Chapter 16

A hundred miles away in a town named Sweetwater, Tom MacIntyre was not fairing all that well. It had had only been a couple of weeks but he was just about out of the money he took from his father’s safe. Last bit of what he had, save twenty dollars, laid in a poker pot on the table in front of him. He sat in his usual manner, slouched in his chair and his hat pushed back on his head. He thought a casual position made him look unconcerned as to the outcome of the hand, but nothing was further from the truth. Tom was genuinely worried that if he lost this hand he would be broke and have to return to his father’s ranch. A thin trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face as he studied his cards; three kings, a two and a jack stared back at him. The last man to participate in this hand was a professional gambler and was stone faced. It was his move to either fold or call the bet. Placing a twenty dollar chip into the pot he smiled and said, “Call.”

Smiling, Tom relaxed and set his cards on the table. “Three kings,” he said grinning.

The gambler grinned back and said, “Not bad, a respectable hand to be sure.” Tom leaned in to take the pot, but stopped when the other man said, “Unfortunately for you, not respectable enough to beat a full house, my friend.” He laid his cards on the green tablecloth, two queens and three fives.

“Damn cheatin’ card sharp,” Tom muttered under his breath and leaned back in his chair.

Being a professional, the gambler had been called a cheat many times in his life so he was able to retain his composure. “I assure you, sir, there have been times in my life when that may have been a necessity, but here tonight it was the furthest thing from my mind, because of your inferior method of play,” he said stacking his chips into orderly piles. He grinned an evil smile at Tom who was concentrating on his eyes, not on his right hand as it slipped under the table.

“Just what the hell does that mean?” Tom gritted his teeth.

“Simply stated, friend, you stink at cards.”

Tom stood up suddenly, throwing his chair back with his legs and clawed for his revolver, but stopped before it even cleared leather because a forty-five caliber Peacemaker was pointed directly at his head. The gambler’s hand was steady as a rock and Tom knew he was facing death right in the eyes. “Go ahead and finish pulling that hogleg, sir, and I will end your foolish life where you stand,” the man said coolly.

Tom knew the man had the drop on him and tried a bluff. “I have friends here and they will gun you if you twitch.”

The gambler’s face was as rock steady as ever. “Your bluff in life is as bad as your card playing. The two men who came in with you have not even reached for their pistols. So I can confidently say that before they clear leather, I will have killed you and one of them and the third will have lead in him. Now the three of you drop your guns and piss off, as I grow wearisome of your company.”

“I ain’t leavin’ here without a gun.”

“Ah, I am certain you will because my dear friend who tends bar here will raise very serious havoc with your insides when he cuts loose with his favorite scattergun,” smiled the gambler.

Tom heard the sickening sound of the hammers being pulled back off to his right. Turning his head slowly he saw a stout man holding a coachgun squarely in their direction. Tom swore under his breath and told Jimmy and Tug to drop their gun belts, as he did the same.

“You may pick them up in the morning but know this; if I even get a whiff of you in my vicinity I will assume the worst and shoot you like a skunk in the henhouse. Good night, gentlemen,” the gambler said flatly.

Tom left the saloon red faced, with Jimmy and Tug close behind.

******

The next morning they returned to pick up their guns and were greeted by the bartender holding his shotgun at the end of the bar. Grinning, he slid the three gun belts one at a time down the bar. The three men snatched them up and put them on. Going outside they mounted their horses and rode slowly out of town.

“Where to now, Boss?” Jimmy asked innocently.

Tom was in a foul mood and grumbled, “We ain’t got enough money to get back home, I reckon we’ll have to find some.”

Tug smiled, “I like the sound of that.”

Twenty miles away they sat on top of a rise watching a stagecoach coming their way. “You reckon they is carryin’ a strongbox?” Jimmy said to Tom.

“One way to find out,” Tom said pulling a neckerchief over his nose. “Just follow my lead and keep an eye on the driver and his sidekick.”

