Between Hell and Texas (6 page)

“Yes, but appetite is no small thing. How you’re eating is most important in keeping a check on these sort of wounds. Your damaged innards can fool you. A man loses his appetite, maybe it’s from lack of activity, but maybe it’s from this wound keeping his belly just enough upset that he doesn’t have the desire to eat. Doesn’t feel hungry. Has no taste for food, so to speak.”

“I won’t let that happen,” said Dawson. “I promise, I’ll eat, even if I’m not all that hungry at the time.”

“Yes,” Suzzette added, “and I’ll be there to see that he does.” She smiled and held her hand down to him. “Right, Cray?”

Doctor Peck noticed that Dawson didn’t answer her, although he did take her hand and squeeze it firmly.

“Well, I’ll be back in a couple of days to remove this bandage and take these stitches out,” the doctor said, standing up to leave. “Then I want you to start getting up and around some.”

When two more days had passed, Cray Dawson held Suzzette’s hand mirror down and looked at the two healing incisions on his lower belly, and said,
“Look, it’s a cross. Do you suppose the doctor intended it, or it just happened that he had to cut it this way?”

Suzzette studied the healing wound and said, “I don’t know. Then, after consideration, she said quietly, “I’ve never been a very religious person, but the night I came to your room in the doctor’s office, I prayed that you were going to be all right.” She blushed slightly. “This might sound silly, but I think maybe this cross is a sign.”

“A sign,” said Dawson, with no expression.

“Yes, you know?” said Suzzette. “A sign that you were going to live and get well.”

“Yes, I know what you mean by a sign,” said Dawson. “But I don’t think this wound was all that bad.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Suzzette. “You’re alive though. I call that an answer to my prayer, don’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Dawson felt uncomfortable. “I’m not an answer to anybody’s prayer, Suzzette. I don’t want to give you that impression.”

“I can make my own impressions, thank you,” Suzzette said, offering a smile. “The thing is, I prayed for you to live…and you did live. Now I have a special promise I have to keep because of that.”

Dawson tried to let the conversation go, hoping she would do the same. “Suzzette, you don’t need to keep any promises on my behalf.”

Suzzette looked shocked. “But of course I do! I promised that if you lived I would find a way to quit doing what I do.” She smiled again. “See? You’ve had a big influence on me, Crayton Dawson. Whether you meant to do it or not, you have come very close to making an honest woman out of me.”

Dawson didn’t know what to say. He’d made up his mind that he was leaving for Somos Santos in two more days. Now he had to figure the best way to tell her. He had made her no promises, yet it seemed that promises had been made; and though she would deny it if he brought it up, he knew she expected something from him, something he knew he couldn’t give, even if he wanted to.

The conversation was stopped by the sound of a knock on the door, and the voice of Sheriff Neff saying from atop the stairs, “Suzzette, Dawson, it’s me, Neff, open up, it’s important I talk to you, Dawson.”

Suzzette gave Dawson a questioning look. He nodded and said in a lowered voice, “Go on, let him in.”

As soon as Suzzette opened the door Sheriff Neff stepped inside and turned, looking back over his shoulder toward the back of the Big Spur Saloon. Dawson stood up and looked past the sheriff to the alley below to see what held the sheriff’s attention down there. “Well, just as I said, Dawson, having you around is drawing trouble,” said the sheriff, finally closing the door after one last look along the dirt alley below. “There’s a cousin and a half brother of one of those boys Mad Albert killed. They’re here and they’re out for blood.”

Dawson stared at the floor letting out a tired breath. “There just ain’t any end to it, is there, Sheriff?”

“None that I ever saw,” said Neff. “One killing brings on another. Everybody has some kin or other who has to be as foolish as the one he’s come to avenge.”

“Do these men know it was Mad Albert who did
the killing? That those two were about to backshoot him, just to be able to say they
did it
?”

“I told them, or I tried to tell them,” said Neff, “but it went straight through their ears, the shape they’re in. They’re both red-eyed drunk and armed to the teeth.” He shook his head, then said, “Boy oh boy. I suppose you’re starting to understand why I don’t like having gunfighters around, ain’t you?”

