Town Tamers (19 page)

T
o say Byron was shocked was putting it mildly. He realized they must have followed him from the theater. Suddenly his perfect night was tainted. “You again,” he said.

“Us again,” Marshal Pollard replied. “And we’ve brought friends.” He snapped his fingers, and two more deputies materialized from different directions.

A spike of alarm filled Byron. They had him surrounded. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“I’ve had my men keeping an eye on you,” Marshal Pollard said. “And it’s obvious you didn’t get the message.”

“Which?” Byron said, although he knew full well.

“About leaving on the morning train. I have a feeling you don’t aim to.”

Byron looked up and down the street, but no one else was in sight. At that hour in this part of town, most people were abed. “What makes you say that?”

“Boy, don’t take me for a fool,” Marshal Pollard growled. “I saw you courting Miss Rabineau. I can’t say much for her taste in men, but I can say something about your taste in females. You’re overreaching, boy.”

“Stop calling me that,” Byron said. “And what do you mean by overreaching?”

“Because,
boy
, she’s too good for you. She comes from a good family. You come from trash. You have redskin in your blood even though it doesn’t show.”

Deputy Agar growled, “You’re not fit to be with a lady like her.”

“The fact that you were,” Marshal Pollard said, “tells me you’re not fixing to take the train. And I can’t have that.”

“You can’t make me leave,” Byron declared.

Marshal Pollard smiled the sort of smile a mountain lion might right before it pounced on a deer. “You keep forgetting. I’m the law. I can do any damn thing I like.”

“Damn upstart,” Deputy Agar said. “You need to be reminded of your proper place.”

“My what?”

Marshal Pollard nodded at the other two, and they lunged.

Byron came crashing down from the clouds of romance to the reality of being seized and held fast. He struggled, but he’d reacted too late. “Now just you hold on.”

Pollard nodded at Agar, and the deputy drove his fist into Byron’s gut.

Pain exploded, so much pain that the world burst in bright light and Byron would have doubled over and collapsed if not for the pair holding him.

“Bring him,” Marshal Pollard said.

Awash in agony, Byron was aware of being carried with his feet dragging, down the street and into a vacant lot. He was hauled over by a fence and shoved so his back was to it.

The four lawmen formed a half-ring in front of him.

“You brought this on yourself, boy,” Marshal Pollard said.

The pain had eased enough that Byron found his voice. “You don’t want to do this.”

“There you go again,” Pollard said. “Telling me what I should and shouldn’t do.”

“Some jackasses never learn,” Deputy Agar spat.

“Especially breeds,” one of the others said.

Byron thought of his rifle and his knife and the revolver he hardly ever used, all back in his room at the Poetry House. “This isn’t right.”

Marshal Pollard snorted.

“It isn’t legal.”

“I have a town to look after, boy. Now and then I have to stretch the law a mite. Like I’m stretching it now to make damn sure that three troublemakers take their trouble somewhere else.”

“But I told you,” Byron said, “I have nothing to do with my father anymore.”

“So you claim.”

“Why would I lie? All I want is to be left alone to live my life as I see fit.”

“At the Poetry House.”

“I love it there.”

“A Texan who likes poetry,” Marshal Pollard said. “You must take me for an idiot.”

“I’m being honest with you.”

“Sure, boy,” Marshal Pollard scoffed. “Sure.” To the others he said, “I’ve listened to enough of his malarky. Get on with it.”

Just like that, Agar and the other two deputies waded in.

Byron got his fists up with his arms low to protect his belly. He blocked a punch to the ribs and countered an uppercut to his jaw, but there were three of them and he couldn’t avoid all their punches. His jaw was jarred and his ribs flared, and then a blow caught him on the side of the head and his legs buckled.

The blow nearly blacked him out. No fist could do that. One of them had resorted to a blackjack, and he found out which when Deputy Agar struck him again across the top of his head.

Byron struggled to stay conscious, to rise. He clawed at the ground but couldn’t find the strength.

“Look at him,” Deputy Agar said. “No more sense than a tree stump.”

“Finish it,” Marshal Pollard said. “But remember. Not the face or anywhere it will show.”

A rain of pain fell on Byron—kicks and punches that seemed without end—to his chest and stomach and sides and back and even his arms and legs. He felt himself sliding into a black well and desperately clung to the brink.

Then a hand gripped his chin, and Marshal Pollard said, “Be on that damn train.”

