Forty-Four Caliber Justice (11 page)

JT leaned forward and said in a low, soft voice, “It’s okay, Son. I could see you leave for a moment. It’s good to remember the good times. Don’t feel embarrassed by it. I know your ma would be pleased you had her on your mind.”

Clay nodded and cleared his throat. He finished the biscuit, drank the last sip of milk, and stood. “I’ve got to be going if I’m going to be on time for church.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar and laid it on the table. “This’ll cover breakfast. Thanks for the advice. Reckon I’ll see you later.”

Ma Nelson came back in as he was leaving.

“Mighty fine meal, ma’am. Thank you.”

She smiled at him. “You have a good day, Clay.”

*

Lynn came walking out of the house as he was opening the gate. “Clay, I didn
’
t know if you would come. Do you still want to go to church with me?”

“I said I would. Although I’ll admit, when I saw your face last night I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”

“Clay, it was so violent. You broke Shad’s shoulder. The other two you, well you, uh, you hurt them.”

“They attacked me. Cotton had a bowie knife. If he’d known how to use it, I might not be talking to you today.”

“I know. Cotton is a bully. But you hurt them so bad.”

Clay could feel himself starting to get angry. What did she expect him to do?

“Lynn, would you rather I just stood there and let them have their way with me?”

“No. Of course not. And I am glad you aren’t hurt. With everything happening, I haven’t said anything, but I am so glad you have your voice back.”

He smiled at that. “Yes, I am too. Captain Dixon said that it was a toss-up whether or not I’d get it back. It’s such a relief. Guess I have Cotton to thank for that.”

She laughed her musical laugh and said, “I don’t think he wants any more of your attention.” She went on, “I don’t think he’ll be walking too well for a while.” Her violet eyes twinkled in her blushing face.

“Why, good morning, Clay,” Mrs. Killganan said as she stepped out the door her husband was holding open for her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Killganan, Mr. Killganan,” Clay said as Killganan followed his wife out the door.

“Good morning, Clay. You’re joining us for church?”

“Yes, sir, if that’s all right.”

“That’s fine. You have your voice back. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir. I sure am relieved.”

The May day was perfect as they strolled to the church. Killganan introduced Clay to several of the other folks. Most were friendly. Some were a little cool, but he could handle that. They moved into the church. The windows were open, and a warm breeze moved through the congregation.

There was singing, a prayer by one of the deacons, and then the preacher came to the pulpit. He opened his bible and looked out across the congregation, his eyes resting on Clay for a moment, before moving on.

“Brothers and Sisters,” the preacher began, “last night, violence came to our good town. The evil was already here, in the form of three thugs who have seen fit to terrorize the youth of our town. Yes, Mrs. Wilson, I am talking about your son, Shad, one of the criminals.”

Shad’s mother stood up in the pew, pushed herself past others sitting there, and marched out of the church.

The preacher continued as she was walking out, “Last night, justice descended in the form of this young man sitting with the Killganans.”

Clay glanced at Lynn. She was so small sitting next to him, like his ma, but she was beaming with happiness. She glanced up and smiled at him, melting his heart.

“In the thirty-first verse of Numbers, the Lord says to Moses, ‘Avenge the children of Israel.’ That’s what Mr. Barlow has done. He has avenged our children of the bullies of Brackett. I, for one, want to say thank you.”

He continued his sermon in the same vein, calling upon the citizens of Brackett to surround and support Clay, and thank him for doing something that the marshal had not done.

The church service finished. The minister was standing at the door shaking hands with his congregation as they left the church. When Clay came to the minister, the man grasped his hand. “Thank you. I hope the Lord prepares a way before you that your burdens may be light.”

“Thanks, Reverend,” Clay said.

“Oh, Clay,” Lynn said, “I’m so proud of you.”

He felt the warmth and gratitude of not only Lynn, but of many of the citizens of Brackett. Many of the families waited in the churchyard to shake his hand and thank him.

Mr. and Mrs. Killganan had gone home ahead of him and Lynn. They strolled back to her home, enjoying one another’s company and the warmth of the day.
This day couldn’t be more perfect.
They reached the house, and Clay reached down with his left hand to open the gate for Lynn.

“Barlow!”

