Matagorda (1967) (11 page)

"I'm not waiting, Ev. I want my money, and I'm going to have it. I'm going to New Orleans."

He gave her a wicked smile. "Suppose you don't get it? You goin' to tell Tom on me?

Or that Duvarney fella?"

"No, Ev." Her eyes sparked. "I'll tell Jackson Huddy!"

The taunting smile vanished. "You'll do nothin' of the kind, damn you! You'll-"

"I want my money, Ev," she repeated. "I want it tomorrow. No," she said with sudden anger, "I want it tonight, and I want every last cent of it. What I've been doing is a pretty mean thing, but I need that money, and if I don't get it I'll go straight to Jackson Huddy and tell him. You know how he is about breaking your word; and above all, how he is about women. He'd kill you, Ev."

"Like hell!" Ev's eyes slanted up the street. "I think I could beat him, anyway.

I'm faster than he is."

"Want me to tell him that too? Anyway, it doesn't matter how fast you are, he would kill you. He would kill you whenever he was of a mind to and you'd never know he'd done it."

Ev swore under his breath. "All right, I'll get your money. You just wait. I'll bring it by the hotel tonight."

She walked away, and Ev stood there staring along the street, eaten by anger and hatred. He had been top man among the Munsons, top man with a gun at least, until Jackson Huddy came along. Since then he had taken second place, and he did not like it. At the same time, Jackson Huddy was all that kept them going, for a good half of the Munsons wanted no part of the Kitterys. It was only the fact that Huddy would do most of the killing and take most of the risks that held them together.

Tom Kittery was supposed to be fast, but it was not Kittery who worried Ev Munson, it was Jackson Huddy. Huddy gave no man a fair chance, but Ev did not dare try to kill him, for without Huddy the Munsons would have to back up and sit down and shut up. Jackson Huddy's reputation and the fear that ringed around him gave them all a sort of courage.

Once in her room, Jessica did not take time to change. She freshened up a bit, brushed her hair, and replaced her hat. But she did take time to open her trunks and hang out some of her dresses to get the wrinkles out of them. She would have to see if she could hire somebody to do some pressing for her, and some laundry. If not, she would do it herself. She never had, but she could.

Thoughtfully, she considered Mady Coppinger. Why had she turned away so guiltily when Jessica saw her with that man? Because Jessica knew she was spoken for by Tom Kittery? Or was it something else?

She thought of how the man looked-dark, handsome in a tough, daring sort of way, but dirty, actually unclean. He had passed near her and she had seen the collar of his shirt was shiny with dirt. She shuddered. Her father had warned her that the world she was coming into was like nothing she had ever known. She had tried to learn about it, going more than once to the blacksmith down at the Corners, who had lived in Texas, and knew all about it. He came from Goliad, which was not far from this town. He had even known about the Kitterys and the Munsons. It was, he said, a bitterly fought feud.

Well, she would go to the dining room and eat . . . she had I never been so hungry.

After that she would return here and keep a watch out for Tap. She had forgotten to ask where he was coming from, but there were only two possible choices, unless he was planning to swim the cattle in. She smiled at that, for Tappan -C Duvarney was just the sort of man who might.'

She thought again of the man Mady had spoken to ... it was y- almost as if she did not want to be seen talking to him. Still, in such a country as this she
must know
all sorts of people. As far as -that went, Jessica herself had known all kinds. The Judge, her father, had not exactly sheltered his only daughter. Since her mother died they had been very close, and she had often ridden into the country with him when he was buying stock or was riding */ to some other town to hold court.

She picked up her purse and left the room, and found her way to the dining room.

She had been there only a few minutes when Mady Coppinger came in and joined her.

Mady looked across the table at her, enviously. "You look so ... so right. I wish I could look like that."

"It isn't that difficult," Jessica said. "And why look as I do? You're beautiful enough as you are. Mr. Kittery must think so."

"Oh . . . Tom. Tom's all right-he's a grand fellow, but he doesn't have any ambition.

He doesn't want to go anywhere."

"Go?"

"I mean he wants to stay here. In the West, that is. All he can think about is cattle.

Sometimes I think that's all he knows."

"Maybe it is, but if he's a good man and he loves you ..." Jessica paused. "And if you love him. You do, don't you?"