There was a last blow, and Byron pitched into the well.

N
oona was a light sleeper. Since she had been little, the slightest sound would wake her.

So it was that in the still hour before dawn her eyes snapped open, and she lay listening and wondering what woke her up.

The Spencer was on the bed beside her. She had set it there as a precaution. Given the horrible things that Marshal Pollard had done to the people she and her father talked to, she wouldn’t put anything past him.

A minute went by and the stillness was unbroken, so Noona closed her eyes to catch a few more winks before she had to be up.

A faint rap on her door brought her off the bed in a bound with the rifle at her hip. It wasn’t a knock so much as a scrape, as if someone had run their hand over it.

Noona had thrown the bolt so they’d have to bust the door down to reach her. She crept over and put her ear to it but heard nothing.

Moving to one side in case someone started shooting, she called out, “Is someone there?”

“Sis, it’s me.”

“Byron!” Noona exclaimed in delight. She leaned the Spencer against the wall, threw the bolt, and spread her arms to welcome her brother with a hug. “You changed your mind, after all.”

Byron sagged against the jamb, his body half folded over, his bag and rifle case on the floor at his feet. “Sis,” he said weakly.

To Noona’s astonishment, he started to collapse. Quickly, she caught him and wrapped her arm around his waist. “I’ve got you.”

He was god-awful heavy, and it took some doing for her to steer him to the bed. The moment she let go, he fell onto his back and groaned. “Byron?”

“My things,” he said weakly, his eyes closed. “Don’t leave them in the hall.”

Noona brought them in and bolted the door. She lit the lamp, then sat on the bed and asked, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“The marshal,” Byron said, and plucked at his shirt, trying to unbutton it.

Noona helped, saying, “Do you want it off?”

“You need to see.”

Noona didn’t understand until the last button was undone and his shirt fell open. “God in heaven,” she gasped. “He did
this
?”

“He had help,” Byron said.

Nearly every square inch, from Byron’s belt to his neck, was covered with bruises. Dark and light bruises. Big and small bruises. One of the worst was low on his ribs.

“Is your back the same?” Noon asked, aghast.

Byron nodded, and swallowed. “Back, arms, legs, everywhere but my face. They beat the living tar out of me.”

“What did you do to provoke them?”

“It’s so I’ll be sure to be on the train.”

“I’ll go fetch Pa,” Noona offered, and turned to go.

“No. Please,” Byron said. “He’d only say I told you so, or give me a look that says the same thing.”

“We have to tell him.”

“Let me rest a bit.” Byron closed his eyes and rolled onto his side. “I hurt so much, sis.”

Tears filled Noona’s eyes. She placed her hand on his head, and swallowed. “Rest as long as you want. I’ll fetch him when you—” She stopped.

Byron was breathing so loud, it was obvious he had passed out.

Noona coughed and stood. She was shaking, she was so mad. She grabbed her rifle and went out and down the hall to the next room. She knocked three times, lightly, and was about to knock again when it opened. “You’re up already?”

Asa was fully dressed. He even had his slicker and derby on. “Never got to bed,” he said, and nodded at the Spencer. “You fixing to shoot somebody?”

“You need to see,” Noona echoed her brother.

“See what?” Asa asked.

“But not a word, you understand? He’s not to know I showed you.” Noona crooked a finger.

“Who? And show me what?”

Noona put a finger to her lips and ushered him into her room and over to the bed. She pulled Byron’s shirt wide and let the beating speak for itself.

Asa swayed and his face drained of color. When he spoke, his voice didn’t sound like him. “Who did this to my son?”

“Who do you think? They want him on the train with us.”

“Do we need a sawbones?”

“He made it here under his own power, and he’s not spitting blood.”

Asa touched the blackest and bluest of the bruises. “This was done by a boot. They must have stomped on him when he was down.”

“Just like they did to all those others.”

“Those others weren’t my boy.” Asa gently placed his hand on Byron’s head. “I was the first to hold him when the midwife pulled him out. She cut the cord and gave him to me. Your mother was too weak. I was the first to hold you, too.”

“I think I remember that.” Noona tried to make light, but neither of them smiled.

“It was bad enough, those other folks we heard about,” Asa said quietly. “But this—” The color returned to his face and darkened until he was as red as blood.

“He still might not help us.”

“Doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t,” Asa said. “This goes beyond taming. This is personal. I’d do it alone if I had to.”

“You’re not alone. You have me.”