Clay stopped. He looked at Lynn and saw the fear in her eyes. He slowly turned to see Cotton coming down the street toward him, with a gun on his hip. He pushed the gate open and told Lynn, “Get inside, now.”

She ran into the house, and Clay started moving out into the middle of the street. He didn’t want any stray bullets going into the Killganan house.

“Cotton, you don’t have to do this.”

“I’m gonna kill you, Barlow. You come into this town and think you can run roughshod over everybody. I’m here to tell you, that ain’t gonna happen.”

Clay brushed his jacket away from his gun and slowly removed the hammer thong holding his six-gun in the holster. Fifty yards separated the two men. Clay started walking toward Cotton.

Cotton had been stepping in long strides when Clay first saw him, but when Clay started walking to meet him, his steps shortened.

“Cotton, what are you doing, Son?” The marshal had come out of an alleyway and was even with Cotton, next to the general store. He was carrying a shotgun.

Cotton kept his eyes on Clay. “Pa, you stay out of this. I mean it. This is something I aim to do.”

“Son, that boy will kill you. I knowd his pa. He was one of the fastest men I ever did see, and he’s taught his son. You don’t stand a chance. But if you should kill him, you’ll be an outlaw and you’ll have to fight me. Is that what you want? You want to gunfight your pa?”

Clay kept his eyes on Cotton, occasionally glancing at Marshal Davis. He could see people inside the homes watching, and waiting. Time seemed to slow. Clay didn’t want to kill Cotton, but if Cotton started to draw, Clay knew he would kill him. Like Pa had taught him, third button and don’t stop shooting till your man is dead. It had to be like that. There was never time to try to wing a person. Clay kept walking.

“I don’t want to gunfight with you, Pa.”

“Then don’t draw on Barlow. That’ll settle the whole thing.

“Barlow, you willing to call this off?”

“I am. I don’t want to hurt anyone, Marshal. But if I have to, I will.” Clay kept walking.

The sun was warm on the streets of Brackett. Faces stared out the windows along Main Street. A couple of chickens pecked around the big oak, chasing grasshoppers. A quail called from a thicket north of town. Squirrels scampered and barked in the trees along the creek.

Clay kept walking.

They were within twenty feet of each other. Clay could see the sweat running down Cotton’s face. The dark stains under his arms were heavy with sweat. Cotton had stopped. Clay watched his eyes.
Pa always said the eyes were dead giveaways when a man was going to draw. He was scared. He had to draw now.
The opportunity was gone.

Now Clay was within ten feet of Cotton. He kept walking. The fear was clear in Cotton’s face. Clay could see Cotton’s desire to draw was intense, but his body wouldn’t let him do it. They were too close. There was no chance of survival at this range.

Clay stopped three feet from Cotton. “Drop your gunbelt, Cotton.”

There it was. He really wanted to do it.
But it passed. Cotton’s hands were shaking. Empty eyes stared at Clay. Cotton reached for his gunbelt buckle, released it, and let the belt and gun fall into the dusty street.

“I would’ve killed you, Cotton. I hope you believe that. I don’t want to, but I would. I’m gonna be in town one more day. I don’t want to see you again while I’m here. Just one more day, and then I’ll be gone.”

Clay looked into those vacant eyes. “Do you understand me, Cotton?”

Cotton looked down, and said, “Yeah, I understand.”

“Good, now pick up your gunbelt and take it over to your pa. Don’t go for that gun. I’ll be watching.”

Cotton looked up for a moment, then bent over and carefully picked up the gunbelt, keeping his hand away from the gun. He carried it over to his pa and handed it to him.

The marshal glanced at Clay, then put his arm around his living son and walked him back to his office. Clay watched them disappear inside. He left his six-gun loose in his holster and turned back to the fort. Lynn and her parents came out on the porch as he passed. He said nothing, nor did they. One more day, he thought.

CHAPTER TEN

C
lay stepped out
of Ma Nelson
’
s into the bright, West Texas sunlight. He was going to miss Ma
’
s cooking and her independent spirit. The steak she had set before him for dinner today was as big as a plate. It and the beans would stick to his ribs for quite a while. He looked south and could see increased activity at Fort Clark. Colonel Mackenzie was returning.

