The RECKONING: A Jess Williams Western (7 page)

             
“The youngest one,” the sheriff continued as Jess looked over the drawings, “is Randy Hastings. He’s the one with the missing boot heel. He carries two six-guns with pearl handles. The other one is Blake Taggert. He’s the one with the bushy beard unless he’s shaved it off by now, but I doubt it. He carries a left-handed six-shooter. The oldest one is Frank Beard. He always wears a yellow bandana. He carries a six-shooter, but his specialty is a double barreled shotgun. Hear tell, he’s killed several men with it.”

             
Jess looked up at the sheriff with a blank hard look. “These are the three men I met on the road, Sheriff. I’m sure of it. The drawings are a good likeness, that’s for sure. Can I keep these?”

             
“Of course,” replied Diggs. “Jess, is there anything else I can do for you right now? Can we help with some of the work here? Running a ranch is a lot of responsibility for a young man.”

             
“Thanks, Sheriff,” he replied flatly, “but I can take care of the ranch and myself just fine.”

             
“All right, then. You take care, Jess,” the sheriff said as he and his three deputies started to turn their horses around. Just then Jess stopped the sheriff and asked him the one question the sheriff hoped he would never ask, and yet somehow he knew that he would.

             
“Sheriff; you said they bragged about raping some women; meaning more than one. Does that mean they raped my little sister Samantha?” he asked solemnly.

             
Sheriff Diggs’ eyes fell to the ground. He didn’t want to answer the question, but there was no way he could avoid it. He knew that in his heart. Jess deserved to know the truth no matter how terrible. The sheriff was a man who always figured the truth was the best way out of a bad situation. His eyes slowly raised from the ground and he looked Jess straight in the eyes and told Jess the cold terrible truth.

             
“Yes. I had hoped not to have to tell you about it,” he replied sympathetically. “But the truth is those bastards did rape Samantha. I’m sorry to have to tell you that.”

             
Jess’s eyes glazed over and darkness seemed to emanate from the back of them and the sheriff had seen the look that he had in his eyes all too often lately. He knew the look; rage, revenge, love, hate, all wrapped up in one look. He saw it in these eyes of a boy not yet fifteen. He knew what Jess had on his mind and he knew there was nothing that he or anyone else for that matter could do to change it. Jess never changed his look or never lost his lock on the sheriff’s eyes.

             
“Thanks for your honesty, Sheriff,” he replied sharply.

             
“You’re welcome. I only wish I could have done more,” replied the sheriff sadly.

             
“That’s okay, you’re a good man, Sheriff, and I figure I owe you one,” he replied. “I know you’ve done your best. I’ll take care of it from here.” The sheriff didn’t have to try to figure out what that meant.

             
Sheriff Diggs and his men turned their horses and headed back down the ranch road out to the main trail leading into Black Creek. As they did, the other three men with the sheriff tipped their hats at Jess as if to say they understood what he was going through. Jess simply nodded back. As the men rode away, one of them looked over at the sheriff with an apprehensive look on his face.

             
“Did you see what that boy had in his eyes?” the man asked. “I ain’t ever seen that much rage and coldness in any man’s eyes, much less a boy.”

             
“I know,” replied the sheriff, “but he ain’t no boy anymore. Hell, it’s only been a few days since I’ve seen him and I swear he looks five years older already. And by the look in his eyes, he’ll damn well do it that’s for sure. I’ve seen that look before and it ain’t a good look. I wouldn’t want to be any of those three bastards.”

             
Jess watched the sheriff and his three deputy’s ride off down the main road until they were out of sight. He went back to plowing the field as if nothing happened. He thought about his sister Samantha. He thought of the fear and helplessness she must have went through as she was being raped and murdered. He could hardly contain the rage within him; but he continued to plow, never stopping. The rage would fuel him. The rage would keep him going. The rage would always be his edge.

             
He finished plowing for the day. He walked back up to the house with the rifle in one hand and the shotgun in his other and when he got to the porch, he noticed a large box sitting on the porch. He looked inside. He found several loaves of bread, a dozen biscuits, an apple pie and a big pot of stew.
Sara.
He had been so busy he never seen her drop it off.

             
He finished supper and got his pa’s gun and holster along with the new pistol and holster he found and went out to the creek for his nightly practice. He spent the next two hours practicing. First, he practiced with his pa’s gun. He would draw the gun over and over again. Sometimes he thumbed the hammer and sometimes he fanned the hammer. His pa’s gun was much heavier than the other gun and much harder to get out of the holster quickly. He noticed as soon as he strapped the new gun on, everything worked so much smoother and faster. The very design of the new gun and holster made it much easier to draw it quicker. Fanning the gun was easier, too with the tall hammer that stuck straight up. Jess looked at the pistol where it had .41 Caliber stamped on it.

             
He took six .45 caliber shells out of a box of ammo and put them into the pistol. They fit perfectly. He took them back out and even tried to put the lead end one of the bullets into the front of the barrel of the gun and it looked as if it was the correct caliber. Somehow, and he would never find out why, someone had the wrong caliber stamped on this pistol. He loaded the gun again and placed it back in the holster. He drew and fired at a tree across the creek. He was amazed at how much easier and quicker his draw was with this new pistol. He finished his practice with the new gun going through almost fifty rounds of ammo, and went back to the house. After making some coffee to go along with a nice piece of Sara’s apple pie, he went to bed with his pa’s .45 loaded next to him on the bed.

