Forty-Four Caliber Justice (10 page)

The man cried out. His hand released the knife as he fell to the ground, moaning and crying in pain. “I think you’ve killed me,” the man said between moans.

“Isn’t that what you planned to do to me?” Clay picked up the big bowie knife, reached down, and yanked Cotton’s sack from his head.

“I think I’m dying,” Cotton said.

“You’ll live, although you and your friend might walk a little funny for a while.”

Clay walked over to the one he had hit in the groin with his fist. He yanked the man’s mask off. It was the same one who had been with Cotton in Ma Nelson’s. He was doubled over in pain. He looked up at Clay. “Mister, please don’t hurt me no more. I swear, I think you’ve ruined me for life.”

Clay stepped to the remaining man of the trio. He pulled the sack from his head. He didn’t recognize him. The young man was holding his right arm. He was obviously in excruciating pain. “You broke my shoulder. That’s my right shoulder, my ropin’ shoulder.” The man’s arm was just hanging in the grip of his left hand.

Running steps could be heard from Fort Clark and from Brackett. Clay waited for the arrivals. The guards from Fort Clark showed up first. They both knew Clay. The corporal spoke up. “Looks like you were a mite busy, Clay. Thought you could use our help, but guess I was wrong. Is this all of them? I count three.”

“That’s all,” Clay said.

“You want I should hold them till the marshal gets here? I can toss ’em in the stockade.”

“No, I don’t need them arrested. Thanks, though.”

“Okay, looks like they all might need to see a doctor. ’Specially this one, appears he has a broken shoulder.”

The people of Brackett came running up. Of all people, JT was in the lead. “Thought you might’ve been jumped. Had a good idea who might be behind it. Cotton.” He gave the three a disgusted look, then turned back to Clay. “You all right, Son?”

“Yes, sir. I’m just fine.”

JT laughed and said, “Boy, I guess you are. You realize you’re talking?”

The question stopped Clay for a moment. He felt his throat as if it could give him an answer. “Well, sir, I guess I am.” He grinned at JT in the starlight. “I should thank these boys.”

The town marshal showed up next with some of the townspeople. “What’s going on here?”

JT responded to the marshal’s inquiry. “Marshal, I’ll tell you what’s going on. Your son, Cotton, and these two other no accounts decided they’d jump a wounded man. They got their comeuppance, I’d say.”

Great, Clay thought, I’ve just beat up the marshal’s son.

“Here’s his knife, Marshal.” Clay handed over Cotton’s bowie knife. The marshal looked at it for a moment, then looked over at his son holding himself and moaning.

“What’s your name, Son?”

“Clay Barlow, Marshal.”

“You any kin to Bill Barlow of New Braunfels?”

“My pa.”

“A good man. Sorry to hear about your ma and pa. Good folks.”

“Thank you. I think the one over there has a broken shoulder. He’ll be needing a doctor.”

“They can wait. You want to press charges?”

“No, sir. To be honest, I’ve more important things to do than wait around for court.”

“Understand. You’re free to go about your business.” The marshal turned to the other three. “Get up, you bushwhackers. Consider yourself lucky I don’t throw all three of you in jail. Cotton, you get home right now. Shad, you know where the doctor is. Go see him. Maybe he can fix up your arm.”

Several of the townspeople had gathered around. Clay could see Mr. Killganan there, his face hard, his arm around Lynn.

Shock enveloped Lynn’s face, made more stark by the starlight. Her wide eyes looked black as she stared at him. Seeing me for the first time, Clay thought. Guess that mean’s no birthday party.

JT threw his arm around Clay’s shoulders. “Rest up, Son. You’ve earned it. Glad you’re talking. When you can think about it, that’ll be a big relief for you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Clay nodded, took one last look at Lynn and walked back to Fort Clark.

CHAPTER NINE

C
lay rolled out
of bed early. The sun was just starting to peek over the eastern horizon. He washed up, shaved with the straight razor he had picked up at the general store, and got dressed. His neck and jaw were feeling better, but still sore. His throat felt raw. Must be from the talking last night, he thought.