After checking north—he was learning to be more alert—he crossed the street to the general store. The little bell tinkled as he walked through the front door. The sound reminded him of Lynn, her smile, her eyes. He’d see her later in the day. Today was her seventeenth birthday.

“Howdy, Clay,” JT said from behind the counter. “Got all your gear right here. You’re welcome to check it.”

“No, thanks, Mr. Brennan, just let me know how much I owe you.”

“Reckon that’ll come to an even twenty dollars.”

Clay peeled twenty dollars off and laid the money on the counter. The old man had packed his supplies into the new saddlebags.

“Oh, I forgot, I’ll need a new slicker. That’s something else Hayes owes me for, when I catch him.”

“Reckon that man’s built up quite a debt. You think you’ll see him again?”

“Yep. I figure he headed over to San Felipe del Rio to be with the rest of the gang. They know by now that I’m after them. Doubt that they’re too worried.” Clay grinned. “I’m just a boy.”

The old man chuckled and said, “Son, if they knew what they were up against, they’d keep goin’ to El Paso, or maybe California.” A frown crossed JT’s face. “You take a word of advice from an old man. Be careful and keep your eyes open. If you see one, the others are probably going to be around somewhere. Don’t let ’em slip up on you. You’re just one man, so stay alert.”

“Yes, sir, I sure will. I’ve learned a whole bunch in this last month. Pa always said if you wanted to stay alive, you had to continuously be learning. That’s what I aim to do.

“Could you gimme another two hundred rounds of that .44 American for my revolvers?”

“That’s a lot of firepower, Son. You already have two hundred rounds in your saddlebags.”

“I plan on doing some practicing along the way. Also, do you have a left-handed holster that’ll fit this gunbelt? I want to start working on this left hand.”

“Well, let me see.” JT shuffled under the counter for a bit and pulled out a perfect match. “Think that’ll work for you?”

Clay looked it over, took off his gunbelt, slid the crossdraw holster off, and slipped the left-handed holster on. He put the gunbelt back on, pulled the Model 3 from the crossdraw holster and dropped it into the left-handed holster. He tried drawing several times. “Feels mighty awkward.”

“Keep trying, Son. A man with your coordination will have it down in no time. You want this crossdraw holster?”

“Yep. I’m gonna hang on to that until I’m comfortable drawing with my left hand.” Clay switched the holsters back, slid the Model 3 into the crossdraw, and put the left-handed holster in the saddlebags.

He paid for the holster and ammunition. “Mr. Brennan, I thought of two more things. I need a pocket watch. The killers took Pa’s. If you’ve got something, not too expensive, I’d like to have it.”

JT rustled through a drawer. “Here you are, Clay. Took this on trade for some supplies. It seems to run good and is pretty solid.”

Clay took it for a moment and looked it over. The metal housing had a pewter cast to it. He pushed the release and the top sprang open. Nice big numbers. “I’ll take it. The other thing’s a little harder. I’d like to get Lynn something for her birthday, but I don’t have the slightest idea what to get a girl. Could you help?”

“It just so happens,” JT said, “I can. Lynn’s had her eye on this here piece of ribbon for some time. Thought her ma would get it for her, but she didn’t.”

Clay looked at it for a moment. The ribbon was almost exactly the color of Lynn’s eyes. She’d be mighty pretty wearing it in her hair. “I’ll take it.”

JT folded it over gently and handed it to Clay. Clay slipped it into his vest pocket. “Thank you,” Clay said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Give me two dollars for the watch and two bits for the ribbon.”

Clay tossed two dollars and twenty-five cents on the counter, then picked up the saddlebags and slicker and threw them over his left shoulder. “Guess I’ll be headin’ out.”

He felt an emptiness. He had come to like this old man, and here he was moving on.
I’d better get used to feeling like this. Don’t know when I’ll be able to settle
down.

JT walked him to the door. “I’ll admit I’m gonna miss you, Son. Wish you were settlin’ down around here. You’ve made some friends. People respect you. Lynn has become downright attached to you. She’s gonna miss you.”

“Yes, sir, and I’ll miss her.” He felt the boy coming out in him, and tamped it down. “You going to be at her party?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. A granddaughter turns seventeen only once. Reckon I’ll see you there.”

