The Reckoning (16 page)

“You're not listening to the rhythm, Duane.”

He tried to adjust to her movements, moved his feet as best he could, and suddenly, to his amazement, discovered that he was actually dancing! Two to the left and one to the right, he said to himself, as he let her maneuver him across the floor. Her form was fluid, she seemed floating on air, while he struggled to be in the correct spot at the exact time.

“Now you've got it,” she said.

The dance wasn't as complicated as he'd thought, and even an idiot such as himself could
remember one to the left and two to the right. He became aware that his hand was on Phyllis's slim waist, and her small callused palm rested easily in his. He couldn't help contrasting her country body with the cosmopolitan former Miss Vanessa Fontaine. “You're the woman for me,” he murmured. “I wish we could get married today, so that we could be together all the time.”

“Maybe we can get engaged on Christmas.”

“Your father would never tolerate it.”

“Leave him to my mother and me. Everything'll be fine, you'll see. Don't you understand that I want the same thing as you?”

They undressed each other with their eyes as they moved smoothly among the other dancers. He saw a nubile maiden with bright cheeks and laughing eyes, while she observed a long lanky cowboy with wide shoulders and black hair on his chest. Their eyes met, and an unmistakable communication passed between them. Both knew that one day they'd be together, regardless of earthquakes, tornadoes, Indian raids, or civil insurrections.

“They seem to be getting along rather well,” Lieutenant Dawes drawled to his wife as they sat side by side on the lawn. “Phyllis is an only child, and the Pecos Kid has his eyes on the family ranch, evidently.”

Vanessa knew that she should keep her big mouth shut, but it was impossible. “Duane could never be coldly calculating like that!”

“Just like he'd never kill somebody, I suppose. I
can't help wondering why you keep defending him.”

“Why do you persist in attacking him? He's only a boy, for God's sakes.”

“If he's only a boy, then why did you sleep with him? I can't understand what you ever saw in him. He's not
that
good looking.”

“Perhaps not to you.”

“To you?” he asked, sitting straighter in his chair.

She became cross. “Do you think we could talk about something else?”

He knew that envy was getting the better of him, but couldn't stop. “Are you saying that you still find him attractive?”

“In an aesthetic sense—yes—but he was extremely immature and silly at times. Yet, despite his youth, he never insulted me.”

Lieutenant Dawes raised his eyebrows. “When have I ever insulted you?”

“Every time you mention his name. I'm going to tell you something right now, my dear husband. You keep it up, and you'll regret it.”

He could see that she was becoming angry, and didn't want a public scene. “I'm sorry. I thought we were joking.”

“Perhaps you were, but I wasn't. I think it best if we never mentioned Duane Braddock again. Otherwise I'll leave you, because anything's better than this.”

He'd be the laughingstock of the officers' club when word got around that he'd met a strange woman, married her a week later, and then was divorced. Senior commanders might surmise that
something was wrong with his mind, and pass him over for promotion.

“I apologize from the bottom of my heart,” he said. “You can be sure that I'll never mention that person again.”

The dance ended, and Phyllis clapped her hands while the musicians bowed, doffed their hats, and headed for the main table groaning beneath pounds of food.

“Let's get something to eat,” she said to Duane.

“I don't think we should spend the rest of the afternoon together,” he replied. “I don't want to make your father angry.”

“It's only a party, Duane.” She grabbed a handful of his sleeve and pulled him toward the food. All he could do was follow, worried about possible retaliation from his future father-in-law. If he weren't so exhilarated by her presence, he would've noticed a far more serious threat on the other side of the clearing, where Jay Krenshaw sipped a glass of white lightning.

Jay could see that the Pecos Kid was a far better dancer than he, and Phyllis preferred his company. It rankled like acid poured onto Jay's guts. He wanted desperately to be viewed as a great man like his father, but whatever he did, he always fell short.

