Autumn of the Gun (32 page)

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, and he departed with Sergeant Willard.

“Miss Tuttle,” said Captain Selman, “unless you wish otherwise, I'll see that she is prepared for burial in the post cemetery. I recommend a closed coffin.”

“I'd be grateful, Captain,” Rebecca said.

“It's late,” said Selman. “I think we should wait until morning for burial. I'll arrange quarters for you for the night.”

“Thank you,” Rebecca said.

Captain Selman sent a corporal to escort Rebecca to the small cabin. Wes accompanied them and the corporal left them at the door. The cabin was sparsely furnished with a single bunk.

“What about you?” Rebecca asked.

“I'll spread my blankets somewhere outside,” said Wes.

“Please ... come in for a while,” she begged. “I don't want to be alone.”

“I will,” said Wes, “but leave the door open.”

She looked at him in a strange way, and Wes had a gut feeling she had expected him to stay the night with her. Nervously he sat down in the only chair, while she sat on the narrow bed.

“Wes,” she said.

He was forced to look at her, and big silent tears had began rolling down her cheeks.

Wes said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She swallowed hard and continued.

“Wes, I have nowhere to go. What am I going to do?”

“I don't know,” said Wes. “Maybe an orphanage ...”

He knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. Her tears increased tenfold, and she threw herself face down on the bed. Quickly Wes closed the door, lest someone passing by think he was mistreating her. Finally she sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked at him.

“Rebecca,” said Wes, “I'm sorry.”

“It's not what you think,” she said. “It's just that ... it seems to be hopeless. I'd welcome even an orphanage, but I can't have even that. I was eighteen years old just three weeks ago. I'm supposed to be a grown woman, but I ... I don't feel that way. I just feel ... well ... lost. I have nowhere to go and there's little I can do, except cook, wash, and keep house.”

“What can I do?” Wes asked. “I'm not even—”

He bit his tongue just shy of saying “fifteen years old,” but she caught on.

“Wes, how old are you?”

“Old enough,” he said uncomfortably. “You saw me kill three men, and they weren't the first.”

“I know,” she said, “but you're so ... young. Why, you don't even ... shave.”

Wes turned nine shades of red, but before he could open his mouth, she laughed.

“I-I'm sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “It's none of my business.”

“You're right,” said Wes, choking back his anger, “it's none of your business. I fill a man's boots, I do a man's work, and I can handle a gun. This is the frontier, and anything a man's called on to do, I can do. If you're so damned smart, how old am I?”

“Twelve,” she said, with just the hint of a smile.

“Twelve?”
he shouted. “Why, I'll be fifteen—”

He got up from the chair and she got up off the bed, and when they met, she kissed him hard on the mouth. He stumbled back and sat down in the chair, lost somewhere between astonishment and embarrassment. Again she laughed, and he shook his head, saying nothing.

“In many ways, you are a man,” she said. “I wasn't making fun of you. Actually, I was laughing at myself. I'm alone for the first time in my life, with nowhere to go and nobody to turn to, and I'm afraid. I was about to ask you to take me with you, when you're younger than I am. I have no right to ask you to take on that much responsibility.”

“You're sayin' I'm not man enough,” said Wes, becoming angry all over again.

“Oh, you're man enough,” she replied, “but you're too much the gentleman. It would be asking too much, taking me with you—”

“What in tarnation are you talkin' about?” Wes demanded.

Again she laughed. “My God, are you that simple? You wouldn't come in here with me without leaving the door open, and when I kissed you, you acted like I'd hit you in the head with a sledgehammer. Day in and day out, on the trail, I suppose I could never be sure that, when you most needed to be a man, you'd be a fifteen-year-old boy.”

Wes opened his mouth, but words failed him. He got up and stomped out the door, slamming it behind him. Rebecca smiled and, removing her clothes, stretched out on the narrow bunk.

The first call for the sheriff's posse came at four o'clock on Sunday morning, three weeks following Nathan's arrival. Bib Driscoll awakened the members of the posse. To Nathan's surprise, Sheriff Wilder had put Driscoll in charge.

“Horse thieves hit the Hitchfelt ranch,” Driscoll said. “We ride in fifteen minutes.”

Thirteen men rode out, Driscoll in the lead. They reached the Hitchfelt ranch to find the house ablaze with light. Hitchfelt met them, a Winchester under his arm.

“Nineteen of my best horses,” Hitchfelt moaned, “and they shot one of my riders.”

“Did you get a look at any of 'em?” Driscoll asked.

“How the hell would we of done that?” Hitchfelt demanded. “It was dark as the inside of a cow's gullet.”

“Well,” said Driscoll, “do you have any idea which way they went?”

“South, along the river,” Hitchfelt said. “Four of my men was trailin' 'em.”

“They're just beggin' for an ambush,” said Driscoll. “Why didn't they wait for us?”

“Damn it,” Hitchfelt said, “we didn't know how long it'd take you. The varmints is on the way to the border with my horses.”

“They may bushwhack your riders and still reach the border,” said Driscoll. “Let's ride, men.”

Just as first light began to gray the eastern horizon, they rode south. The trail was plain enough and Bib Driscoll's prophecy became grim reality. Before they'd ridden ten miles, they met a riderless horse on its way to the home corral.

“Damn,” said Peavy Burris, “they done it, for sure.”

When they reached the scene of the ambush, one of the Hitchfelt riders was dead and the remaining three seriously wounded.

“Peavy Burris, Neil Sutton, Rand Dismukes, and Simpson Dumont,” Bib Driscoll said. “Get these men back to the Hitchfelt ranch. The rest of us will go after the thieves.”

But it soon became evident the posse wasn't going to catch up to the horse thieves. Driscoll reined up and the others gathered their horses around him.

