Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 (9 page)

Sam looked back at the boy and said, “Here.
 
Come over near me.
 
This knife is not like any other knife you’ve ever held before, so pay special attention and be extra careful.”
 

Jem rolled his eyes, “Dad, I use knives all the time.”

“That’s true,” Sam said.
 
“You used fruit knives and steak knives.
 
Your little pocket knife sure came in handy the other week, didn’t it?”

Jem nodded and patted his pocket.
 
The knife hadn’t left his side since that day in the meadow.
 

“All those have their purpose, see, and some can be used for more than one.
 
In the right hands, anything can be dangerous, I suppose.”

“Even a piece of string?” Jem said.

“All right, maybe not everything.
 
Lots of things, though.
 
A pen, a pencil, a wheel spoke, any number of regular items can be disastrous if someone has it in their mind to hurt you with it.
 
I once heard of a prisoner picked his handcuffs with a woman’s hairclip and used it to slit a deputy’s throat.”

“Yuck!”

“That’s right.
 
I think the lesson there is that you can’t ever assume you’re safe just because someone doesn’t have a gun or a knife.
 
On the flip side, don’t ever feel like you’re defenseless because there’s weapons around you everywhere if you know where to look.”

“Okay.”

Sam took Jem’s hand and wrapped it around the handle of his knife.
 
He gave the boy a minute to feel the way the hickory walnut curved in the palm of his hand, keeping the blade’s tip angled forward, ready to strike.
 
“This here knife just has one purpose.
 
It was created by a man named Bo Randall from Fort Scagel.
 
Those boys knew the value of a good knife, I assure you.”

Jem looked at the knife and saw the man’s name etched across the side of the blade.

“Fort Scagel was an outpost for the mining companies about twenty years back.
 
It was overrun by the Beothuk and all their supplies were cut off.
 
The men inside ran out of ammunition, and it was just a matter of time before the savages came busting through the doors.
 
Old Bo, he gathered up all of the men and had them collect any piece of scrap metal he could find.
 
They used everything from iron bedframes to aluminum panels on the transports.
 
In a few days, Bo made every sort of knife, spear, sword and axe you can think of.
 
Crude things, really.
 
Just made for one purpose.”
 
Sam lowered his voice and said, “Only a few men made it out of Fort Scagel alive.
 
Bo was one of them, and he kept making knives up until the day he died.”

Sam tapped the hilt of the knife with the tip of his finger, “This right here’s a special guard to keep your hand from slipping up over the blade.
 
An up close knife fight is slipperier than a rattlesnake in a bucket of lard, so you need that to keep from slicing off your own fingers.
 
See how the steel is curved?
 
It goes right through a man like he was made of hot pudding and opens him up from stem to sternum.
 
This knife has no other reason for being except for one purpose.”

“To kill him,” Jem said solemnly.
 
His eyes flashed as he thrust the blade forward.

Sam watched the little boy and his heart broke.
 
He gently took the knife from Jem’s hands and set it aside, suddenly regretting the entire conversation.
 
“No, not to kill,” he said.
 
"To protect yourself if someone's trying to kill you, or somebody you love."
 
He picked Jem up and set him on his knee, wrapping his arms around him.
 
“Pretty soon, you’ll be too big to sit on my knee like this.”
 

“Can you sharpen my knife?” Jem said.
 

“You mean that little toothpick you carry around?
 
Here, let me see it.”
 

Jem dropped the knife into his father’s hand and said, “Did you catch Whiskey Pete yet?”

Sam pumped the pedal until the wheel began to turn and said, “No.
 
He’s gone.
 
I’ve got a warrant out for him some of the businesses in town even put up a reward, though.”

“And still nothing?”

“Nope.”

“Sum bitch.”

The wheel stopped suddenly and Sam turned to look at his son.
 
“What did you say?”

Jem shrugged silently.
 
Sam shook his head and said, “Boy, you talk like that in front of your mother and she’ll break half the spoons in the kitchen across your backside.
 
She’ll save the other half for me.”

Jem leaned forward and whispered, “Sometimes she says bad words too.”

Sam smiled, “That won’t matter even a little bit.”
 
