Trackdown (9781101619384) (4 page)

“Sure,” Bill said. He let go of her and turned to the table, where he pulled out a chair and sat down. She set a cup of steaming coffee in front of him a moment later, followed soon by a plate full of flapjacks, fried eggs, and bacon.

Perry Monroe came in while Bill was digging into the food. The storekeeper was burly and had a long white beard. He had been one of those opposed to Bill staying in Redemption at first, but as a widower with only one child, he was powerless to deny Eden anything she wanted. She had insisted that she would nurse the injured cowboy back to health, and she had gotten her way.

And thanks be to the Good Lord for that, Bill had thought many times since. Getting gored by that steer had been the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him. If not for that cantankerous steer, he’d still be a shiftless cowpoke, or lying dead in some trail-town boot hill.

“Mornin’,” Monroe said as he sat down across the table from his son-in-law. “Any trouble in town last night?”

“Not much. One little ruckus in the Prairie Queen.”

“I’m not sure why Redemption needed another saloon,” Monroe said with a frown. “There’s already Fred Smoot’s place and a couple of others.”

Those other places Monroe mentioned weren’t really saloons, more like hole-in-the-wall taverns. One of them had a billiard table, and that was all they sported in the way of entertainment.

“Redemption is growing,” Bill said. “You’ve got to expect more businesses to come in, and there’ll be saloons among ’em.”

Monroe snorted.

“The town council could outlaw liquor,” he said, then added, “Although I wouldn’t really want to run Fred Smoot out of business. The man’s had enough hard luck already.”

That was true. Due to an injury, Smoot was confined to a wheelchair that had been built for him by Josiah Hartnett, the livery stable owner. Bill wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand that. It had been hard enough when he had to use crutches for a while because of his bad leg.

“I don’t think you’d have much luck turnin’ the place dry,” Bill said. “Too many folks like a drink now and then. I don’t mind a little nip myself.”

Monroe said, “Hmmph,” and turned his attention to the breakfast that Eden set in front of him.

Yeah, Bill thought again, sooner or later he and Eden would have to start thinking about moving out. Maybe sooner.

The rest of the meal was pleasant enough, though, and when Bill was finished he stood up so he could go down to the office and relieve Mordecai. Eden followed him into the living room, leaving her father in the kitchen.

She came into his arms and kissed him, then whispered, “Sorry I woke up early. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Mordecai’s the same way.”

“Yes, but Mordecai didn’t have the same sort of plans I had for this morning.”

Bill chuckled and said, “Probably not.” He kissed her again, this time on the forehead. “See you at lunch?”

She generally brought him his midday meal at the marshal’s office, sometimes one that she prepared, sometimes a tray that she picked up at Gunnar and Helga Nilsson’s café.

“Of course,” she said.

Bill buckled on his gun belt, put on his hat, and left the house. It was still early. The air held a definite chill. In a few weeks it would be fall, and after that winter. He had heard about Kansas winters but had never experienced one. Being from the southern part of Texas where snow and freezing temperatures were uncommon, he wasn’t sure he was looking forward to the change in the weather.

For now, though, it was mighty pleasant, and he enjoyed his walk to the marshal’s office. Business owners were sweeping off the porches and boardwalks, and housewives were doing some early shopping. Redemption was waking up to a new day.

Mordecai had the office door open and stood there with his shoulder propped against the jamb. His floppy-brimmed plainsman’s hat rested on the back of his balding head.

“Quiet night?” Bill asked.

“Until about an hour ago,” the deputy answered. “That’s when that prisoner woke up and started raisin’ holy ned.”

“I don’t hear anything now.”

“He’s just takin’ a break. Cussed and hollered so much he must’ve run outta breath.”

“That’s not a very good way to get turned loose.”

“You weren’t gonna turn him loose anyway, were you? Not until after the judge sees him?”