He stomped his boots on and walked out on the porch. The infirmary faced east, toward the parade ground. He sat in one of the chairs to watch the sunrise.
Ma always loved to watch the sunrise.
He couldn’t think of his ma without the picture of the way he had last seen her returning to his mind. When that happened, he could feel the bile rising in his throat, accompanied by anger.
How could anyone be so brutal to a
woman?

“Howdy, Son.”

Clay jerked with surprise. The marshal was standing in front of the porch, looking up at him.
I didn’t even hear him. I’ve got to stop this, or I’ll be left dead
somewhere.

“Morning, Marshal. What brings you out here?”

“Mind if I join you?” The marshal stepped up on the porch and pulled up a chair next to Clay.

The fort was coming to life. Clay could see activity across the parade ground at the stables. He could hear the boot steps echoing on the plank floors of the infirmary.

“Welcome, Marshal. Have a seat. Mighty impressive sunrise this morning.”

“Clay, I’ll get right to the point. You did what you had to do last night. Those boys, including my son, were intent on doing you harm. I realize that.

“I heard murmuring last night from some of the parents about getting even. I put a damper on it, but I can’t be around to protect you all the time.”

“Marshal, I can take care of myself.”

“I know, Clay. But we’ve had enough excitement in Brackett for a while.”

“Marshal, you just need to control your town. That’s what they pay you for.”

“Boy, I know you’re Bill Barlow’s son, but don’t tell me what I need to do. I know my duty. Now, I know you’re headed west, after the killers. I’m just asking you leave now, today.”

Clay looked down at his boots—they could use some polish. He looked directly at the marshal, the muscles in his face tight. “Marshal, I’ve never been posted out of town. I know my pa never was. I’m law-abiding. I didn’t start that fight, and I have no wish to be in another, here. I think you’re being mighty unfair.

Now it was the marshal’s turn to look away. For a moment, he watched the cavalry men exercising their horses. He turned back to Clay. “You’re not being posted out of town. Understand, I like you, boy. You come from good stock. I’m just asking. I don’t do much asking, Son.”

“Captain Dixon told me to stay here until the troops get back so he can examine my neck. He said they’ll be back either Monday or Tuesday. I’ve got business at the bank, but it’s closed today. I’ll take care of that tomorrow. I do have to pick up some things at the general store, but I think Mr. Brennan will open it for me.”

“When’s your business with the bank?”

“I’m supposed to be there at two on Monday. But I’ve also been invited to the Killganans’ for Lynn’s birthday and to church today. Don’t know if I’m still invited to either, but if I am, I’d like to attend.”

“Two days. I’m afraid trouble might erupt in that time. You need to leave today.”

“Tell me again, Marshal. Are you posting me out of town?”

“I told you, no.”

“Are you arresting me?”

“I’m not arresting you, right now.”

“Then, Marshal, I have plans. Those plans require me to remain in Brackett for two more days. If you’re not posting me out of town or arresting me, I’m staying until after the party.”

The marshal stood and walked around Clay to the porch steps. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat band. He wiped his graying hair back with his other hand and put his hat back on. He walked down the porch steps and moved toward town until he was even with Clay, where he turned to look at him. “I’ve asked you nicely, boy. That’s something I don’t usually do. The doctor said that Shad will never have full use of his right arm, and I don’t know if those other two boys will ever have kids. Don’t hurt any more of my citizens, or I’ll be coming for you, and I won’t be asking.”

Clay watched the marshal amble back to Brackett.
I don’t want any trouble with the law, but I’m in the right here. Anyway, I’ve got to stay for the bank. I wish Pa was here to tell me what to do.
He stood and walked back into the infirmary to get his coat. He had time to get something to eat before church. Maybe he could wake Mr. Brennan and take him to breakfast.

He slipped his black suit coat on. With his black pants and black hat, he couldn’t decide whether he looked more like a preacher, a gunfighter, or an undertaker. He just hoped that Lynn would still want him to go to church with her. But most of all, he hoped no one started anything. He sure didn’t want trouble, not with the law.

The walk from Fort Clark to Brackett was uneventful. This early, there weren’t many people on the street. The fort was busier than Brackett. He knocked on the door of the general store. No answer.
I know Mr. Brennan said he lived behind the store.
He knocked louder this time. He waited. He was about to knock again when he heard rustling from inside the store.