Before Dawson could reply, Sheriff Neff cut in, saying with a twist of sarcasm, “Of course, you’re going to deny being a gunman, but just ask yourself: would these two be in town right now, had it not been for you and Mad Albert being here in the first place?”

“You don’t have to hammer the point, Sheriff,” said Dawson, standing up stiffly, and reaching for his gun belt.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked the sheriff.

“To straighten this out,” said Dawson. “I’ll get them to listen to reason on this thing before anybody else gets killed.”

“Uh-uh,” the sheriff said, “I came here to warn you, to keep down any more bloodshed, not to cause more of it!”

Dawson started to say more on the matter, but before he could a voice called out from the alley below. “Cray Dawson! We know you’re up there with the whore! Come down and let’s get settled up.”

Sheriff Neff looked stunned and said, “I swear I was careful to make sure I wasn’t followed here.”

“It’s like you said, Sheriff,” Dawson commented, raising his Colt and checking it as he spoke. “Word travels.”

“Let me try to talk them away from here,” Neff offered.

“No,” said Dawson. “It’s my mess, whether I meant to make it or not. I’ll clean it up.”

“Sheriff Neff, stop him!” Suzzette pleaded, seeing Dawson step over to the door and start to open it. “He’s in no shape for this!”

Dawson stepped out onto a small platform atop the wooden stairs and looked down at the two enraged faces staring up at him.

“Then I’ll stop him!” Suzzette shouted.

“Hold it, Suzzette!” The sheriff grabbed her around the waist and held her back as she tried to run out onto the platform behind Dawson. “You can’t go out there now. It’s commenced.”

With a firm grip on the long wooden banister, Dawson eased down one cautious step at a time, his right hand poised an inch from the butt of his Colt. “I didn’t kill either one of those men,” he said.

“You be Crayton Dawson?” one man asked, looking up at him.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” said Dawson.

“I’m Bob Pulley,” said the big, burly man wearing a long deerskin riding duster that hung to his boot heels and carried streaks of mud and other matter around its bottom edge. “Clifford Tillis was my beloved cousin.”

“And my beloved brother,” said the other man, thumbing himself on the chest. He was a shorter, slimmer version of one of the men Ash had dropped dead in the street. He wore a large gold earring that caused his earlobe to sag with the weight of it. “I’m Bennie Tillis.”

“I want you to know the names of the men who killed you, Crayton Dawson,” said Bob Pulley.

“If you want to know what happened, your brother and his friend got what they came here looking for,” said Dawson to Bennie Tillis.

“Save it, Dawson,” Pulley replied for both him and Tillis. “We already heard how it happened from the man at the livery barn. He told us we’d find you here, laid up with some whore while my poor cousin is stuck in the ground.”

“Yeah,
my
brother!” Tillis repeated, once again thumbing himself on the chest.

“Vernon…” Dawson whispered to himself, disappointed. He stopped halfway down the stairs, noting the position of the sun. It stood high above, offering neither him nor the other two men an advantage. But standing above them forced them to raise their faces to him, letting more light beneath their hat brims. Was this his best position? he asked himself. He hoped so. Being on the narrow stairs offered him little room to maneuver out of the way if he had to. But it also forced the two men to fight upward, an unfamiliar position for them, he hoped. Seeing the men squint their eyes, he knew he had to make this happen quickly before they adjusted to the slight change of light.

“They’re in the ground because they were backshooting cowards. I have no more to say on the matter,” said Dawson, knowing his words would either bring things to a quick outcome or send these two on their way.

“Backshooting cowards,
huh!
” shouted Pulley, grabbing for the pistol on his hip. “Then fill your hand you son of a—” His words stopped short.