             
In the morning he decided to go into town for some supplies. He stopped at the general store and thanked Sara for the food and Jim for all his help. He ordered some supplies he thought he needed, and some .45 cartridges for his pa’s gun.

             
“Why do you need bullets, Jess?” asked Jim.

             
“Just doing some target shooting down by the creek,” replied Jess.

             
“You need a dozen boxes for target shooting?”

             
“You do if you plan on target shooting a lot,” he replied bluntly. “I hope you’ll allow me credit like my pa.”

             
“Why of course, Jess,” he replied. “By the way, did you know that your pa had some money in the bank? I’m not saying that so you will pay me in cash, I just thought you should know.”

             
“No, I never knew my pa had any money saved,” he replied.

             
“Well, you go see Mr. Jameson at the bank and I’m sure he will let you know all about it,” said Jim.

             
“Thanks Mr. Smythe,” he replied.

             
The bank was small and there were only three windows with one man working the only window that was open. Mr. Jameson was sitting behind a desk over to the left of the teller windows. As soon as he spotted Jess, he got up immediately.

             
“Good afternoon, Jess. I’m really sorry about what happened to your family,” exclaimed Mr. Jameson. “What can I do to help you today?”

             
“Jim Smythe says my pa had money in your bank and that it probably belongs to me. Is that right?” he asked.

             
“That’s right, Jess. Why don’t we go look at the account and see how much is there. He was a good man, your pa,” said Jameson kindly.

             
“That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Jameson, sir,” replied Jess. Jameson went behind his desk and picked out a ledger book from a shelf. He leafed through some pages and found what he was looking for.

             
“Oh…yes…hmm…here we go,” Jameson said in his low banker’s voice, “yes, he has…or I guess you have…two hundred, seventy-two dollars, and sixteen cents. Do you need some of the money right now?”

             
“Well, I don’t rightly know just yet,” he replied, as he thought about it for a moment. “How about if I take out twenty dollars for now? That way I can pay off my pa’s bill and pay cash for my supplies. I guess I can use credit when I really have to. Better to pay my way if I can, don’t you think?”

             
“Absolutely,” replied Jameson. “Banks are for borrowing money when you don’t have it and credit is for people who can’t pay right away. The less you use of either is a good way for a man to live, Jess.”

             
“I agree,” he replied.

             
Mr. Jameson filled out a slip of paper for Jess. “Here, take this to the teller and he’ll get you your money.”

             
“Thanks, Mr. Jameson. You’ve been a real big help. This will be my bank from now on.”

             
“Why thank you, Jess. That’s a mighty nice thing to say,” said Jameson.

             
Jess walked out of the bank and headed to the general store. He loaded up his supplies and paid in cash even over Jim’s repeated objections. Jim was a little more than curious when Jess also asked for two dozen boxes of .45 caliber rounds instead of the original dozen he had asked for when he first came in. Jess figured as long as he had the money, he might as well get plenty. He knew he was going to use that much and more.

             
“Jess, what in the hell are you going to do with all these bullets?” asked Jim awkwardly.

             
“Like I said, just doing some target shooting down at the creek,” he replied. “As a matter-of-fact, do you have some empty bottles I could have to use for targets?”

             
“Well…yes; you’ll find all you want behind the store, but you be careful with your target shooting, you hear?” cautioned a worried Jim. “We don’t want anything happening to you.”

             
“Oh, I’ll be careful; honest. My pa was starting to show me how to shoot just before…well, you know,” he replied.

             
“I know, buy just be careful, okay. You promise me,” Jim pleaded.

             
“I can promise you this; I plan on being real careful for the rest of my life,” he replied emphatically, as he walked out and picked up a dozen or so of the bottles on the ground out back and headed back to the ranch.

             
Jess finished his work, had supper and went down to the creek with his pa’s gun strapped on. He carried the new gun and holster over his left shoulder. He set up some bottles across the creek. Some he stood up on the ground and some were stuck upside down on branches waving in the slight breeze. He began the practice that would become a ritual for the next two years. He would draw the guns several times very slow, but very deliberately. That way he made sure he was doing everything just right. He would dry fire both guns; going through the entire motion perfectly. Cocking the pistol on the draw and then squeezing the trigger as he pointed the gun at the target. Then he would load the gun with .45 cartridges and go through the same motions again, firing live rounds. He would do it slowly at first and then finish with fast draws. He would repeat everything over and over again relentlessly. It didn’t take long before he ran out of ammunition. He made another run into town to pick up a few supplies and another two dozen boxes of .45 cartridges. While he was at the general store, Sheriff Diggs walked in.

             
“How’s my favorite young man, Jess?” Diggs said smiling.

             
“Hi, Sheriff; I’m just fine,” he replied. Sheriff Diggs counted out the twenty-four boxes of .45 cartridges sitting on the counter and gave Jess a curious look.

             
“Twenty-four boxes of cartridges? Jess, what the hell are you doing with all this ammunition? I heard you’re buying poor Jim clean out,” the sheriff asked curiously.

             
“I’m just doing some target practice,” he replied evasively. “A man has to know how to use a gun these days.”

             
“How’s it going so far?” asked Sheriff Diggs.

             
“Pretty good so far,” he said bluntly.

             
“Well, you be careful with guns, Jess,” replied Diggs. “They ain’t toys you know.”

             
“I know, Sheriff, I’ll be careful,” he said.

             
“Especially with that shotgun there,” said Sheriff Diggs, as he nodded to the back of the wagon where Jess had put his pa’s .44-.40 rifle and double barreled shotgun.