“Hold your blasted horses. Ain’t you got the sense God gave a mule? This here is Sunday. I ain’t open on Sunday.”

“Mr. Brennan, it’s Clay Barlow.”

Now footsteps approached the door, and he could hear a key being inserted into the lock. Brennan unlocked and opened the door. “Come on in, Son. Don’t just stand there. I want to lock this place up so nobody else has a dad-blamed idea to knock.”

“Sorry, Mr. Brennan. I just thought that you might have my supplies ready.”

“I do, I do. I think you’ll like your guns. The gunsmith fixed ’em up real good. He said he even worked the triggers a bit. Hope you like ’em.”

Brennan pulled the gunbelt out from under the counter. The two Model 3s were in the holsters. Clay slipped his coat off, laid it on the counter, and swung the gunbelt around his waist. It felt good to have guns on again. His rifle was fine, but the gunbelt was comfortable. It felt like an old friend. He slipped the Model 3 from his right holster. It slid out smoothly. The gun felt natural. Without the finger ring on the trigger guard, it fit perfectly into his hand. He dropped it back into the holster, waited a moment, and drew.

“Whew. Clay, like I said yesterday, you are fast. Don’t know if I’ve ever seen a man that fast. Just a word of caution. Be careful. There’re some men that if they find out how fast you are, they’ll be looking for you.”

“Mr. Brennan, I’m not looking for trouble, except with those killers.”

“I know, Son. But with that speed, I have a feelin’ it’ll be lookin’ for you. Now try the crossdraw.”

Clay pulled the Model 3 from the crossdraw holster with his right hand. It felt just as natural as the first one. He tried the trigger a couple of times, being careful not to let the hammer fall on an empty chamber. “These are mighty nice, Mr. Brennan. I hate to lose my Remingtons, but these two feel even better.”

“Yeah, and you won’t be packing cylinders with powder or trusting caps to fire when the hammer hits ’em. Those Smith & Wessons are good handguns. They’ll last you for many a year.

“Tell me, Clay, you don’t use your left hand?”

“No, sir.”

“Just a suggestion, Son. I’d be practicing with that left hand. Cross draw might be right for you, but if you can shoot with both hands, you’ll have an edge. Never know when an edge will come in handy.”

Clay nodded. “Thanks for the advice. You got a box of ammunition handy? I need to load these guns. If you don’t mind, I’ll leave the rest of the stuff till tomorrow. You up for some breakfast? Thought I’d eat something before I go see your granddaughter.”

“You bet. Let me get a shirt on and I’ll be right out. Don’t worry about the rest of your gear. It can stay here as long as you want.”

JT disappeared in the back, after grabbing a box of bullets out of Clay’s bag of purchases and tossing them on the counter. Clay loaded both revolvers with five rounds each, leaving the empty cylinder under the hammer. He had just finished putting the remaining cartridges on his gunbelt when JT walked back in.

The two left the store and walked over to Ma Nelson’s place. There were a few more people on the streets now. Clay felt as if everyone was staring at him. He mentioned it to Brennan.

“Don’t worry, boy. Most of these people are looking in admiration fer what you did. Cotton and his cronies have been running roughshod over this town. They don’t give the younger boys a moment’s rest. They’re getting old enough, now, to be giving some of the adults trouble. Yessir, the majority of those folks are grateful.”

They walked into Ma Nelson’s eatery. It looked like most of the men in Brackett were there. Brennan and Clay headed for the only open table. Halfway to the table, a big man stood up in their path. “Howdy, JT. This must be Clay Barlow.”

Clay stopped, not knowing what to expect. JT said, “Durned tootin’ it is. You can thank this boy for slowing up Cotton and his bunch.”

“That’s just what I aim to do. Thought I was gonna have to come into town and take them on myself, the way they treated my boy. He’s too young—no way he could defend himself.

“I’m Sean Thomas. I ranch south of here. Just wanted you to know I’m much obliged. You ever need anything, just look me up.”

“Thanks, Mr. Thomas. I appreciate you saying that.” The two men shook hands. Clay and Brennan moved on to their table. Clay sat down facing the front door.