He spurred his horse into a gallop and the others followed suit after covering their faces. Tom came to a sliding stop in front of the coach and fired a shot in the air. Reining back hard on the horses the driver managed to get the team under control and stop the coach just in time. Just as Tom was about to speak, two riders came out from the opposite side of the road, both with their faces covered, all five men had their pistols pulled and pointing at one another.

“What the hell are you doin’?” one of them yelled. “We is robbin’ this here coach.”

Tom couldn’t believe his luck and was trying to figure out what to do when out of the corner of his eye he saw the sidekick raise a sawed off shotgun. Tom spun in his saddle and shot him in the chest, the driver went for his pistol and one of the new men shot him.

Tom pulled down his neckerchief and said, “Damn, boys, I guess we’re in this together now. What do you say we split the money?”

Pulling down their masks they looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. “Seems fair, I guess,” the fat one said.

Tom turned to his two men. “Jimmy, check up top for a strongbox,” he ordered. “Tug, check the coach.”

Jimmy leapt off his horse and climbed to the top and Tug got down and opened the door of the coach only to be greeted by a thirty-two caliber slug in the forehead. As Tug fell backward, a well-dressed man leaned out of the coach and aimed for Tom. Jimmy drilled him with a shot from the top of the coach and killed him instantly. Inside the coach a women was screaming as Tom dismounted, running for the door. Inside was a pretty brunette woman who pinned up against the wall, trying to hide. She tried to kick him as he grabbed her by the ankle and roughly yanked her out onto the hard ground. Still screaming she tried to scurry away as Tom brought the barrel of his gun hard down on her head. She laid on the ground moaning softly.

Jimmy jumped down from the top and looked at his friend. “Is Tug dead?” he asked disbelieving.

Tom jammed his pistol in his holster and said, “As a god-damned doornail.”

“Sorry about your friend,” the taller of the two new men said as he came around the wagon, “Was there any money on here?”

Tom was irritated now, “Well we didn’t have much time to check, did we?”

“Suppose not,” he said sheepishly. “Let’s have us a look around.”

After they tore the wagon apart, the grand total of the take was forty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents. Tom was incensed with anger. He started to throw items from the coach cursing the whole time.

“Well that’s just way it goes sometimes,” the taller man said matter-a-factly, spitting on the ground.

“I lost a good man for forty-seven dollars today,” he yelled. “I ain’t about to take that lightly.” With that the woman lying on the ground began to stir, Tom turned and looked at her and a thought of pure evil came over him. “That bitch is the only thing left. Let’s see if she can help ease our losses.” He strolled over and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her whimpering face to his he gave an evil grin. “C’mon honey, I need something from you.” Dragging her kicking and screaming he found a log next to the trail and began tearing her clothes off. Dropping his gun and pants he ravaged her helpless body. When he was done the others if the gang took turns raping her into unconsciousness.

Tom sat back and watched, smoking a cigarette, the malevolent look on his face was pure wickedness. Jimmy came over buckling up his pants laughing. “We sure made her pay for ol’ Tug, didn’t we?”

“You know, Jimmy,” Tom mused, “my whole life turned to shit because of a splittail, and I’m thinkin’ she deserves the same as this one.”

Tom rose and stretched. “Except for one thing,” he said. “You boys done with her?” he called to the other men. They looked at each other and shook their heads. Tom walked over to the naked form moaning on the ground, pulling his pistol and cocking it. He aimed at her head and shot her. Turning back to Jimmy he said, “Let’s go home.”

******

They all mounted and took off at a fast gallop; occasionally they took measures to cover their tracks in streams and over rocky ground. Night began to fall and when they were satisfied no one was following, Tom decided they should make camp. Leaving their horses saddled in case they had to make a getaway, they loosened the cinch straps. Jimmy built a small fire and cooked their meager dinner and coffee borrowed from the two strangers.

“I never did get your names,” Tom said after lighting a cigarette.

The taller of the two spoke up. “I’m Les Palmer and this is my brother Troy.”