If these people knew who Duane Braddock's mother and father were, they'd be in for a big surprise. I should tell Big Al, but I'd look like a sneaky son of a bitch. Maybe I should just wait for Otis
Puckett to get here. He'll take care of the Pecos Kid, and then maybe I'll have a chance with little Phyllis.

Lew Krenshaw sat next to Big Al and ate from a massive plate of sliced beef. “You put on a good feed,” he said, his mouth full. “I ain't had a meal like this since I can't remember when.”

“You look it!” Big Al boomed. “Mebbe it's time you hired a cook, or you might even think of a-git-tin' married agin'. I'll bet there's plenny of women who'd love to marry Lew Krenshaw.”

“I don't want nobody to marry me fer my ranch, and besides, love is fer the young, like that galoot what was a-dancin' with yer Phyllis. Who the hell is he?”

Big Al growled. “One of my cowboys.”

Myrtle leaned forward and looked at Lew Krenshaw. “His name's Duane Braddock.”

“I think she's sweet on him.”

“Like hell she is!” roared Big Al.

“Seems like a nice enough boy,” Lew Krenshaw said. “Reminds me when I was young.”

Myrtle Thornton looked at him askance. “You talk as though you're already in the grave.”

“Nawthin' never turned out right fer me,” Lew complained. “Life's downright discouraging.”

“You've got a lot to be thankful for, seems to me.”

Big Al interjected, “Lew's been like this ever since I met ‘im. No matter what happens, it ain't enough. If he ever made it to heaven, he'd tell Jesus that it weren't what he'd hoped for.”

Big Al noticed the approach of his daughter and Duane Braddock, each carrying plates covered with food. Big Al muttered something unmentionable, while Lew Krenshaw turned toward the couple. He couldn't help comparing Duane to his son, and something told the old man that the Circle K and Bar T would never merge, which provided a new reason for unhappiness. I ain't a-gonna git no grandsons, he thought mournfully.

Duane looked as if he'd rather be in Santa Fe as he sat on a chair beside Phyllis. He kept undressing her in his imagination, but her parents terrified him, and the wizened old man sitting nearby peered at him curiously. Duane figured that her ex-cowboy father knew precisely what was occurring in the deepest convolutions of his billy goat mind.

He tried to eat calmly, but his main ambition was to go to a quiet place with Phyllis Thornton, and remove her clothing. I'll never last till Christmas, he thought. I wonder if there's any way I can get her alone?

Meanwhile, the quantity of whiskey steadily diminished, while dancing became more uninhibited. The men clattered like horses and jumped like rabbits, as the women spun smoothly through the air, their skirts and petticoats rising, affording an occasional glimpse of leg. The afternoon hadn't reached midpoint yet, but a few cowboys already had passed out from injudicious drinking habits.

The cowboys from the Bar T and Circle K kept away from each other, to avoid sudden death. Males outnumbered ladies eight to one, and vied for dance rights, while shy, aging, or philosophical
cowboys sat on the sidelines, got drunk, and watched the activities.

Don Jordan came to a stop in front of Duane and said, “Ramrod wants to see you, pronto.”

Duane wiped his mouth with his napkin, winked at Phyllis, and said, “Excuse me.” Then he followed Jordan across the yard. “What's up?”

“Ramrod didn't tell me, but it sure looks like you're doing all right with the boss's daughter, you lucky son of a bitch.”

The ramrod sat in a wagon, his back against the slats, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Come on in here, Mister Braddock, and have a seat. I want to talk with you.”

Duane climbed into the wagon, sat opposite the ramrod, and waited for his assignment.

“You was a-lookin' a little green around the gills,” McGrath said, “so I thought I'd git you away fer a spell. You ain't a-screwin' Miss Phyllis, are you?”

“Hell no,” Duane said. “We're just . . .” Duane struggled for a word to describe what he and Phyllis meant to each other.