Ma Nelson was out of the kitchen before they were seated. She had two cups in one hand and a big pot of coffee in the other. “How ’bout some coffee? You two look like you could go for some breakfast. JT, you want your regular?”

Brennan nodded. “That’d be perfect, Emma. But I need that coffee bad. If you’d stop jawin’ and start pourin’, I’d be a happy man.”

“You keep your sass to yourself, JT Brennan. You’ll get your coffee when I’m good and ready.” She poured Brennan a cup and said to Clay, “If I remember correctly, you don’t drink coffee. How about some milk or water?”

“Milk would be fine, ma’am, and I’d like five eggs, some bacon, and a whole passel of biscuits.”

“A man after my own heart. I love hearty eaters. It’ll be right out. And you, JT, you keep a civil tongue in your mouth.”

“Hey, Emma, how ’bout some more coffee ’fore you leave.”

Emma sloshed more coffee into JT’s cup, making him jerk his hand away. “Now, I’ve to get this boy his breakfast. After all that righteous exertion last night, I imagine he’s plenty hungry.”

Laughter filtered across the room. Then the hum of conversation started up again. Clay looked around and saw nothing but friendly faces.
Guess none of these folks are upset with me. So what did the marshal
mean?

“Mr. Brennan, at dinner last night, Lynn asked me to go to church with her today. But last night, after the fight, she didn’t look too happy with me. You reckon she still wants me to go with her?”

Brennan poured some of his coffee into his saucer, blew on it for a moment, tilted the saucer to his mouth and, with a loud slurping sound, sucked the cooled coffee from the saucer. “Son, you got to understand women, and when you do, you can explain ’em to me.” He chuckled and turned to one of the men at the adjoining table. “Ain’t that right, Ben?”

The other man looked up from his breakfast. “I’ve been married to my Helen for twenty years. Reckon I don’t know much more about the way a woman’s mind works than I did before we were married.”

“Yessir,” Brennan said, “there’s no explainin’ them. But let me just tell you, Clay, Lynn likes you. She may not have liked the violence she saw last night, but she likes you. You just be patient with her. She’ll come around. Why, I bet she’s looking forward to taking you to church to save you from the violent path you’re headed down.”

Ma Nelson came out with a glass of milk, two loaded plates of food, and a big basket of biscuits. “JT, why don’t you do something useful with your mouth and wrap it around one of my tasty biscuits before they float off the plate? Clay, don’t take his advice about women. The only way he got his sweet wife was because she had her hat set for him, though heaven knows why that good woman could be so blind.”

“Emma, don’t talk like that in front of the boy. He needs to respect his elders,” JT said.

“Humph.” She headed back to the kitchen.

“There goes a fine woman, Clay. If I was twenty years younger, she wouldn’t know what hit her.”

Clay laughed and said, “Looks like she likes you just like you are.”

JT shook his head. “I’m too old to break in another woman. Anyway, reckon I was married to the best. Just can’t see myself doing it again.”

“Mr. Brennan,” Clay said, switching back to the original subject, “I used to go to church with my ma and pa, when we could. It’s nothing new to me.”

“Don’t matter, Son. My Lynn loves to help people. I reckon you’re foremost in her mind. So, like I said, be patient. If she likes you, and she does, she’ll make it work out.”

Conversation died as the two men dug into their breakfast. Clay made the eggs, bacon, and several of the biscuits disappear within a few minutes. He broke one of the hot biscuits open and smeared fresh butter, from the butter dish on the table, onto the biscuit. Then he took a little of the peach jam and added it to the rim of the biscuit. He bit off the edge of the biscuit with the jam on it and leaned back in his chair. A look of pure ecstasy relaxed his face. He closed his eyes. The tension, for a few moments, evaporated. He was back in his ma’s kitchen eating one of her hot biscuits, fresh jam, and just-made out-of-the-churn butter.

The door of Ma Nelson’s eatery slammed as a couple of her customers left. Clay snapped out of his reverie. JT was looking at him with a sad, knowing look on his face. He quickly looked away, then down, and put more jam on his biscuit. The mood broken, he was embarrassed that he had been so easy to read.