"I think so. I don't know. I just wish he'd take me away from here. I don't want to spend my life on a cattle ranch in Texas. Maybe . . . maybe if he loses out here he will go away. I mean if this deal falls through."

Jessica lifted her eyes slowly. "You mean his deal with Tappan? Do you think that will fail?"

"I don't know. It's just that it is such an awful gamble, driving cattle all that way. And if they do sell for a good price they will only buy more and do it all over again."

Jessica was thoughtful. She ordered a small meal, but most of all, she listened.

She had heard discontented women before this, but never one who seemed quite so desperate.

What it was Mady wanted from life Jessica could not decide; but whatever it was she did not expect to find it here. To her the "city"-a vague, rather unreal conception of the actual thing-was where she wished to be ... and if Tom did not take her there she would go anyway . . . anyhow.

"How could he make a living there?" Jessica asked in a mild tone.

"Tom? Oh . . . oh, he'd find something. Men always do."

"It isn't that easy, I'm afraid. I mean without some special ability."

Mady refused to accept that. "He could find something. He just won't try."

"Why should he? He has a place here, people know him, respect him. He owns cattle.

He owns land. If I were you I'd grab him quick. He sounds like a catch."

"Tom?" Mady was astonished. "He'll never be anything but a cattleman."

Jessica changed the subject then, talking lightly of other things-of the East and, although she disliked to mention such matters, of how much things cost in the cities.

Mady's discontent was obvious, so what Jessica hoped to do was to indicate that the grass on the other side of the fence was no greener.

Finally, when Mady left her, Jessica relaxed and ordered coffee, genuinely relieved that the other girl had gone. From where she sat she could look out on the street, see the horses along the rail, and watch the people come and go along the boardwalk.

One of the men she saw was the man who had been talking earlier with Mady, and he was with a tall, austere-looking man. Once the latter caught her eyes upon him and he lifted his hat. The other man noticed and made some remark, at which his companion turned to look at her again with curious, penetrating attention.

"More coffee?" The waitress was at her side.

"Please. Most of the men out there . . . are they cattlemen?"

"Them? Loafers, most of them. There's some cattlemen, buyers, and a few shipping men. But mostly they're trash."

"The dark one with the red-topped boots-is he a cattleman?"

"You could call him that. He's one of that Munson outfit. You know, the ones that have the feud. They do run cattle, but they're usually too busy hunting Tom Kittery or boozing it up, to do any 'PS work."!-t "Munson? I've heard the
name."
"That's Ev . . . he's ringleader since the old man was killed. Him and Jackson Huddy."

Jessica sat up a little straighter. What was Mady Coppinger, Tom Kittery's girl, doing talking to Ev Munson, a leader of the opposition? Jessica was young, but her years had been lived closer to the business and the courts of the land, so she was acquainted, at least by second-hand, with the perfidy of the world. If one thought of Mady's feverish desire to escape from Texas and the cattle range, and you coupled that with her whispering to Ev Munson ...

Surely she was imagining things. Nevertheless, she was worried, and she remained by the window until the supper crowd started to gather. Then she went to her room, put on a black cloak, and went back down the stairs.

"Ma'am?" The clerk was a kindly, elderly man. "I'd not go out on that street if I were you. We've got good folks hereabouts, but there's riffraff too."

"Just for a breath of air. I won't leave the boardwalk."

She stepped outside. The wind off the Gulf was light and cool. The night was very still. Only a few stars were out, and a vague light lingered in the western sky.

At first she thought there was nobody on the street but herself, and then, not sixty feet away, she saw a tall, slender figure. It was that man with the odd, high-shouldered appearance, and he was coming toward her.

Chapter
Nine.

He stopped in front of her, not quite blocking her way, and when he spoke it was in an odd, almost hesitant way.

"Ma'am?" He cleared his throat. "I would not be out on the street if I were you.

There . . . there is often trouble . . . rough men ..." His voice trailed off, then seemed to gather power as he added, "Sometimes even shooting."

"Thank you. It was very close inside," she said quietly, and "I wanted a breath of air."

"Yes, it must be stuffy inside. I think there's ..." He hesitated again. "I think there's a storm . . . change in the weather." He lifted his hat. "I am Jackson Huddy, ma'am. You take your walk, and if you are bothered ... if anyone stops you, tell them I am near."