank man spluttered.

  ‘Reckon my business was worth two grand,’ Jonathan went on. ‘You remember? The store you burned down?’

  ‘That wasn’t my doing, you know that.’

  ‘The hell it wasn’t,’ Jonathan snorted, and carried on with his totaling. ‘Two grand. And I need another two hundred dollars, say by way of compensation. So get your ass into the back and take that amount out of your safe now.’

  Peplow eyed the gun. He’d never heard the sheriff talk in these tones before. To him the man had been no more than the weak stooge he’d put in the post as window-dressing to keep the authorities from sticking their noses in.

  ‘You wouldn’t shoot me,’ he said. ‘You’re not the type.’

  Jonathan smiled enigmatically. ‘Maybe no, maybe yes. But you know what? You and I ain’t gonna know for sure unless you prove awkward!’

  ‘You can’t do this.’

  Jonathan chuckled. ‘And why not? Who you gonna call? The sheriff? I think you’re forgetting, sport––I’m the sheriff.’ He chuckled again. Then hardness replaced the smile and he jabbed the gun into the man’s fat stomach. ‘Now move. And remember, you kindly told me about the other gun, the one in the safe, so don’t try anything stupid.’

  The apprehensive bank man quickly complied and was soon handing over the stipulated sum.

  ‘What you aiming to do?’ he asked as he watched the sheriff peel off $200 and stash the rest in his jacket pocket.

  ‘I’m leaving town.’ He patted the bulge in his jacket. `Just look on this matter as a deal. My part of the bargain is I light out, leaving you a clear field with my missus;
I know the way things are between you and Eth. And she’s made it plain long since there’s nothing between us no more.’ The hardness in his eyes increased. ‘And I saw the pair of you at your house last night. Saw what you were up to.’ He chuckled. ‘Lotta important folk might be interested in that side of a public figure. Most of our folk are Lutherans and they wouldn’t take kindly to a heap of scandal like that. Might ostracize you. More important, withdraw their money from your bank.’

  At the door he paused and holstered his gun. ‘You know there’s no point in trying anything.’ He took off his badge and threw it on the floor. `That’s for the next sucker, if’n you can find one.’ And he was gone.

  He made a detour to call in at home. Eth still hadn’t returned but it didn’t matter anymore. Upstairs he left $1000 in an envelope on her dressing-table. Whatever he thought of her now, she still deserved a half-share in the value of their former store. He took a scent bottle and squirted it to remind himself of the aroma and old times, then placed it as a weight on the envelope. He went through the drawers. There was nothing he wanted to take save his father’s ring. Gold, in the shape of a coiled snake, he had deemed it too ornate for everyday wear. He slipped it on his finger. Then he took a last look round the room. Now it had come to the crunch he felt no misgivings. It hadn’t been a home for years.

  Back at the livery stable he walked over to Star and stroked the animal’s neck.

  ‘You said a hundred, Ike,’ he reminded the hostler and took the billfold from his top pocket. ‘Said a hundred would stake you to get out of here. Well, he’s a handsome critter. Worth more than a hundred to me. You’ve been a good friend, Ike. There’s two hundred. We got a deal?

  ‘Two hundred? Jeez. Sure thing, Jonathan.’

  The former lawman gave the old man the two guns from the bank. ‘Leave it for a spell, then see Peplow gets these. Figure he feels a mite vulnerable without them.’

  He saddled up.

  ‘Remember,’ Ike said as Jonathan hauled himself up into the saddle, ‘he’s a young horse and shows his spirit once he’s on the flat.’

  ‘I’ll get used to his ways like he’ll get used to mine.’

  ‘Where you headed?

  ‘Ike, I ain’t being cagey when I say I don’t know. Just ain’t made no plans, is all.’

  They made their goodbyes. As he pulled out of town he remembered the feel of Belle beneath under him. The mother’s bloodlines were running through her son; the same easy movement of muscle under the silken hide. And the occasional flick of the magnificent head, just the way his dam used to. And the young stallion’s walk flowed into a trot and then a gallop in the same seamless way.

  A quarter-hour later Jonathan Shuker was well on his way. Ahead, he didn’t know what––but at least the hope of a new life. One thing he did know: a whole mess of troubles lay behind him. And also behind him lay a nowhere place called Junction City.

  He smiled at the irony. Huh, so insignificant a place in fact, it wasn’t even a one-horse town anymore!

  A B. J. Holmes Bibliography

  All Trails Lead to Dodge

  Another Day, Another Dollar

  The Avenging Four

  Bad Times at Backwheel

  Blood on the Reaper

  Blood, Sweat and Gold

  Catfoot

  A Coffin for the Reaper

  Comes the Reaper

  Crowfeeders

  Dakota Hit

  Dark Rider

  Dollars for the Reaper

  The Expediter

  Gunfall

  Guns of the Reaper

  Gunsmoke in Vegas

  Hazard

  Head West

  High Plains Death

  I Rode with Wyatt

  Jake’s Women

  The Last Days of Billy Patch

  A Legend Called Shatterhand

  Loco

  Montana Hit

  A Noose for Yanqui

  North of the Bravo

  On the Spin of a Dollar

  Rio Grande Shoot-Out

  Savidge

  Shard

  The Shard Brand

  Shatterhand and the People

  Shotgun

  Smoking Star

  Three Graves to Fargo

  Trail of the Reaper

  The Treasure of Santa Maria

  Trouble in Tucson

  Utah Hit

  Viva Reaper!

  Wyoming Hit

  Yuma Breakout

  (The westerns listed above appear mainly under the imprint of B J Holmes, but a number have been published under the pen-names of Ethan Wall, Charles Langley Hayes, Jack Darby, Sean Kennedy and J William Allen.)

  Other

  Bloomsbury’s Pocket Crossword Dictionary

  Bradford’s Pocket Crossword Dictionary

  Collin’s Pocket Crossword Dictionary

  The Guide to Solving Crosswords:

  Cracking the Code

  Solving Cryptic Crosswords

  i David Whitehead was also involved during the preliminary discussions, and as Ben Bridges he did eventually bring to life a periodical called Head West for Piccadilly Publishing, which is still available through Amazon and www.lulu.com.