Tom looked at Troy and nodded his head. “My name is Tom MacIntyre and this is my pard, Jimmy Rocco,” he said. “You boys got any prospects in the wind?”

“Naw,” Les said spitting into the fire. “Less you count the twenty some odd dollars you owe us.”

Tom stood up and took twenty dollars out of his pocket and handed it to Les. “How would you two like to earn a hundred times that much?” Tom asked.

“Two hundred dollars? Hell, yes!” Troy blurted out.

Les shook his head and winced. “My bother ain’t no good with cypherin’ and such. It’s two thousand dollars, Troy.”

Troy whistled long and low, “I ain’t seen me that much money at one time in my life.”

“Where is we gonna get that kind of scratch, friend? And what do we have to do to get ours?” Les asked.

“Ride to MacIntyre and get it from my account. Once we get there I’ll get a couple of small jobs for you to do.”

“Didn’t you just say your name was MacIntyre?” Les asked, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “What the hell is going on here?”

Tom laughed. “Let me explain, the town is named after my father, he owns a pretty big spread there and has a lot of money in the bank that I have access to. Him and me don’t see eye to eye on some things, mostly what I’m entitled to. Plus, there’s some folks that I need to settle a score with. That’s where you come in. You can help them around to my way of thinking.”

“Then why was you robbin’ a stagecoach if you has all this money?” Les asked frankly.

“Needed a roadstake and I thought I’d give it a try, see what happens,” Tom said casually.

“Yeah, well, you got your friend killed along with four other people, that’s what happened,” Les said gruffly. “You’re either stupid or reckless, or both.”

“Keep in mind, if I’m paying wages, you ain’t gonna speak to me that way,” Tom hissed. Their eyes locked and both men were measuring the grit the other had. Finally Les relaxed. “O.K. friend, is there going to be any killin’?”

“If I say so, there is.”

“Then the price for us is two thousand apiece.”

Tom pursed his lips. “For that kind of money, when I say shit, you squat.”

Les smiled, “Sure thing, Boss.”

******

The days after the fight in the saloon were hard on Blake. He took to leaving the house without stopping for breakfast and went straight to the forge. He just wanted to work through his thoughts and the rhythmic pounding on the anvil helped. By the time Caleb showed up he was hard at work, already dirty and breathing hard. Caleb was respectful of his space and set some biscuits with bacon on the bench near him and went about his own duties.

One of the things that required a lot of pounding was making Damascus steel for knives. It was a method of welding two different types of steel together in the forge and then repeatedly folding the bar over onto itself and re-welding it several times. This method would produce a very strong and flexible blade that could be easily sharpened and take a great deal of punishment. This type of work required a master smith and a great deal of attention. Blake knew his mind wasn’t working right when either the welding process would not stick or there were a lot of cracks and coldshuts in the metal. He knew every coldshut was a place where the steel separated and formed gaps. Every time that happened it was a weak spot in the blade causing it to break more easily. There was a pile of ruined steel billets next to the forge where Blake had not worked the metal correctly and started on another. He did manage to make four good ones and created some beautiful large Bowie style blades that exhibited several hundred layers of the different steels. When his arms got so tired it was difficult to lift the hammer he would set about grinding and polishing the blades, then attaching bone handles known for their durability.

Blake spent several days working himself to exhaustion, eating little and sleeping less. It seemed no matter how much he worked he could not get Chrissy out of his head.

Chrissy was not faring much better. Her efforts in the kitchen suffered, burning several pans of biscuits and forgetting what people ordered. She snapped many times at the customers who complained and ended up giving away free meals as an apology. Whenever Caleb came in for school she was polite to him but he reminded her of Blake and she got mad all over again. She wanted desperately to ask him about Blake but she knew it wasn’t fair to put him in the middle. One time it was almost two o’clock and she knew he was coming, so she made an excuse to Bonnie and left before he got there. Not knowing where to go she wandered up the street and window shopped. That’s when she came across one of the most beautiful dresses she had ever seen. Michelle was in the window placing it on a dress form for display and she waved for Chrissy to come in.