Bill shrugged and admitted, “No, I don’t reckon I was. If he’d just made a jackass of himself, I might’ve let him sleep it off and then told him to get out of town. But he fired off two shots, nearly ventilated a couple of citizens, and did a little damage in the saloon. If that’s not disturbin’ the peace, I don’t know what is.”

He went into the office with Mordecai following him. Taking the ring of keys from their hook, Bill unlocked the cell block door and went inside.

The prisoner was sitting on the bunk. He lifted his head and turned bleary eyes toward Bill. He glared and demanded, “Damn it, Marshal, let me outta here!”

“Hold on,” Bill said. “Do you even remember what you did last night?”

“Damn right I remember. I didn’t kill anybody.”

“Not for lack of tryin’.”

The man got a cunning look on his narrow face.

“I remember you said you was a Texan, too,” he went on. “You know good and well that down in Texas a man can let off a little steam without gettin’ hisself locked up.”

“This isn’t Texas,” Bill pointed out, “and firing off a gun inside a crowded saloon isn’t quite the same as lettin’ off a little steam. You’re gonna have to sit there until the justice of the peace comes by. It’ll be up to him to decide what we’re gonna do with you.”

The cowboy held his hands to his head and groaned.

“Aw, hell! Can I at least get some coffee?”

“That we can do,” Bill said. “Mordecai?”

“I got the pot boilin’ already. How about some breakfast, mister? You want a big plate full o’ greasy eggs?”

The prisoner groaned again, closed his eyes, and let himself fall over onto his side on the bunk.

Bill grinned and told his deputy, “Now you’re just bein’ cruel to a poor, hungover hombre.”

“He’s got it comin’,” Mordecai said. “I’ll get that coffee.”

Bill’s bad leg was starting to get tired and he wanted to sit down. But before he did, he asked, “What’s your name, mister?”

The man cracked an eye open at Bill and said, “It’s Overstreet. Jesse Overstreet.”

“Well, Jesse, in a little while I’ll go let the judge know he’s got a legal matter to deal with this morning. Until then you just take it easy.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, am I?” Overstreet muttered.

“No, sir,” Bill said. “You’re sure not.”

Thomas Gentry let fly with the lasso and watched with satisfaction as it settled over the horse’s head. The big gray stallion reared and slashed angrily at the air with its hooves. When the horse came down, Tom quickly took up all the slack in the rope and snubbed it around a sturdy post buried in the ground. The gray stood there glaring at him.

“You’ll learn,” Tom muttered as he returned the glare. “By God, you’ll learn. Or you’ll be sorry. It’s up to you.”

His father, Burkhart Gentry, leaned on the fence around the horse pen and watched with a keen, critical eye. Burk Gentry was a heavyset, bulky man with a mostly bald head under his hat and a tuft of white beard on his chin. Some days Tom felt a grudging affection for him. Other days he hated his father with a deep and abiding passion. It had been that way for as far back as Tom could remember.

“Don’t mollycoddle that horse today,” Burk rasped. “It ain’t a pet.”

“I don’t intend to,” Tom said. He got the saddle that was hanging on the fence and approached the horse carefully. He knew how the gray liked to twist around suddenly and kick with no warning.

“You shoulda been at this sooner,” Burk said.

“I’ve been busy with other things.”

“No, I mean half the mornin’s gone. You could get started on chores like this earlier if you didn’t have to ride out here from town ever’ damn day. Don’t know why you have to live in town, anyway.”

“Because Virgie likes living in town,” Tom said. “She wanted to be closer to her folks.”

Burk snorted in obvious disgust.

“No offense to that gal you married, but I wouldn’t give you two cents for those folks of hers. I don’t care how much money he’s got, Walt Shelton’s the biggest bag o’ hot air I ever did see.”

Talk about the ol’ pot calling the kettle black, Tom thought. He didn’t know why his father bothered saying things like “no offense” when Burk Gentry didn’t give a damn whether he offended anybody and never had.