“Let me tell you about Big Al. He's not as mean as he looks, and his daughter has got him wrapped around her little finger. You shouldn't have nawthin' to worry ‘bout, less'n he catches you with yer hand up her dress, afore yer married. You got any preference about whar you want to git buried?”

“You don't have to dig a hole, ramrod. Just leave me for the buzzards.”

Duane felt two small coals burning into the side of his head, and noticed Vanessa Fontaine Dawes
looking at him. Their eyes met, and Duane flashed on her naked in bed with the Pecos Kid, clawing and biting passionately, but now she sat demurely, fully clothed, a paragon of dignity, fashion, and virtue. He decided that he wanted to be alone, so that he could think things through.

“Got to stretch my legs,” he said

He climbed out of the wagon, then headed for the open range. If the boss's daughter likes you, suddenly people start paying attention. It reminded him of the night he'd shot Saul Klevins. He passed the bunkhouse, and filled his lungs with pure clear air. After twenty yards, he dropped to a cross-legged sitting position on the open range. All I want is a simple, peaceful life. Why does everything happen to me?

He heard a growl behind him, and spun around, reaching for his Colt. It was Sparky pointed to the corner of the bunkhouse, baring his teeth. “Who's there?” Duane asked.

A man with a black hat and no chin stepped into the open embarrassedly. “Just me,” said Amos Raybart.

Duane recognized him as a Circle K cowboy. “What can I do for you?”

“Just takin' a walk. Ain't you the feller called Duane Braddock?”

“What if I am?”

“I heered that you lived the monk's life not long ago, and I was a-wonderin' if you ever missed it.”

Duane was taken aback by the question. “Sometimes . .. why do you ask?”

Raybart looked Duane over at close range,
looking for a mark of the devil, and instead caught clear sharp eyes that made him turn away. “I'm a religious man, too,” he admitted. “D'ya think we could pray together?”

Again, Duane was surprised. “All right,” he agreed, closing his eyes, but not all the way.

Raybart clasped his hands together. “Lord, show us righteousness. Give us your strength. Teach us your wisdom.”

Raybart droned on, and Duane tried to figure his game. The encounter had been too sudden, and it appeared that Sparky had caught the stranger spying. Finally, Raybart came to the end of his prayer. “Thank you, Jesus, fer all yer many blessin's.” He opened his eyes and smiled beatifically.

“What's your name?” Duane asked.

Raybart told him, but it didn't ring bells in Duane's mind. “How come you're talking to me? I thought the Circle K cowboys were mad at the Bar T.”

“Has God ever spoken with you?”

Duane blinked in surprise at the latest question. “Sometimes,” he confessed. “How about you?”

“He said that I should follow Him unto the ends of the earth.”

“Then you should.”

Raybart appeared to be undergoing a powerful spiritual experience. His hands trembled and his face drained of color. “Thank you, sir,” he replied. “You been very kind.”

Tipping his hat and bowing, Raybart backed toward the corner of the bunkhouse. Duane watched his hands, because the man obviously was
insane. The Pecos Kid could imagine no other reason for his bizarre and inexplicable conduct.

Raybart walked alongside the bunkhouse, so deep in thought that he barely was aware of what occurred around him. He'd seen a force in Duane's eyes that reminded him of the monastery in the clouds. He's told me what I've gotta do, Raybart realized.

Raybart felt purified as he approached the front of the bunkhouse. I'll take my pay at the end of the month and head for the Guadalupe Mountains. Then I'll follow Jesus to my dying day, for he has forgave me my sins.

A hand reached suddenly out of the shadows, and grabbed him around the neck. “What you think yer doin', asshole?”

Raybart looked fearfully at the sinister features of Jay Krenshaw accompanied by tobacco stench issuing from his rotten teeth. “Just takin' a walk, boss man.”

“What'd you and Braddock talk about?”

“We prayed together.”

Krenshaw's eyes widened, and he took a step backward. “You what?”

“Prayed together.”

“Are you tryin' to shit me?”