The two men shook hands. Clay stepped out the door and heard the tinkling of the bell for the last time.
This sure is a lonely
business.

He turned north up the street, and crossed over. After walking up the boardwalk past a couple of buildings, he entered the bank.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barlow,” the teller said. “I’ll get Mr. Killganan.”

Elmer Killganan came into the front of the bank from his office. He opened the gate between the teller’s cage and the front with his left hand and offered his right to Clay. “Good afternoon, Clay. Glad to see you. Let’s go back to my office.”

Clay shook Killganan’s hand and walked straight back toward his office. Killganan followed, closing the door behind him. Killganan motioned for him to have a seat in front of his desk. “How are you, Clay?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Killganan.”

Killganan sat in his desk chair and pulled it up to the desk. “I want you to know I admire the way you handled the confrontation with Cotton. I’d hate to see the boy killed. I think there is still hope for him. He can be quite a nice lad.”

“Yes, sir. I guess I haven’t seen that side of him.”

“No, you haven’t. Let’s get to business. Your wire came in this morning.” Killganan opened a desk drawer and took out a stack of bills wrapped in a piece of paper. He took the paper and slid it across to Clay. “This is a receipt showing you received the five hundred dollars minus the five percent transfer fee.”

Clay looked it over, signed it, and slid the paper back across the desk.

Killganan added his signature, then put it back in the desk drawer. He then counted out four hundred seventy-five dollars. “That’s a lot of money, Clay.”

“Yes, sir, it is. But Hayes stole just about everything I had with me, so I have to replace all that gear. When Pa was living, of course, he took care of all the money, he and Ma. I never realized how expensive living is.” He smiled and said, “Guess I’m figuring it out.”

“Life is expensive,” Killganan said. “Just a word of advice. If you don’t have it working for you, money goes through your hands quickly. I understand you still have money left in the bank in Uvalde. Don’t just let it sit there. Find a way to make it work for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Killganan. Pa told me the same thing. I have a couple of ideas.

“If you don’t mind.” Clay slid off his boots and put two hundred in each boot and pocketed the remaining seventy-five. “Reckon that’s about the safest place I know to carry it.”

“That’s smart, Clay. I’m glad to see you’re thinking. Now, Lynn is expecting you at her party.”

“I plan on going. I’ll go by the livery and get my horses and gear, then I’ll be by.”

“One thing, Clay. Lynn thinks a great deal of you. She’s my only daughter. Don’t break her heart.”

Clay was surprised at Killganan’s frankness. But JT had said that this man loved his family. Clay had seen it manifested before with the care in which Killganan treated his wife and daughter. “No, sir. That’s not my intention at all. But I do have to leave. I have a job to do, and Mr. Killganan, I won’t rest until the murderers of my folks are brought to justice.”

“I understand. Just treat her kindly.”

Clay stood. This time, he thrust his hand out to Killganan. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

Killganan shook hands with him. “Thank you. I’ll see you at the party.”

Clay stepped back into the bright sunshine, pulled out his watch, and checked the time. He had about twenty minutes to make the party. Plenty of time to go to the livery and pick up his horses. They were probably restless and ready to move on.

He walked into the stables as the smithy came from the back.

“Ready to settle up and pick up my gear,” Clay said.

“Gear’s in the office. Nothing to settle, Mister. You paid me plenty when you brought ’em in. I noticed that’s a mighty used saddle you have there.”

“Reckon I could use another one to ride. I was using the old one to hang the panniers on.”

“Got a couple you might like.” The blacksmith took him over to a rail where several saddles were hanging.

Clay looked them over. “How much for this one?”

The smithy scratched his beard and rubbed the saddle. “This is a mighty fine saddle, good strong leather, as you can see, used enough so it won’t be squeakin’ on you. I’m not really looking to sell it, but I’d be willing to part with it for only sixty dollars.”

Clay looked at the man in feigned disbelief. “Mister, I may be young, but I’m not that young, and I don’t see any gold inlay. I’ll buy your saddle—in fact, I’ll give twenty-five dollars as it sits.”

The smithy looked aghast at Clay. “Why, Son, that’s highway robbery. I couldn’t think of going that low. I’d just be giving it away. Tell you what I’ll do, I’ll let you have it for fifty dollars, even though you’re taking money out of my children’s mouths.”