“We ain't more than half a dozen miles from the border,” said Driscoll, “and we been told not to cross it. Might as well turn back.”

“Turn back, hell,” Slack Tarno said. “Who's goin' to know we crossed the border if we bring the varmints back roped across their saddles?”

“We've been told not to cross the border,” said Driscoll quietly, “and we ain't goin' to. Ride on beyond this point, and I'll shoot you out of the saddle.”

Tarno wheeled his horse, saying nothing, joining the other riders. Nobody spoke, for in their first foray with the long riders, the outlaws had been victorious. Nathan had seen enough to have his doubts about the effectiveness of the sheriff's posse. Long before the posse could be alerted, the thieves would be well on their way to the Mexican border.

Returning to the orderly room, Wes Tremayne spoke to Sergeant Willard.

“Sergeant, I'd like a few minutes with Captain Selman.” Willard nodded, knocked on Captain Selman's door, and received permission for Wes to enter. He did so, closing the door behind him. He spoke.

“I wouldn't bother you again, Captain, but I need some advice regarding Rebecca.”

“I understand,” Selman said. “You didn't feel comfortable in her presence.”

“No, sir,” said Wes, “because the questions I have involve her, and I need advice.”

“Speak your mind,” Selman said.

“I can't just ride away and leave Rebecca,” said Wes, “but I don't see how I can take her with me. What am I goin' to do with her?”

Selman laughed. “She's an almighty pretty girl, and I can't imagine any man riding away and leaving her. Is she of age?”

“Eighteen, just last month, she says,” Wes replied.

“She's old enough to make her own decision, then. What does she want to do?”

“I don't know,” said Wes. “I wanted to talk to you, before I ... say anything to her.”

“I can't tell you what you
should
do,” Captain Selman said. “All I can do is present you with some choices. It will then be up to you to make your own decision.”

“I understand,” said Wes.

“Very well,” Selman said. “There's a saying on the frontier that a woman alone must take in washing or take in men. Crude, but unfortunately true. To give you some idea, Indian squaws are paid ten dollars a month to do the post laundry. With that in mind, the alternative doesn't seem so bad, does it?”

“No,” said Wes, “and if that's her two choices, then I'll have to take her with me.”

“A commendable choice,” Captain Selman said, “but the more difficult of the two. On the western frontier, women—especially the young, pretty ones—are scarce. There'll be times when you'll have to fight for her, and other times when you may be fighting
with
her. The best possible advice I can give you is this: If you take her with you, be sure you want her and that she wants to go. Don't be in a hurry to make up your mind.”

“I feel like I should make a decision before the burying in the morning,” said Wes.

“Perhaps,” Captain Selman said. “It might be easier on her, knowing she's not to be left alone on the frontier. Just keep in mind that, while you're making it easier for her, you're making it a hundred fold more difficult on yourself.”

With those ominous words of warning ringing in his ears, Wes walked back to the cabin where Rebecca waited. He knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, he knocked again. Still there was no response, and he reached a decision. If he was going to be responsible for this woman, he reasoned that such responsibility allowed him the right to return to this cabin where she waited. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside. The curtains had been drawn, but there was enough light to see, and he caught his breath. Stark naked, she was stretched out on the bed, apparently sleeping. He closed the door quickly, and she sat up.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“To get you a job in the post laundry,” he said coldly. “You start tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope I'll be allowed to go to the burying,” she replied, just as coldly.

He sat down in the chair and she slid over to the edge of the bed, dropping her feet to the floor. He looked at her, but what she saw in his eyes didn't please her.

“Well,” she snapped, “do I pass inspection?”

“Yes,” said Wes, “but forget the post laundry. You're more suited to something else. With your mother lying dead in the post dispensary, I expected better of you.”

“Mother's dead, and I can't change that,” she said, “so I'm looking out for myself. I have decided I'm going with you, and I see no reason for any secrets between us.”

“There's none left, as far as you're concerned,” said Wes, “but don't it bother you, wastin' all this temptation on me? I'm only twelve, you know.”

Her response was most unladylike, and Wes laughed. When her anger subsided, she spoke.

“I'm so impressed with what I've seen you do at twelve, I want to be around when you're grown up. You should really be something by then.”

“Why wait?” said Wes, reaching a decision. “I reckon I'm as much a man as you are a woman.”

She laughed, but only for as long as it took him to reach the bed.

 

Wes and Rebecca had been invited to eat at the officer's mess, and when they arrived Captain Selman greeted them. While Rebecca probably knew nothing of his conversation with Wes, there was something about her that suggested Wes had made his decision and that it had been the right one. After supper, Wes and Rebecca returned to the cabin.

“Are you still going to take your bedroll and sleep outside?” she asked.

“I reckon not,” he replied. “There'll be enough of that after we leave here. Why? Do you think that bunk's a little narrow for the both of us?”

“I can manage if you can,” she said.

When Wes and Rebecca reached the post cemetery, there were two wooden coffins, both closed. Captain Selman spoke to Rebecca.

“I took the liberty of sending a detail after your father's body. I believed it would be fitting and proper to lay them to rest side by side.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Rebecca. “I had forgotten about that. There was just too much... all in one day.”

Wes had thought the worst of it was over, but when Rebecca saw the two coffins side by side, the enormity of her loss seemed to hit her all the harder. She wept and wailed until it seemed she might faint from the strain. Finally, after the chaplain read from the Bible, the service was over and Wes led Rebecca away. She clung to him fiercely, prompting Captain Selman to speak to Wes.

“You're welcome to stay another night if you think she needs more time to accept all this. Perhaps she should see the doctor before you go.”

“No,” said Wes. “I reckon we'll be on our way. She needs time, not a doctor.”