“He's a god-fearin' man, and so am I. You may not realize it, but God is a-watchin' every move we make.”

Jay Krenshaw had considered Amos Raybart a wicked little man who'd do anything for a dollar,
including murder, and the sudden religious talk unnerved him. “Git out of my sight, and don't ever let me see you talking to Braddock again. If you mention a certain trip that you took recently—you'll wake up a-swingin' from a tree.”

D
ANCERS HOPPED ABOUT the dance ground, an endless line passed diminishing barbecued animals, and new guests arrived from faraway districts, as the sun sank in a sky mottled with purple, red, and gold.

Big Al's working ranch looked like a carnival, with fiddlers, guitar pickers, and brightly colored ribbons. He felt like a monarch bestowing favors upon his subjects as he blew ash off the end of his cigar. We ought to do this more often, he thought happily.

A Bar T cowboy climbed a ladder and lit the lamp suspended over the steer and pig carcasses as nearby guests gobbled huge quantities of savory meat. One keg of whiskey had been tapped out, and the second already one-quarter gone. Several cowboys
were passed out cold, and numerous others staggered about in advanced stages of inebriation, but the overwhelming majority had paced themselves for the long haul.

Duane strolled toward the dance ground, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. His hat sat on the back of his head, and his Colt glowed evilly in the light of an oil lamp lit by cowboys at the entrance to the barn. His eyes roved the riotous scene, and he spotted Phyllis Thornton dancing with an unknown man in a tight-fitting suit. The prettiest girl in the party tried not to look bored, as a line of men awaited their turn with her.

Duane found himself sinking into a vile mood. He wanted to be alone with Phyllis, but instead had to share her with the world. He made his way toward the kegs, filled a glass, and looked for a place to sit down. He found a length of barn and dropped to his heels.

It seemed that every path to happiness was blocked to him. He couldn't have Phyllis, Vanessa didn't want him, and Jay Krenshaw kept stalking through the crowd, tossing hostile glances his way. And then there was the strange cowboy who'd asked to pray with him, and now eyed him thoughtfully from a position near the fire.

The dance came to an end, and a freckle-faced private from the Fourth Cavalry approached Phyllis for the next one. She shook her head, and the corners of his mouth drooped in disappointment. Phyllis headed for the refreshment table, trailed by admirers, and Duane was about to follow, when a
pale blue dress caught the corner of his eye. It was Vanessa Fontaine Dawes, moving in the same direction. Duane feared that Phyllis and Vanessa would meet, with the topic of conversation himself. Vanessa had an acid tongue, and Phyllis might push her into a water trough. It appeared that the main event of the evening was about to begin.

The sweating cook sliced off a chunk of meat and dropped it onto Phyllis's plate. Her mouth watered as she collected a mug of lemonade. The dancing had excited an appetite that she could satiate, unlike certain other unfulfilled desires. She sat at a long table, and her male admirers surrounded her, yapping like hound dogs, trying to catch her attention.

They were decent, hard-working men, and she bore them no ill will, but some were too polite and mild-mannered, while others were oafish though well intentioned. She knew that any one would make an acceptable husband, but who wanted an acceptable husband?

Her vision turned to the young man in the black hat with silver conchos, sitting against the barn. Am I a superficial ninny, attracted to his pretty face? she wondered. Will I tire of him after a few years? Or is he the man whom God has sent me to love?

“Mind if I sit down?” asked a female voice above her.

Phyllis was surprised to see Vanessa Fontaine Dawes, the newlywed herself. “If you can find some room,” Phyllis replied cautiously.

Vanessa looked at the crowd of young swains sitting around Vanessa. “Gentlemen?”

Embarrassed and awkward, unaccustomed to forceful women, they moved toward the far end of the table. Vanessa sat with her plate of food and picked at a slice of beef. “I guess you know who I am,” she began.

“The new schoolmarm,” Phyllis replied. “And I understand that you've been married recently.”

