Sidewinders (29 page)
Authors: William W. Johnstone
He made his way through the roar, falling twice in the process, but at last reached the distressed animal. Lodged on its croup was a fist-size chunk of jumping cholla, which, in this case, might have jumped all the way from Tucson as far as Riley knew.
He pulled it free, then pulled out what spines he could see. It was all he could do, but the horse seemed grateful.
Slowly staggering, he made his way to a new wagon to check in and give what reassurances he could. Which weren't many. He swore, this was the last train he was going to ferry out or back.
He was done.
CHAPTER 2
Back in Fury, it was still raining come the morning, although it had settled into a slow but steady drizzle. And it didn't take much water for an Arizona inhabitant to forget the dust, Jason discovered. When he walked up the street to the office, he didn't pass a single water trough that wasn't filled to the brim. And grimy from gritty, dusty cowhands helping themselves to a free bath. Jason pitied the horses that had to drink from those troughs.
Surprisingly, there hadn't been that much wind damage. To the town, anyway. Ward Wanamaker told him, before he went home for the day, that the east side of the surrounding stockade wall looked like God had been using it for target practice.
Jason didn't feel like walking around the outside of the town, so he walked past the office and all the way down the central street, to the steps that would take him to the top of the wall. Every wall, his father had taught him, had to have places from which men could defend the interior, and this one did, around all four sides. When he reached the top, he stood on the rails that also ran around the perimeter and looked down.
Ward had been right.
Cactusâclumps, arms, and piecesâcovered the outside of the wall, and at the base was enough vegetation to start a small forest. If anybody in their right mind would want a forest of cactus, that was. And then he got to thinking that a forest of cactus just might be a good thing for the outside of that wall. He knew cactus would just send down roots and take off, if you threw a hunk of it down on the ground. And they sure had a good rain last night, that was for sure. The stuff was probably rooted already.
He decided to leave it. It'd be just one more deterrent for Apache, and he was all for that.
He figured the stuff stuck to the wall would eventually fall off, leaving spines and stickers behind to discourage anyone who might try to climb in, too. If they made it past the cactus forest, that was.
“Oh, get a grip on yourself,” he muttered to himself. “Stuff only blew in last night, and here you've got it six feet tall in your head!”
Shaking his head, he went back down the steps and started up toward his office. But he paused before going inside. He wondered if he should have a word with Rafe Lynch. He decided he should, but he put it off. Frankly, he didn't want it to turn into a confrontation, and he was afraid that Lynch could do that pretty damn fast.
Actually, he was afraid that Lynch could rope, tie, and brand him before he even knew he was in the ketch pen.
So he turned and walked into the office, expecting one hell of a mess that'd need cleaning up. But to his surprise, Ward had spent a busy night with the push broom and the cleaning cloths.
Hell, Jason thought, this place ain't been this clean since we built it! When he stepped out back, he found that even the bedding from the cells had been hung out in the rain!
“Wash and dry in one move,” Jason said with a chuckle. “That's Ward.”
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Southeast of town, Wash Keogh was looking like mad for his gold vein, the one he was certain was going to make him rich, and the one of which he carried a goose eggâsize chunk in his pants pocket.
He'd been searching all morning, but nothing, absolutely nothing showed up. It wasn't raining now, but it had drizzled long enough after sunrise that the desert was still wet, washed free of its usual cover of dust. He had expected to find himself confronted with a shimmering wall of gold, the kind they wrote about in those strike-it-rich dime novels.
But no. Nothing.
Had somebody been in here before him and cleaned it all out? It sure looked that way. Maybe the chunk he'd found had simply been tossed away like so much trash. He growled under his breath. Life just wasn't fair!
“What did those other boys do right that I done wrong?” he asked the skies. “I lived me a good life, moved settlers back and forth, protected 'em from the heathen Indians! I worked with or for the bestâJedediah Fury, Whiskey Hank Ruskin, and Herbert Bower, to name just three. All good, godly men! I brung nuns to Santa Fe and a rabbi to San Diego, for criminy's sake, and I guarded that preacher an' his family to Fury. All right, I do my share of cussin', some say more. And I like my who-hit-John, but so do them priests a' yours. What more do you want from me?”
