Jacob's Way (38 page)

The two were halfway to home on a little traveled road. Both were sitting loosely on the wagon seat, Sam chatting idly, when suddenly two horsemen came out of a grove of hickory trees. Instantly Ben drew up, for he recognized Honey Fears and Alf DeSpain. Instant regret flashed through him that he had no gun, for he saw that both men had pulled their revolvers and were holding them right on him.

“Pull up, Driver,” Fears said. He held the revolver in his left hand. His right hand had never recovered from the terrible crushing force of Dov's mighty grip. “Get out of that wagon!”

“There's no point in this, Honey,” Ben said calmly, coming out of the wagon.

Fears had dismounted and so had DeSpain. Honey handed the reins of his horse to his companion and said, “Hold the horses. I'm gonna gun-whip this man. If Sam up there gets involved, shoot him.”

DeSpain shook his head as if he disagreed, but he took the reins of Fears's horse.

“What's wrong, Honey?” Ben asked.

“You know what's wrong. You always thought you were the big dog, but I guess prison has taken some of the starch out of you, and I'm going to take the rest. And when I find that big Russian I'll put a bullet in him.”

“You can't stand it when a man can whip you, can you, Honey?”

“Well, I can whip you. I always could.”

This was true. The two had had three fights back in the old days, and each time Ben had been beaten—not badly but definitely.

Fears moved forward and said, “I'm gonna beat your brains out, Ben.”

At that moment Sam called out, “Ben!”

DeSpain's eyes had been on Fears and Driver. Sam had reached down under the seat and pulled out the Le Mat nineshot revolver.

Ben heard his name and saw Sam toss the gun. It seemed to come to him very slowly, making a single turn in the air. He simply reached up and plucked it out of the air. Instantly he wheeled and struck Honey over the head with it. The blow drove Fears to the ground. Quick as lightning, Ben aimed the Le Mat at DeSpain, saying in a hard voice, “Either shoot or drop that gun, DeSpain!”

“I'm out of this,” DeSpain cried instantly and dropped his gun.

Stooping over, Ben picked up Fears's gun, then retrieved DeSpain's. He got back in the wagon saying, “I'll drop these off at the sheriff's office. You can pick them up there if you've got the nerve. Let's go, Sam.”

As they pulled off, Fears was getting to his feet. Blood matted his hair and ran down past his ear onto his shirt. He began cursing, “I'll kill you for this, Driver! I'll kill you and that Russian, too! There's plenty of places to get you!”

Ben held the Le Mat in his hand and said, “Thanks, Sam. I think he would have killed me.”

Sam Hall said, “Well, I don't know if I done you a favor or not.”

“Of course you did.”

“Look at the chambers of that Le Mat, Ben.”

Driver looked at the chambers and then gasped, “It's not loaded!”

“No, I took it to the gunsmith, and he cleaned it. I ain't loaded it up yet.” He smiled and said, “Honey would be even madder if he knew you bluffed him with an empty gun.” Then he sobered up. “You know Honey, Ben. He means what he says. Sooner or later he'll try to kill you.”

“I expect he will, Sam. But at least he didn't do it today.”

Thirty

D
o you want anything special from town,
Zaideh
?
” Reisa had put on her heavy coat, for the weather outside was getting colder. It was not like the Russian winters, to be sure, but both she and Jacob had had their blood thinned by the hot summer. Now she touched Jacob, who sat at the table with Sam. “What about if I try to find salmon?”

“I doubt if you'll find salmon this far inland,” Jacob said mildly. “If you do, it would be nice. Is Ben going with you?”

“No, just Dov and me.”

Reisa left the house and found Dov in the wagon. He had learned to handle the unruly team of Samson and Delilah. When they tried to pull their tricks on him, he simply pulled back on the lines so hard their necks were arched backward and they squealed in fear and anger. If he was on the ground, he grabbed an ear and twisted it, jerking the animals down almost to their knees. The pair had learned to fear Dov, but still only he and Ben could drive them.

Leaving the house, they started to town. But as they passed by Hilda's house, Reisa said, “Let's go see if Hilda wants anything.”

As it developed Hilda needed nothing, but she had an invitation. “I want all of you to come for a big supper tomorrow night. You must help me cook it, Reisa, so that you and your grandfather have something you can eat.” She turned to Dov. “You'll have to be sure and come, Dov. I'm cooking your favorite pumpkin pie.”

Dov, who could annihilate a pumpkin pie singlehandedly, grinned. “Yes. I will come, Hilda.”

As they pulled out, Reisa passed a sly glance at Dov. “You like Hilda, don't you?”

“Yes. Good big woman.”

“Do you know she's worried about herself?”

“No. What she worried about?”

“Oh, women worry about things that men don't think about. She worries about that scar on her face. She thinks it makes her ugly.”

“Not ugly.”

“And she thinks she's too big.”

“She is not as big as I am.”

Reisa suddenly laughed aloud. “Of course she's not as big as you are, Dov, but she's larger than most women.”

“What does that matter?”

“Well, women like their men to be bigger than they are so they can protect them. Don't you understand that, Dov?”

The wagon rolled along, and Dov said nothing. But as Reisa glanced at him from time to time, she saw that what she had told the big man was working in his mind.

“Come on, Fears. You've had too much to drink.”

“Shut up, DeSpain! I'll tell you when I've had enough.”

Alf DeSpain shrugged his shoulders and stared at the big man with something like anger. Ike Green and Deuce Farley, two of Fears's regular companions, were with them. At the moment Green had gone to the bar and was talking with another man. The four had been there for several hours, and all of them were more or less drunk. Fears, who did not handle his liquor very well, had reached the point where his speech was slurred, and he fumbled with the cards that he attempted to deal on the table.

“This place is dead,” DeSpain complained. “Let's get out of here.”