“As you probably also know, I was scheduled to marry Duane Braddock once. Thank God I didn't, but that doesn't mean that I don't care about him, and don't worry about him. That's why I thought we should have a talk.”

Phyllis gazed at blue eyes, stark cheekbones, and golden hair. Vanessa seemed superior in sophistication and maturity, but Phyllis was the daughter of Big Al Thornton. “Duane told me that you broke his heart.”

“I didn't mean to, but I'm much older than he, and my needs are far different from a woman like you. But I'll always love him, in my way. I hope you'll stand by him, because he's not always as strong as he might appear. I loved a man when I was about your age, but he died in the war. I really haven't been right since, and that's why I, a total stranger, am talking to you about intimate matters.”

Phyllis was completely taken aback by Vanessa's remarks. No one, not even her mother, had ever talked to her that way, but somehow it had the ring of truth. “We'll have to wait a decent interval,” Phyllis explained, “but I don't know if we can last that long. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

Vanessa, the sophisticated woman of the world, merely asked, “But what's the point of waiting? A lot of things can happen between now and Christmas. If I were you, I'd announce my engagement
today.
”

Phyllis was aghast at the suggestion. “But I've only known him for a month!”

“I knew my present husband a
week
before I married him, and here we are invited to the finest home in the territory. You'd be surprised how accepting people are, after they get over the initial shock. Personally, I think Duane and you would be a marvelous couple, and your father should consider himself lucky to have such a son-in-law. I advise you to announce your engagement tonight, because, as my husband says, surprise is the most important element of attack.”

A fiddler and two guitar pickers started a new tune, prompting young men in the vicinity to gather around Phyllis, clamoring for the next dance. But she was gazing across the courtyard at Duane and had the impression that he was looking at her. Phyllis found Vanessa's logic irresistible. “I'm sorry,” she said to the dithering young men, “but I do believe that I've promised the next dance to Duane Braddock.”

All eyes were on the beautiful rancher's daughter as she crossed the yard. Duane saw her coming, and all he could do was stand, making a thin smile.

“Care to dance?” she asked.

“People are going to talk.”

“I don't care.”

She headed for the dance ground as he glanced toward the front lawn. Big Al watched him suspiciously,
alongside the lady of the ranch, while Vanessa appeared to be smiling, and Lieutenant Dawes was sitting straighter in his chair.

Duane followed Phyllis toward the dance ground. “What did you talk with Vanessa about?” he asked.

“You.”

She took Duane's hand, he held her waist, and they stepped away gracefully. “What did she say?” Duane inquired.

“She thinks that we ought to announce our engagement today, and I agree, because I don't see the point of waiting any longer. Do you?”

“No, but. . .”

She looked into his eyes. “You love me, don't you?”

“Of course, but...”

“And you want to marry me, don't you?”

“Sure, but...”

She inadvertently on purpose brushed her body against his. “And it's making you a little crazy, isn't it?”

“That's no lie, but...”

“Well, we've known each other nearly a month, and a lot of people have got married on much shorter notice, such as your former girlfriend.”

“Has she put you up to this?” Duane asked.

“I know what I want, and if you want the same thing, when this dance is over, we'll walk up to my father, and you'll ask for my hand in marriage.”

Duane sputtered, “You've got to be loco! Why, there's no telling what he might do!”

“My mother will keep him under control—don't
worry about that. What this all boils down to is, do you want to marry me or not?”

“Whatever happened to Christmas?”

“That's when we're getting married.”

“But. . .”

“I can't wait much longer than that, Duane. If you know what I mean.”

“I can't wait much longer myself,” he admitted.

“Well?”

“What's she like?” Lieutenant Dawes asked his wife as she sipped a cup of lemonade beside him.

“She's got a lot to learn.”

“Who could teach her better than you?”

She glanced at him sharply. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know your way around.”