There was no answer, only the endless, clear-blue sky.
Another hour, he thought. Another hour, and then I'll have me some lunch.
He set off again, his eyes to the ground, keenly watching for any little hint of glittering gold.
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Jason had let his sister, Jenny, sleep in. She was probably tuckered out from the stormâhe knew he was.
The girlsâMegan MacDonald was with herâwoke at nine, yawning and stretching, and both ran to the window at the sound of softly pattering rain.
“Thank God!” Jenny said, loudly enough that Megan jumped. Jenny didn't notice. “Rain!” she said in wonder, and rested her hand, palm out, on the windowpane. “And it's cool,” she added in a whisper. “Megan, feel!”
She took Megan's hand and pressed its palm against the pane, and Megan's reaction was to hiss at the chill. “My gosh!” she said, and put her other hand up next to it. “It's cold!”
Ever down-to-earth, Jenny said, “Oh, it's not cold, Meg, just cool. I wonder if Jason's up?”
She set off down the hall to wake him, but found his room empty except for an absolutely filthy pile of clothes heaped on the floor, dead center!
“He's gone,” she said to nobody. Meg hadn't followed her. Turning, she grumbled, “Well, I hope he had the good sense to take a bath,” and walked up the hall toward the kitchen, where she heard Megan already rooting through the cupboards.
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A little while later, after both girls had washed last night's grime out of their hair and off their bodies, and had themselves a good breakfast, they walked uptown toward Solomon and Rachael's store.
The stormâlong gone by nowâhadn't shaken Jenny's hens, who had taken shelter in the low hay mow of Jason's little barn, and subsequently laid a record number of eggs. The girls' aim was to sell the excess eggs and find a new broom and dustpan, which Jenny had needed for a coon's age, but hadn't got around to buying yet. This seemed like the time, what with the floors of the house nearly ankle-deep in detritus.
They had barely reached the mercantile and were standing, staring in the window, when the skies suddenly opened again! Rain began to pelt them in huge, hard drops, and Megan grabbed Jenny's hand and yanked her. “C'mon!” she hollered.
But Jenny had put the brakes on, and just skidded along the walk behind Megan, the egg basket swinging from her hand. “Wait! The door's back the other way, Meg!”
“Come on!” Megan insisted, and tugged Jenny for all she was worth. “The mercantile's closed, Jenny!”
“It is?” Jenny began to run alongside Megan then, and what Megan was headed for wasn't a very nice placeâit was Abigail Krimp's. But any port in a storm, she told herself. It surely beat standing out here. Her skirt was already almost soaked!
Abigail was holding the door for them, and they ran directly inside, laughing and giggling from the race, not to mention where it had ended. It was the first time either one of them had so much as peeked inside a place like Abigail'sâjust the location made them giddy!
But Abigail was just as nice as Jenny remembered from the trip coming out. Why, she didn't look “sullied” at all! That's what Mrs. Milcher always called her. And then it occurred to her that she didn't even know what “sullied” meant. And Jenny had the nerve to call herself Miss Morton's assistant schoolmarm!
Abigail put a hand on each girl's shoulder and said, “Why don't you young ladies have a seat while you wait it out? I declare, this weather of late is conspirin' to put me outta business!” She led them to the first of three tables and sat them down. “You gals like sarsaparilla ?”
Jenny's mouth began to water. It had been ages! She piped up, “Yes, ma'am!” and Megan nodded eagerly.
But Jenny's money sense moved in. “We don't have any money, Miss Abigail. But thank you anyway.”
Megan looked at her as if she'd like to toss her over the stockade, and Jenny stared down at her hands.
“Not everything in here's for sale, you sillies!” Abigail laughed. “I thought we'd just have us a nice, friendly sody pop. Been forever since I just got to sit and socialize.” And she was off, behind the bar.