Certainly he had never hesitated when it came to telling Tom that he shouldn’t marry Virginia Shelton. She was weak and pampered and not a fit wife for a Gentry, according to Burk, and Tom would be a fool to get hitched to her.

As much as he disliked his father most of the time, Tom had to admit that sometimes Burk had a point.

He got the saddle on the gray, which stood calmly at first and then exploded into frenzied motion when Tom started to tighten the cinches. He had to jump back to get out of the horse’s way. The saddle slipped and then fell off. The stallion started kicking at it and raising a cloud of dust.

“By God, that’s enough,” Tom said. He went over to the fence and picked up the long quirt he had left there. The gray was still capering around as Tom dashed in and laid the quirt across its nose in a vicious swipe.

“That’s it, boy!” Burk said. “Beat some sense into that jughead!”

The gray was far from a jughead. It was a fine animal, just too high-spirited. Tom wished sometimes there was another way to break it, but he didn’t know of any.

Anyway, when the anger welled up inside him like it was today, laying into the bastard with the quirt felt good, mighty
good. He slashed at the gray again and again, leaving bloody stripes on the sleek hide, until the horse finally calmed down and stood there quivering slightly. The stallion’s nostrils flared wide, and Tom would have sworn he saw an almost human hatred in its eyes.

“That’s the way,” Burk said. “You got to make ’em afraid of you. That’s the only way to get what you want in this world. Make the varmints who’re in your way afraid of you.”

Tom wasn’t sure the horse was afraid of him. It was more like the animal had realized the best thing to do was just bide its time.

Tom was doing sort of the same thing where Virgie was concerned. The time was coming for him to let her know that he was aware of what she was up to. Then she’d be sorry.

But not yet.

Tom tossed the quirt aside and picked up the saddle and blanket. He got them on the gray again, and this time the horse stood for having the cinches tightened.

“There. You can stand there for a while and get used to it,” Tom told the horse. He turned toward the gate.

“You might break that horse one of these days, if you stay with it long enough,” Burk said as Tom left the corral. “If I was you, I’d handle that woman of yours the same way. Make her do what you want. There’s plenty of room in the house. Ain’t no reason you should live in town instead of out here.”

“It’s what Virgie wants,” Tom said dully.

Burk’s disgusted snort was all the response he needed to make.

The Gentry horse ranch was five miles southwest of Redemption. Burk and his sons Tom, Thurmond, and Tobias Gentry raised the finest horses in this part of the state. Thurm and his wife Sue lived here on the ranch, as did Toby, the unmarried youngest of the Gentry brothers. Tom was the only one who had left home, much to his father’s displeasure.

Six months earlier, when he was getting ready to marry Virginia Shelton, he had assumed that he would just move her into the sprawling Gentry ranch house as Thurm had done with Sue. As Burk said, there was plenty of room.

But Virgie had sprung a surprise on him, saying that there
was a really nice little house in Redemption they could buy, and it was only a couple of blocks from her parents’ house. Her father, who had a bushel basket of money because of the successful furniture stores he owned in Topeka and Wichita, would help them buy the house, Virgie said.

Why somebody who was rich would want to live in a little town like Redemption, Tom didn’t know. Walter Shelton hadn’t grown up here or anything like that, nor had his wife Clarissa. But they built one of the biggest, fanciest houses in Redemption and moved in with their beautiful blond daughter, and from the first time Tom Gentry laid eyes on her, he knew he wanted to marry her.

It had taken a few months to get Virgie to feel the same way, but once Tom set his sights on something, he usually got it.

He and Burk climbed onto the porch and sat down in the shade. Tom took one of the cane-bottomed chairs, but Burk had a specially made rocker that would support his weight.

Going after the gray with the quirt like that had caused Tom to work up a sweat. He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his thick, damp, wildly curling dark hair.

There was a time when Virgie had liked to run her fingers through his hair, Tom thought…before she had turned cold and hostile and stopped touching him at all.

And that was right after Ned Bassett came to town.