   
    

***

Royce Halladay made his way across the dark meadow, running his hands along the tall stalks of wheat grass.
 
Loud voices carried up from the property below, and in the dim light of the Clayton’s porch, he could make out one man sitting on a destrier and the other perched on the front steps.
 
Sam Clayton jabbed his finger at his deputy and said, “I didn’t ask if you wanted to go check, Tom.
 
I told you to.”

“We did, Sam!
 
Every bar, every night now for the past two weeks.
 
It’s got so that everybody knows we’re coming and they make jokes about it the second we walk in.
 
If Whiskey Pete were in town, they’d hogtie him up and hold him for us, just so we’d stop sticking our noses into their business!”

Betsy Clayton opened the door behind her husband and said, “Both of you need to take this conversation down off my porch.
 
My baby’s finally asleep and if you wake her up, I’ll be madder than hornets.”

Tom Masters tipped his hat and said, “I’m sorry, Betsy.
 
I didn’t mean to holler, darlin'.”

She turned to her husband and said, “At least some people around here know how to act like gentlemen.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Betsy cocked an eyebrow at him that made him think otherwise.
 
“We’re done,” he said.
 
Sam looked back at Tom and sighed, “What about the teletypes?
 
Is somebody checking to see if he popped up yet?”

“Tilt Junger checks them the second they come in, even the ones from the PNDA for all the surrounding systems.
 
I think it’s time to consider that he’s gone, Sam.
 
If I was him, I’d have hot-stepped it off this rock and never looked back.
 
He knows what’s waitin' for him if he does.”

“What about his kin here?
 
They might be putting him up.”

“I searched every single one of their houses personally.
 
They opened the front door for me the second I showed up.
 
They hate that bastard more than we do.”

Sam smacked the side of the porch with his fist and clenched his eyes shut in frustration.
 
“I’ve been sitting around here long enough.
 
Betsy can handle it.
 
I’ll be back to work tomorrow and we’ll start looking.
 
For real this time.
 
My way.”

Tom Masters sighed and said, “Okay, Sheriff.
 
See you then.”
 
The deputy turned his destrier around and headed up the trail, nodding at Halladay as he passed.
 
“Evening, Doctor.”
 

“Hello, Tom,” Halladay said.
 
He looked up at Sam, sitting on the porch and said, “My, my, what a pleasant evening for a stroll.
 
Wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

Sam folded his fingers in front of his face and stared into the distance.
 
He realized Halladay had said something to him and was waiting for an answer.
 
“Yeah.
 
Whatever you say, doc.”

The doctor came up the steps and sat down beside Sam.
 
He pulled out a thin cigarette from a metal case inside his coat and offered Sam one, but Sam shook his head and pulled out a flask from inside of his.
 
“Never did like to mix the taste of tobacco and whiskey.
 
Makes me think I’m drinking liquor out of an ashtray.
 
You want some?”

“After that poetic analogy I think I must decline, but go right ahead.”
 
Halladay lit his cigarette and took a deep drag, then said, “I admired the way you reminded your subordinate of his place.
 
I never could tolerate uppity underlings in my own office.”

“You work alone, Doc,” Sam said.

“Completely beside the point, sir.
 
If I had any subordinates, I would strive to demean them with such complete commitment as you demonstrated tonight.
 
What is the point of having them if you cannot abuse them, I say.”

Sam chuckled and said, “I didn’t abuse Tom.
 
He can take it.
 
He’s worked with me long enough to know when I’m just blowing off steam.”

“Of course he does,” Halladay said.

“What brings you out here this time of night, Doc?”

“My wife sent me.”

“Why?”

“To check on you.
 
She said you’re making Betsy miserable with all your skulking around and told me to come check on you as your doctor and as your friend.”

 
Sam shook his head, “These women, they sure are busybodies, ain’t they?”

“Amen to that, sir.
 
Amen to that.”

“Well, you can tell her not to worry.
 
I’m going back to work tomorrow and won’t be…what was it?
 
Sulking?”

“Skulking.
 
Although now that you mention it, that is what she probably meant.”

“Anyway, tell her I’m going back to work tomorrow so I won’t be bothering anybody anymore.”