At that moment Green came back, a grin on his loose lips. “Guess what I heard? The Jew girl's in town with that big bruiser, the Russian, that messed your hand up.”

Fears at once clamped his hands together. It was still painful, but more than the pain in his hand was the knowledge that the big man had bested him publicly and had made him cry out. “I've been waitin' to get even with him,” he breathed. He started to get out of his chair.

Deuce Farley, a small man wearing a tight leather coat, said, “If you get into any trouble in town, you'll get busted for it.”

“That's right, Fears. Let it go,” DeSpain said quickly.

“I ain't lettin' it go,” Fears stated flatly. “Ike, you go find them. When they leave, they'll be in that wagon of theirs. When they leave town, come and get us.”

The four men waited on their horses in a clump of alders that bordered the river. It was after two o'clock now, and Fears had sobered up somewhat. He still took a pull from a bottle that he kept in his saddlebag, but the wicked anger that coursed through him had not diminished in the least.

“I think I hear a wagon comin',” Deuce said. His eyes were good, and he drove his horse forward and leaned over the mare's head, peering down the road. “It's them,” he said, straightening up, his eyes glinting. He loved trouble, especially where there was no danger involved, and he saw none here.

“All right. Let 'em get even, and we pull out and stop 'em.”

“What are you going to do, Fears?” DeSpain asked quickly.

“What do you care? You ain't no kin to the Russian, are you?”

“It's not smart,” DeSpain said. “Everybody saw us ride out of town together, and everybody knows you got a grudge against the Russian.”

“Shut up, Alf!” Fears grunted. He pulled the forty-five out of his belt and said, “I'll handle this. You just put your guns on them two.”

The sound of the wagon rumbling over the frozen road came closer. When it reached the group of alders, Fears said, “Now! Get 'em!” The four men rode out and surrounded the wagon. Dov pulled up at once, for Honey Fears had drawn his horse up directly across the road and was pointing the gun at him. “Get out of that wagon!”

Dov stared at the gun, but said, “Go away and leave us alone.”

Honey Fears lifted his gun and let off a shot. The slug struck Dov, driving him back. He fell backward off the seat, and his back struck the wagon bed.

“Dov!” Reisa screamed. She scrambled to the back and found that Dov had been shot high in the chest. Blood was staining his shirt, but he struggled to his feet and stared at Fears. “You let this girl alone,” he said, ignoring the wound.

“The next bullet will be right in your head! Take that girl out of that wagon!”

Fears guided his horse around and reached over and pulled Reisa from the wagon. She started to beat her fists against him, but he simply squeezed her with his massive strength so that she gasped.

Dov started to get out of the wagon when Deuce let off another shot. It stung Dov's neck and left a bloody furrow. “Now, you stay right there, Russian!” Fears grinned. “You're gonna be a messenger boy. You tell Driver if he wants to see this woman alive again, to come to the hanging tree. And tell him to come alone. If he brings anyone with him, we'll kill the girl first. Now, let's get out of here.”

Dov watched helplessly as the men rode away. His chest wound was bleeding badly. The wound on his neck was minor. He got into the seat, picked up the lines, and slapped the mules. “Go!” he shouted, and when he struck the mules with the line they shot off in a wild run.

DeSpain looked back to see the wagon headed down the road bouncing over the ruts.

“This ain't smart, Fears,” he said. “It's bad business to fool with a woman.”

“You got no guts. That's your trouble, DeSpain. Now keep your mouth shut or I'll give you what I gave the Russian!”

Ben was reading a book when suddenly he lifted his head. Sam caught the motion and asked, “You hear somethin', Ben?”

“Wagon coming fast.” Ben came to his feet and left the room. He was followed by the three men, and as soon as Ben saw Dov bouncing along on the seat he knew something was wrong.

“Dov's been hurt,” Phineas said. “That's blood on his shirt and his neck.”

Dov pulled the mules up, and his face was pale, what could be seen of it around the beard. “Bad men. They took Reisa.”

“Who was it?” Ben demanded.

“Man whose hand I hurt. Honey Fears and three others.” “Get down out of the wagon. We've got to patch that wound up,” Phineas said sharply.

Dov got down and stood on his feet unsteadily. They led him into the house where he lay down, and Phineas began stripping his shirt off. As he worked on the wound, Dov said, “Fears—he say for Ben to come to hanging tree.”

“Where's that?” Jacob said. His face was pale.

“It's a place in the bend of the river,” Sam said. “Five horse thieves were hanged there once.”

Ben looked at the wound and said, “How bad is it, Phineas?”

“It's not too bad. It didn't hit a lung. This on his neck's just a scratch.”

“I want your Whitworth.”

“It's over in the corner. Ammunition's on the shelf. “

“Let me have your Le Mat, Sam.”

“I'm going with you,” Sam said.

“No, you take Dov to a doctor. I'll go after Reisa.”

“How'll you get there?”

“I'll borrow Hilda's gelding. Dov road him home yesterday.”

Jacob looked at the stern face of Ben Driver. His heart knew fear, but he quickly said, “Ben, let us ask the Lord Jesus to give you a victory.”

Ben Driver had not prayed for a long time, but now he stopped dead still. “I think that's a good idea, Jacob.” He bowed his head while Jacob came over and stood beside him. When Jacob had finished the simple prayer for the rescue of his granddaughter, Ben said, “Amen.” Then, grasping the Le Mat and the Whitworth, he hit the door running. Quickly, he saddled the gelding and stuffed the Le Mat into the saddle bag and the Whitworth into the rifle boot. Without a backward look, he kicked the flanks of the horse.

Jacob stood watching as Ben leaned forward in the saddle urging the gelding to a dead run. His whole hope was in the goodness of God now—and in the guns of Ben Driver.