“I'm sure there's much that
you
could teach her, too, but don't get any ideas.”

“I have eyes only for you, darling. What did you tell her?”

“Surprise is the most important element of attack.”

“Is she going to war, or have you been playing Cupid? I must say, this is a side of you that I haven't seen before. Or are you still in love with Duane, and can't get out of his life?”

She turned to her husband, and her face became demonic in it's barely suppressed rage. “I do think about him, but not in the squalid way that you so crudely suggest.”

“If Duane were a little older, and had a better
situation, you'd probably be married to him instead of me.”

“I told you that I'm sick of your jealousy. Keep talking about him, and I'll leave you.”

The newlyweds squabbled like an old married couple that hated each other passionately, while across the yard, Jay Krenshaw sipped whiskey moodily as he watched Duane and Phyllis dance amid swarms of boot-bangers and heel-kickers. Jay was so angry he could scream, but didn't dare misbehave before his father. Holy man, my ass, he muttered darkly. He's just a-tryin' to git into her bloomers, that all.

The song ended, dancers applauded, and Phyllis took Duane's hand firmly. “Are you ready?”

“If your father shoots me,” he replied, “I hope you'll remember me occasionally.”

“Don't be such a fraidy-cat,” she retorted as she pulled him toward the lawn, where her father sat with Myrtle and Lew Krenshaw. Engulfed by inner turmoil, Duane had a clear perception of impending doom. Big Al would go loco, and reach for his Colt.

“Stop shaking,” she said. “I thought you were supposed to be a hard case from Titusville.”

The back of his hand brushed her leg, and he remembered the purpose of his mission. “I'd rather walk to California than ask your father for your hand.”

“Don't exaggerate,” she said with a smile, as she led him like a lamb to the slaughterhouse.

Meanwhile, Big Al watched their approach, his
eyes knitted with hostility. He noticed that they were holding hands, and didn't like the look of it.

“Here come Phyllis and Duane,” Myrtle said. “Don't they look nice together?”

“No,” replied Big Al.

His rancor increased as they drew closer, but he knew, deep in his guts, he was defeated before Phyllis opened her mouth. Never had he been able to say no to her, and when she teamed up with his wife, he didn't stand a chance.

“Daddy,” she said cheerfully as they came to a stop in front of him. “Everybody's having fun, and Duane and I thought it might be a good time to announce our engagement. You see, we thought we'd get married this Christmas.”

Big Al's complexion became a peculiar green hue. He turned toward Duane, who looked him in the eye, and said, “I love your daughter, and I'm asking for your permission to marry her.”

Big Al had known that the request would come some day, but not so soon, and not from the Pecos Kid. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He thought about pulling out his gun, but there were too many witnesses. Before he could find his voice, Myrtle said, “I think that's a marvelous idea! Don't you, Alfred?”

Big Al didn't know what to say. His throat had constricted to where he could barely swallow. Finally, he was able to force out a series of croaks and squeaks that said, “She's too young, and they scarcely know each other. How's he a-goin' to support her?”

“I've got a job,” Duane said, “and if you fire
me, I'll find another. As long as I've got a roof over my head, your daughter'll have a roof over her's.”

“Easy to say,” Big Al replied, his voice growing stronger. “The world can be awful mean.”

“We could've eloped, but we're trying to do it the right way.”

Big Al drew himself slowly to his full six feet and four inches. He leaned toward Duane and said, “You elope with my daughter, and I'll shoot yer ass.”

Before Duane could respond, Phyllis stepped in front of him and said, “You shoot Duane, you'll have to shoot me first!”

She said it so emphatically that Big Al realized she was in love with Duane Braddock, and there wasn't much he could do about it. But he couldn't give up easily. He searched his brain for a sensible objection, but his wife's arm wrapped around the back of his waist. “Don't be a stubborn old jackass,” she said. “I think Duane would make a fine husband for Phyllis, but if he turns out bad,
then
you can shoot him.”