“Mrs. O’Bryan,” she said cheerily, “how lovely to see you.”

“Please call me Chrissy,” she said smiling back. “That is a gorgeous dress.”

“I’m kinda proud of that one,” Michelle said brushing back an errant curl from her forehead. “I don’t mind saying it was a lot of work.”

Chrissy stepped closer to it and closely examined it. “I should say so. You have a marvelous talent, very professional.”

“How kind of you to say,” Michelle said. “I’m trying to get a few more made for the Founder’s Day dance coming up.”

Chrissy had been so distracted lately she had completely forgotten about the dance. Some time back the town started an annual celebration on the first of August recognizing the naming of the town. It was a big party with food, music and games all day long. They built a large platform for dancing and ended with fireworks. It was a time the whole town looked forward to. “Well I’m sure you will have no problem selling this dress, it’s stunning.”

“I hope so,” Michelle answered. “The women in this town are a little shy about coming in here, given my past reputation.”

“They’ll come around, it just takes time.”

“I was going to pour myself some tea,” Michelle said. “Would you like to join me?”

“That would be nice,” Chrissy said. “I could use someone to talk to.”

“I’ll be right back then,” and she disappeared in the back, coming out a moment later carrying a tray with a teapot, cups and some cookies. Setting them on a small table with two chairs they sat down and Michelle poured. “So what is it you want to talk about?”

Chrissy sipped her tea and thought for a moment. “You’ve known a lot of men, right?” Chrissy asked, and then realizing how that sounded she quickly said, “I’m sorry that didn’t sound nice, I mean…”

Michelle giggled. “No need to be sorry, I don’t hide from my past, and yes, I made the acquaintance of a few.”

Chrissy laughed lightly and stared down at her cup. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing, but I don’t really have any one else to ask.”

“Sweetie,” she said placing a hand on Chrissy’s arm. “There’s only you and me and that dress dummy in here. It’s all right.”

“Well there’s a man,” Chrissy started.

“Blake Thorton?” Michelle interrupted.

“Yes.”

“He seems like one of the good ones, for sure.”

“I think he is too, but he makes me mad because it’s hard to get a straight answer from him. It always seems like a game with him.”

Michelle laughed, “Of course it is. Look, I think there are four types of men. The first are like mice, they are little pipsqueaks who are easy to boss around. The second are wolves, mean and nasty, they’ll hurt you both mind and body and won’t look back. The third are hounds, like the one a family has, kinda dumb but loyal, good protectors and providers but get fat and lazy.”

Chrissy giggled, “I never looked at men that way, but it’s true, I know a lot that will fit into those groups.”

“In my opinion, all critters to avoid,” Michelle grinned.

“What about the last?”

“Those are the special ones,” she said. “If they were an animal I guess they would be a wild stallion. Strong, loyal and full of life, galloping around tending the herd. They can be playful and tender, sweet as the day is long, and yet they won’t be tamed. If one of them gets cornered they are hell on wheels. I know men like that who will take on the entire Comanche nation singlehanded and walk away. They just have a way about them that makes you safe and secure, like you are wrapped up in a warm quilt. One of the most frustrating things about them is one word that scares the Beejesus out of them and makes them run like a scalded cat.”

“Really?” Chrissy asked. “What’s that?”

“Marriage.”

Chrissy stared at her blankly, her mouth opened slightly.

Michelle’s smile slowly disappeared. “Oh, sweetie, did you mention marriage?”

“Yes, I mean no,” Chrissy stammered. “I just think a man and woman should be married if they …” She stopped and put her hand to her mouth.

Michelle smiled knowingly, “Oh please, who am I to judge anybody? Let me guess, he said some pretty stupid things, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Chrissy said tears forming in her eyes.

“He didn’t leave town then?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said dabbing her eyes.