“And me,” Byron said. Wincing, he rose onto an elbow. “I’ll do this last one and then no more.”

“I’m sorry I brought Pa against your wishes,” Noona said.

“You don’t hear me complaining.” Byron struggled to sit up, and they had to help him. “Thanks,” he said, and grimaced in pain. “I seem to recall sis saying that we need to do this one smart. Smart how?”

“So they can’t link it to us,” Noona said. “So the law won’t be after us.”

“And it would please me mightily if we could do it so they suffered,” Asa said.

“I gave it some thought on the way over,” Byron said. “We can start by making them laughingstocks and work our way up to putting windows in their skulls.”

“That’s my boy,” Asa said.

T
he Express locomotive idled just past the station, chugging slowly. Smoke puffed from its stack but not nearly as much as would spew out once the train was under way. The engineer had leaned out to talk to some kids who were fascinated by the metal behemoth.

Marshal Abel Pollard checked his pocket watch for the fifth or sixth time. “I swear, if they don’t show, I’ll have them run out of town on a rail.”

“Here they come now,” Deputy Agar said. “And look at the one we beat on. He can hardly stand.”

At a signal from Pollard, the three extra deputies he’d brought converged from three points of the compass. “Morning, you Delawares,” he said.

Asa had his carpetbag in his hand and his shotgun under his arm. He set the bag down but not the gun case.

“You almost didn’t make it,” Marshal Pollard said. “The train leaves in five minutes.”

“We were delayed.”

“It’s my fault,” Byron said. “They had to help me into different clothes, and I am mighty slow at things today.”

“I wonder why,” Deputy Agar said, and snickered.

“I reckon I bit off more than I can chew,” Byron said. “Congratulations. You have prevailed.”

“At last some sense out of this family,” Marshal Pollard said. He stepped up so he was practically nose to nose with Asa. “He has more sense than you. You can give me all the free country guff you want, but the fact of the matter is, it’s not free. It’s whatever the law says it is. And since I’m the law—” He shrugged.

“Us leaving,” Asa said. “Is it your idea or Arthur Studevant’s?”

“Does it matter?”

“That tells me right there. I must have gotten him mad and not known it.”

“Over what? Talking to that old biddy, Cecilia Preston? Or those others you went to see? They’re nuisances at best.”

“I would have liked to meet this Studevant,” Asa said.

“There’s no one I admire more in this world.”

Noona had been uncharacteristically quiet but now she heatedly asked, “Is it admirable of him to force himself on young women?”

“My deputy told me that Cornice and Laura Baker were two of those you visited,” Pollard replied. “Flat-out liars, the pair of them.”

“Laura seemed believable to me,” Noona said.

“Think about it,” Marshal Pollard said. “Arthur Studevant can have any female he wants. Hell, women are always throwing themselves at him on account of his money. Do you honestly think he needs to force himself on a no-account girl like Laura?”

“Maybe he does it for the thrill,” Noona said.

“Some people are perverse that way,” Byron said, staring at Pollard.

“All right. That’s enough.” The lawman straightened. “Agar, get them on the damn train. And make sure they stay on until it pulls out.”

“I’ll remember you for this,” Asa said.

“Just so you do your remembering in Texas.”

Deputy Agar placed his hand on his six-shooter. “You heard the marshal. Pick up your bags and climb on board.”

Noona went first. Byron second. Asa paused on the step to look down at Pollard. “Give Studevant a message for me.”

“I’m not your errand boy,” the marshal said gruffly. “Write him a letter.”

“Tell him I’ve never seen an uglier town.”

“Ugly?” Marshal Pollard repeated, and gestured. “Did you look around while you were here? Ordville is about the most—what’s that word—picturesque town you’ll find. What with the mountains and the new buildings and the clean streets and the tony way everybody dresses, it’s downright pretty.”

“The ugliness I mean is a cancer that has spread all through Ordville, but most folks don’t realize it.”

“What’s he talking about?” Deputy Agar asked. “Who is it has cancer?”

“Damn me if I don’t think he’s talking about Mr. Studevant and us,” Marshal Pollard said.

“He’s what?”

“Like all cancers,” Asa went on, “it has to be cut out.”

Pollard came to the step. “Forget about Ordville. Forget about this cancer you think it has. Go back to Texas and find another town to tame. Because so help me, if you show your half-breed face here ever again, the moment I set eyes on it, I’ll shoot you dead.”