Megan and Abigail exchanged glances, but Abigail was back by then, with three bottles of sarsaparilla, three glasses, a bottle opener, and a small bowl of real ice! The ice itself opened up the first topic of conversation, and Abigail told them that she had a little cellar dug far underground, under the back of the bar, where she kept a barrel full of ice when she could get it. This was the last of her current stash, which had come down from the northern mountains with the last wagon train to stop in Fury.
Jenny was transfixed, but Megan was halfway through her first glass. If you put enough ice in the glass, your bottle was enough to pour out twice. Jenny looked away from Abigail long enough to ice her glass, then fill it with sarsaparilla. It bubbled up into fizz when it hit the ice, and she was giggling out loud, which started Abigail, then Megan, laughing as well.
Abigail lifted her glass. “To old friends,” she said.
Jenny and Megan followed suit, then clinked all three together and drank.
Until her dying day, Jenny would swear that was the best sarsaparilla she ever drank.
“What the hell's goin' on out here? A hen party?” asked a new voice, male and jovial, but pretending to be cross.
Both Jenny and Megan twisted in their chairs to see the speaker. He was coming out of the mouth of the hall behind him, all clanking spurs and hip pistols and worn blue jeans and nothing up top except his long johns. And his hat, of course. Jenny didn't understand why in the West, nobody took off his hat, not even to greet a lady. Not even in church. Just a touch of the brim was the most she'd seen since they left Kansas!
But this manâwho Jenny liked already, just on general principleânot only took his hat clear off, but bowed to the table! Then he swept his hat wide, and said, “Good morning ladies! I trust everyone came through the night in one piece?”
While the girls tittered, he looked at Abigail, raised his brows, indicated the empty chair at the table, and asked, “May I?”
“Certainly,” she said. She was on the edge of laughter, herself.
The man sat downâright next to Jenny, who nearly fainted.
He was tall, over six feet, and had wavy, sandy hair, and it was cut fairly short. His eyes were blue, but not regular blue, like hers, nor sky blue, like Jason's. They were a deep, deep blue, as blue as she imagined the ocean would be if you swam down so far that your lungs were ready to burst. And he was, well, gorgeous, if you could call a man that.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” said the vision sitting beside her. “My name is Lynch, Rafe Lynch, and I'd appreciate it if you'd call me Rafe.”
Jenny stuttered, “Hello, Rafe. I'm Jenny Fury.”
“Like the town!” He smiled wide. “Coincidence?”
She barely had her mouth open when she heard Megan say, across her, “Her father was the wagon master who started us West and her brother is our marshal, and I'm Megan MacDonald and my brother owns the bank.”
Megan ran out of air, and Jenny just said, “Yes. What Megan said, I mean.” She felt herself flush hotly and took a quick sip of her soda pop.
It was Abigail who saved her. She reached over and put a hand on Rafe's arm. “Can I get you somethin', honey?”
Rafe picked a little chunk of ice out of the bowl and ran it over his forehead. “A beer, if you wouldn't mind, Abby.”
She said, “No problem at all,” and stood up. Before she left, though, she said, “Rafe, honey, why don't you tell the girls, here, how you just beat the dust storm to town? I swan, I would'a been scared to death!”
He grinned. “Don't take much to scare you, does it, Abby?”
She laughed, and he just kept grinning, even as he turned back toward the girls. “How old are you two? Unless it's uncalled for to ask, I mean.”
Megan said, a little too proudly, “I'm twenty-one. Jenny, here, is only nineteen.”
Oh, terrific. Now she was marked as the baby of the group. She was going to have a word or two with Megan later. That was for sure! As calmly as she could, she said, “But I'll be twenty come June.”
There. That was better.
“And your brother's the famous Jason Fury I been hearin' so much about?”
Jenny had never heard that he was famous, but she said, “Yes, I guess so. But he's just my brother.”
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