“Whew,” said Michelle. “Then he’s yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“Men like Blake Thorton are where they are because they want to be there,” Michelle said assuredly. “He loves you, he just doesn’t know it yet, and men like him are slow on the uptake. Time will cure that.”

“You think he would have left if he didn’t care?” Chrissy said hopefully.

“Like a scalded cat, honey,” Michelle laughed. “Like a scalded cat.”

They both laughed a long time over that and finally Chrissy asked, “So what word scares Percival? He seems indestructible.”

“Actually, children,” Michelle giggled. “And unless I miss my guess, he is going to be one scared son-of-gun pretty soon.”

Chrissy smiled broadly, “Are you with child?”

“I’m pretty sure; I have to go see the doctor yet.”

“That’s wonderful news, are you happy?”

“I’m elated,” said Michelle. “But I’m a little nervous.”

“Why’s that?”

“Have you seen the size of that man? He might make a baby the size of a calf!” Again, they laughed and Chrissy looked at the clock on the wall.

“I really must be getting back, thank you so much, I feel better,” she said.

“I enjoyed it too,” Michelle said. “And thank you for using the front door.”

Chrissy opened the door and saw two women coming toward her on the boardwalk, turning back to Michelle, she said loud enough for the women to hear, “Can you make this dress in lavender?”

“Sure,” Michelle said back.

“In time for the dance?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then please do,” Chrissy smiled and turned to the ladies on the street. “Have you seen this dress in the window? Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“Oh my, it is,” one of them said. “And the dance is coming up.”

“But she worked at the saloon,” the other said in a hushed voice.

Chrissy leaned in close and whispered, “She doesn’t work there anymore, she’s married now, and besides, who would know better what catches a man’s eye?”

“True,” the first woman said, thinking. “Veronica Simpson bought a dress here and loves it. I can’t have her turning more heads than me. I’m going in.”

Chrissy turned to Michelle who was absolutely beaming and gave her a wink. Michelle mouthed back, “Thank you.”

******

Chrissy started back toward the café and heard the ringing of the anvil in Blake’s forge. She hesitated for a moment and turned down the street toward where he was working. Her stomach felt as if a flock of birds was trying escape but she pressed on, drawing a deep breath. Putting on the best smile she could, she approached the forge to find Joe Bergman talking to Blake as he worked an orange hot piece of steel. She stood in the doorway and waited to be noticed when Joe turned and saw her. He tapped Blake on the shoulder and pointed at the door. Blake was still hammering when he glanced up and saw Chrissy. He lost his concentration and struck his thumb with a large hammer. “Ow,” he yelled, “shit, that hurts,” pulling off his glove and nursing his bruised thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Chrissy said concerned. “Did I cause that?”

“No,” Blake said wincing. “Just clumsy, I guess. What can I do for you, Mrs. O’Bryan?”

“Well, I was just out for a stroll and heard you working,” she stated nervously. “I was wondering if I was going to see you at the Founder’s Day dance.”

“What dance?” Blake asked confused, then looking at Joe. “There’s a dance?”

“Big one,” he replied. “Every year on August first.”

“I didn’t know,” Blake stammered, “I mean I guess I’ll go, I didn’t think you’d want…” he stopped himself. “You said you’re going?”

“Oh yes,” Chrissy said. “It is always a grand time.”

“I don’t know, I suppose,” Blake looked at Joe helplessly. “What do you think, Joe?”

Before Joe could answer Chrissy asked, “Can you dance, Mr. Thorton?”

“Yup,” he said sucking the side of his thumb.

“Then I will save a dance for you, good day gentlemen,” Chrissy smiled and turned around heading back down the street.

“What in the name of Christ just happened?” Blake said staring at Joe.

“It appears the widow O’Bryan just proved that she is smarter than you are,” chuckled Joe.

Blake blew out a deep breath as he watched Chrissy turning the corner. “I need to soak this thumb,” he said, heading for the water trough.

“Try soaking your head, too,” Joe shouted.