Dawson’s shot hit him high in the right shoulder, wounding him. The shot sent him backward, the gun falling from his hands. Dawson wasted no time
swinging his Colt toward Bennie Tillis. But before he could get a shot off, the deafening sound of a shotgun blast from atop the stairs behind him caused both him and Tillis to flinch. Three feet in front of Tillis a large hole appeared in the ground, kicking a spray of dark earth up into the gunman’s face. Bennie Tillis coughed and grabbed his eyes, his pistol waving back and forth aimlessly in front of him. “Don’t shoot! I can’t see! Don’t shoot! It ain’t fair!”

“Drop the gun, Tillis!” Dawson demanded.

“Okay! All right! Damn it, there, it’s dropped!” Tillis shouted, half sobbing in his fear and frustration.

Seeing the gun hit the ground, Dawson ventured a look up the stairs and saw Suzzette standing with a long, double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun pointed down at the narrow alley. Dawson saw that the second hammer was cocked and ready to fire. He also saw Suzzette’s arms tremble under the weight of the big gun and said in a firm, even tone, “Suzzette! Lower it toward the ground.”

She did. Then she let out a long breath and said, “Cray, did I do good?”

Dawson kept his Colt cocked as he headed down to where Bob Pulley lay writhing on the muddy ground, holding his bloody shoulder. Ten feet away, Tillis stood digging dirt from his eyes, choking and cursing. Kicking Tillis’s pistol aside, Dawson said to Suzzette, “Yes, you did real good! Now uncock that hammer before it goes off.”

“All right,” Suzzette said with uncertainty. “I’ll try.”

Dawson stood watching her as he kept his Colt pointed at the two beaten gunmen. It wasn’t going to
be easy telling her that she wasn’t going with him…especially now.

Atop the stairs, Sheriff Neff stepped out beside Suzzette and took the shotgun from her. Then he looked down at Cray with a look that made Dawson feel ashamed for some reason.

The next morning at dawn, Dawson had already gotten up and begun folding his belongings and placing them into his saddlebags when Suzzette sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes, and looked at him. Sleep cleared from her brow and she asked, “Cray, what are you doing?”

“I’m packing, Suzzette,” he said gently but firmly. “It’s time I get on to Somos Santos. I’ve been without work too long.”

“You’re leaving? Am I going?” she asked.

“No, Suzzette, I’m sorry,” said Dawson, stopping, letting the flap fall on his saddlebags. “This is something we talked about, remember? I told you when it came time to go, I would have to go alone.” He buckled the straps down on the saddlebags.

“I remember,” said Suzzette, “but I thought you had changed your mind since then. We’ve gotten along so well. We’ve enjoyed each other’s company…haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have…
I
have,” said Dawson. “I’m obliged for all you’ve done for me.”

“You’re obliged?” she asked flatly.

“That’s all I can say,” said Dawson. “You’ve taken good care of me. I’ll never forget you for it.”

“What have I done wrong?” Suzzette’s voice sounded shaky and hurt.

“Nothing, Suzzette,” said Dawson. “You’ve been perfect. It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve got things bothering me that I haven’t settled inside myself. As long as they’re still with me, I’m no good for a woman, I’m no good for myself. You deserve somebody better than me, Suzzette. And I hope you
get
somebody better than me.”

She stood up and walked to him, putting her arms around him. “But we’re so good together, everything about us, Cray. I love you. I’ll do anything for you. Don’t leave me. Tell me what you want, I can change!”

Dawson gently freed himself from her arms and held her hands in his as he said, “You’re right, Suzzette, we’re good together in every way. There’s nothing about you that I would change. You’re warm, you’re kind, you’re everything a man could ever want in a woman. The fact is, I just don’t love you, Suzzette. I’m sorry, but there it is. I’ve tried to make myself love you. I watch you, the way you are, the way you do things, and I tell myself, ‘Dawson, don’t let this woman get away. Grab her and hold on and thank God for her.’” Standing close to her he saw a small tear form in her eye.

“Cray, please,” she whispered.

“But it’s just not there, and I don’t think it ever will be, Suzzette,” he whispered in reply.

“Give it time, Cray,” she said. “Maybe after a while we’ll—”

“No,” Dawson said, cutting her off gently. “I’m in love with another woman, Suzzette. I can’t seem to do anything about it.”