Peering through a narrow gap between door and frame, the old woman shook her head vigorously. ‘No, sir, we haven’t seen anybody pass this way since yesterday.’
‘Well, Martha, keep your doors locked. Braddock is a cold-blooded murderer.’ The small grey-haired man in the derby hat and town suit twisted in the saddle and looked around the yard where not a living thing stirred, not even hungry chickens. ‘Where’s your boy at?’
She seemed to flinch at the question. ‘Leo? H-he rode over to … er … Flitwick this morning,’ she said. ‘I don’t expect him back un-until tomorrow.’
Floyd’s gaze wandered toward the corral where a sandy colored mare stood placidly looking over the rail.
‘How’s he getting there?’ he asked.
Martha’s eyes widened, her mouth moving a couple of times before any words came out. ‘Jud Parsons stopped by with his wagon. He went with him. Now, I’ve answered your questions, I think you should leave and let me get on with my chores.’
Floyd felt uneasy but Martha often had that effect on people. A virtual recluse since her husband had died, she was notoriously inhospitable to neighbors and, whilst her behavior might have seemed unusual in anyone else, Floyd couldn’t find a reason to delay the posse any longer.
‘I’ll leave one of the men here with you, what with you being alone and so far out of town.’ Floyd neck-reined his horse and held up his hand, ready to summon one of the waiting posse members forward.
‘No!’ Martha snapped. ‘I’ll be fine, Floyd. I’ve got Bart’s old shotgun. If that Braddock feller comes within ten paces of this place I’ll let him have both barrels.’
Floyd smiled and signaled anyway. ‘I’m sure you will, Martha, but—’
‘No buts, Floyd,’ she snapped. ‘If he’s as dangerous as you say then you’ll need every man you’ve got with you. Besides, you said it looked like he had already been this way and ridden on. With you on his trail, he’s not likely to come back.’ Her loose grey hair fell across her face as she shook her head. ‘No, you go on now. I’ve got chores need doing. I’ll be fine. Good luck to you.’
The door closed with a decisive bang, the heavy bar on the back scraping into place. Floyd scratched his head then moved off. He couldn’t help thinking that if Braddock happened by he would get a whole lot more than he bargained for if he stopped there.
‘We’ll look in on the way back to town,’ he called as he led the posse off.
~*~
Before the thunder of hoofs had died away, Bull Braddock stepped across to the window and pulled back the rotting sack curtain. He smiled as the last of the posse men disappeared around a bend and out of sight.
‘You did good, Martha,’ he said, uncocking the .45 that had been shoved against her back. ‘As long as your boy does what I told him, they shouldn’t be back for quite a while. Is he a good son, Martha? Does he love his mama?’
Martha sobbed into the apron bunched up in her fists and pressed against her mouth. A woman not yet in her forties but made frail by a life of hardship, her whole body seemed to rock as she nodded.
‘Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,’ he surmised.
‘You’ll be leaving now?’ she asked, a note of hope in her voice.
Braddock shook his head and pointed at his bloody sleeve. ‘I need some doctoring before I head back to town.’
‘There’s a doc there,’ she offered. ‘He can take care of you better than I can.’
Braddock laughed. ‘He won’t be taking care of anybody when I’m through with him.’
He went to the table where the remains of an abandoned breakfast were attracting flies. Wafting them away, he sat down on a wobbly chair and tipped the cold fatty bacon and eggs from two plates onto one. Like a man sitting down to a civilized meal, he picked up a fork, breathed on the tines, polished them against his non-bloodied sleeve and started shoveling food into his mouth.
‘Have you got anything to wash this fine food down with?’ he asked around a belch.
‘C-coffee?’
He sneered. ‘Have you got any liquor?’
With her eyes big as saucers, Martha shook her head.
‘There’s a bottle in there.’ He gestured at his saddlebags sitting near the door. ‘Get it!’
She fell to the floor as if his words had physically punched her. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she fumbled with the straps. When at last she managed to get them open, she recoiled from reaching inside.
‘Now!’ Braddock barked.
She plunged in, feeling around before bringing out a half empty bottle of whiskey. Carefully, she grasped it between both hands and held it out towards him.
‘Bring it to me,’ Braddock said. ‘I ain’t going to bite.’
Reluctantly, she shuffled forward on her knees an inch at a time. When she was within easy reach, he grabbed her hands, trapping the bottle between them. She screeched and tried to pull away but his grip was strong, like a vice crushing her fingers.
‘I hope you’re a better nurse than you are a waitress,’ he commented, adjusting his hold and taking the bottle.
Martha scurried backwards until her back came up against the wall. Even then, she almost climbed it in her fear-addled state.
Keeping his eyes on her, Braddock took a long swig of the dark liquid then held out the bottle. ‘Do you want some?’
She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
‘Then you best get started on fixing my arm.’ He yawned and pushed the empty plate to one side. ‘I’ll need to get some shut-eye before I head out.’
‘I don’t have any bandages,’ Martha said, stupidly.
Braddock grinned. ‘Are you wearing a petticoat under that rag?’
She looked down at her threadbare and patched dress to where a sliver of grey-white showed below the frayed hem. Her head bobbed.
‘Then you can make some out of that. You’re not going to be needing it.’
~*~
Later, towards evening, Braddock rose from the sagging bed feeling rested after several hours of sleep. He gathered his gear and prepared to leave. Before he stepped outside, he turned and looked around the room that served as kitchen, living area and bedroom. It wasn’t much, and neither was the naked woman tied hand and foot to a chair beside the table.
She stared back at him with big, tearful eyes, her grey hair hanging in tangles around her bruised and battered face. He shook his head and sucked air in between his teeth. She had to be the saddest excuse for a woman he had ever seen.
He flexed his arm, easing the soreness that the buckshot caused. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am,’ he said, inclining his head and grinning. ‘You fixed me up real good and your eggs were right fine.’
He chuckled and stepped outside, leaving the door open. A lantern hung from a nail hammered into the wall and he took it down and shook it. The swish of kerosene was music to his ears and he pulled a match from his jacket pocket, lit it with his thumbnail then held it to the wick until it caught light.
He felt the woman glaring at his back as he walked away, and knew she was struggling with the rawhide ties. He grinned, knowing it wouldn’t make any difference as he spun round and hurled the lantern in through the doorway before continuing on across the yard.
In the broken down corral, a swayback mare eyed him with moderate interest. He found an old saddle and harness under a tarpaulin near the gate where the woman had told him it would be. The leather was grey and cracked, the buckles tarnished and stiff. When he threw it on the mare’s back, the animal barely flinched. Only when he set his foot in the stirrup did the horse sidestep as it braced against his weight.
As he rode away, smoke was already starting to drift around the yard. He turned in the saddle and watched the house burn, hungry flames lighting up the sky like a beacon. He couldn’t see the woman but he heard her screaming as he kicked the mare into a trot and headed back to town.