Clay shook his head in amazement. He looked out the double doors of the stable toward the general store, looked back at the saddle, and rubbed the seat and cantle. “Mister, this seat’s so thin I’ll probably have saddle sores within an hour of forking it. I’m tired of dickering with you. I’ll give you thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents. That’s more than it’s worth, but I think you ought to be able to make a profit.”

The blacksmith’s face looked like he’d dropped a red-hot horseshoe down the front of his pants. He shook his head, kicked at the dirt, patted the saddle again, and spit. “Boy, don’t you know a man’s got to make a living? I’ve got mouths to feed. My family depends on me. Why, I know for a fact this saddle has only been ridden by one other man. He was old and frail. He was so light this here saddle likely didn’t even know he was there. You’ll be able to ride for days without any discomfort. But, I’ll make you one last offer, though it pains me to be giving this saddle away.” The blacksmith turned and spit again, for emphasis. “I’ll let you steal it from me, and this is my last and final offer, for forty dollars. Not a cent less.”

Clay immediately stuck his hand out. “You’ve got a deal, as long as you’ll throw in that nice blanket hanging over there.”

The blacksmith turned and looked at the red checkered horse blanket, shook his head, and reluctantly took Clay’s hand. “Boy, you’re as hard a trader as a Tonkawa.”

Clay shook the man’s hand and grinned. “That’s who taught me.”

The blacksmith laughed. “Boy, I ain’t had so much fun in a coon’s age. Let me help you with your gear.” He turned back to the office. When he came out, he had the two panniers in one hand and Clay’s old saddle and blanket in the other.

Clay grabbed the red checkered blanket and laid it over the sorrel’s back, smoothed it out, and tossed the new saddle on top of it. He was cinching the saddle up while the blacksmith saddled the buckskin and fastened the panniers.

Clay said to the blacksmith over the saddle, “I’m going to need a scabbard for my rifle.”

The blacksmith nodded. “I’ve got work to do today. Don’t have time to spend the rest of my day bargaining. I’ve got one I’ll let you have for five dollars. Is that fair enough for you?”

Clay laughed out loud. “Yes, sir, that’ll be just fine.”

The blacksmith brought the scabbard, and Clay fastened it to the saddle on the sorrel. He secured the saddlebags and slicker behind the saddle and mounted.

The blacksmith handed him the reins to the buckskin. “Good luck to you.”

Clay turned the horses out of the stable and walked them into the street. He rode toward the Killganans’ house. The marshal stepped out of the alleyway alongside the stable.

“Marshal,” Clay said, pulling the horses up, “what can I do for you?”

The marshal glanced up and down the street. He scratched his sideburns, and after waiting a few moments, he finally looked back up to Clay. “I just wanted to thank you for not shooting my boy. He’s got a lot to learn. I’m glad he has more time to learn it.”

Clay rested his arm on the horn and tilted his black hat to the back of his head. “Marshal, believe me, it was my pleasure. I’ve no desire for a gunfight, nor to kill a man. I’ve got to do what I must, but after that, I’m thinkin’ I’d like to go back to the homeplace and settle down. That’s sounding better every day.”

The marshal nodded. Frown wrinkles played across his forehead. “Hope you can, Son. But I’ve got a feelin’ about you. You’ve got the makings of a lawman. What with having no desire to build a reputation, you’d make a good one. Good luck to you.”

The two men nodded to each other, and Clay rode on toward the Killganan place.

The party was going full swing when he pulled up to the hitching rail. The musicians were already tuned up, and the fiddlers and caller were swinging along to “Cotton-Eye Joe.” The yard was just big enough to accommodate the dancers at one end. Several couples were kicking up their heels and enjoying the lively square dance, while others stood and clapped to the rhythm.

Clay stepped from the saddle and tied his horses to the hitching rail. Lynn was radiant. He had never seen a girl or woman as pretty as her, except maybe his ma. Lynn was talking to a girl he didn’t know, which wasn’t a surprise, he thought. He didn’t know much of anybody in this town. She saw Clay, smiled and waved, then came running down the porch steps. She thought better of her public display and slowed to a quick walk.