Gunfire and Flame, page 2
The hand holding the glass edge tensed the way a rattler will right before striking.
Out of the corner of Matt’s eye he saw a flash of movement at the doorway of the kitchen. It was Sharee’s little boy struggling with a revolver that was far too heavy for him to lift and hold steady. With tears in his eyes, he was desperately trying to help his ma. More than likely he’d miss, or worse, put a bullet in her by mistake.
Matt didn’t think. He simply did what he had to do. His hand gripped his Navy Colt, brought it out of his holster, and he shot Cal Taren at the base of his skull, the bullet tearing upward through Taren’s spinal column and lodging firmly somewhere inside the soft mass of his brain. Taren twitched one more time. The broken bottle leaped out of his now lifeless hand and smashed against the wall next to Sharee’s startled face. A second later, Cal Taren fell like a sack of potatoes on top of the shards of glass he had just held in his hand.
Chapter Three
MATT DIDN’T PUT his gun away. It wasn’t trained on anyone specifically, but the muzzle was pointed in such a way as to let the four cowhands sitting near him know that they had best keep still.
“Boy, put that cannon down now and go tend your ma,” he said calmly, not looking directly at Sharee’s son in the kitchen doorway.
He heard a timid, yet respectful voice answer, “Yes, sir.” Then he heard the clunk of heavy metal touching wood.
“Ma’am,” Matt said softly, “are you okay?”
“Yeah ... thanks for the help, mister. I could’ve handled it myself, though, without the need of a killing,” she added half-heartedly.
“Maybe so, if it was just you and that fool kid, but not with these vultures hoverin’ about, waitin’ to see blood.”
She didn’t answer.
Angrily, Archie Walker growled, “You gonna put that gun away or are you plannin’ on killin’ the bunch of us and havin’ Sharee all to yourself?”
“I ain’t puttin’ the gun away, big mouth, and I ain’t plannin’ on killin’ anyone, lest he make a damn dumb move for his side-piece. It’s been a long day and I’m tired. When I get tired, I get mighty irritable. And when I get irritable, I tend to not have much tolerance for gutless slobs like you, Walker.”
That did it. The big cowhand charged out of his chair, his right hand lunging for Matt’s gun. He could have killed Archie Walker right then and there. Maybe he should have. But instead, Matt took a step back, and leaned forward and smacked the barrel of his pistol across the side of Walker’s head. Badly dazed though he was from the blow, Walker knew enough not to make another move.
Matt could see the hatred smoldering in the big cowhand’s eyes. The veins in Walker’s neck were bulging. His face was a livid red. “Someday,” Walker said mean and low, “when you ain’t got that Colt pointin’ in my direction, I’ll rip you to pieces with my bare hands. I swear it.”
Matt ignored him. Instead, he said to the group of them, “First thing you boys ought to do is stand up.”
They looked at each other inquiringly. No one, it seemed, was for making a play. They stood.
“Next, unbuckle those gun belts and let ’em fall.”
A clatter of metal and leather hit the floor.
“Boy,” he said to Sharee’s son, who stood open-mouthed near his mother, “go fetch those holsters.”
He looked up at this man. Her hands were down on his shoulders, holding him still.
“Ma’am, you got something on your mind?”
“What are you doing? What’s this all leading to?”
“It’s simple enough, ma’am. We got ourselves a corpse lyin’ right close by. I ain’t gonna bury him. I figure you ain’t gonna dig him a hole neither. Seein’ as how I hear tell he’s got a pa somewhere nearby, I thought these nice gentlemen would all volunteer to take him home. Also figured not to join that poor bastard on the floor—that’s why these friends of yours are leavin’ now without their guns.”
“We paid our money,” the man named Barney said defiantly. “Either we get what we paid for or we get our money back.”
“This ain’t a debatin’ society,” said Matt. “You’ll either get your money later or she’ll owe you one. Now, ma’am, I want your boy to pick up them holsters and put ’em in your kitchen. Then I want him to go outside and pull their rifles out of their saddle scabbards and put ’em with the pistols.”
“We need them guns, mister,” the older man, Mike, said straight out. “When we gonna get ’em back?”
Matt turned slightly to face the woman. “How far’s the nearest town?”
“Three miles or so to the north.”
“They got a sheriff?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” he said to Mike. “Your guns will be left with the sheriff sometime tomorrow morning.” Then he spoke to the woman again: “You gonna let your boy do as I asked?”
She said nothing, only she took her hands off the boy’s shoulders. With something close to a smile on his face, he scampered around the parlor, picking up gunbelts. By the time he had all four in his arms, the weight slowed him down some, but still he ran as fast as he could to the kitchen. Out he dashed then, back through the parlor, onto the porch and down to the horses. The Winchesters were too unwieldy for him to carry all at once, so he took three trips, carrying two each time. On his last trip he stopped next to Matt and handed him the rifle from his own saddle scabbard. Looking up at Matt, the boy grinned. Matt smiled back sheepishly. He hadn’t thought to tell the boy to bring that in too. A man could get shot with his own gun just as easy as any other. “Smart kid,” Matt said to himself.
“Now, you two,” Matt said, indicating Gilson and Barney, “pick up the body and move out first. You other two walk close behind.”
Matt followed them out onto the porch, watching as Cal Taren’s body was tied to his saddle. Only now was he beginning to feel a little sick. He didn’t want to kill that poor kid, but there had been no other way to keep the woman from getting hurt.
“All right,” Matt said loudly, “the rest of you mount up and ride. I don’t want to see any of you again tonight or there’ll be more bodies layin’ stretched over saddles.”
“This ain’t the end of it,” Archie Walker shot back from atop his horse. “You put a bullet in the back of Joshua Taren’s son. That’ll take plenty of explainin’, especially you bein’ a stranger.”
“Thought you didn’t like Cal Taren’s pa,” Matt answered drily.
“Don’t make no difference. Just so long as you end up dead. You and me, we got a score to settle.” Then he wheeled his horse around sharply, leading the others on a trail that led to the north.
Chapter Four
WEARILY, MATT HOWARD shoved the Colt back in his holster and sat down on the edge of the porch with his back to the house. A few moments later the boy came out carrying a cup of hot coffee. He said nothing, just handed it to Matt, then slowly, tentatively, sat down beside this strange man who had saved his mother’s life.
Matt sipped his coffee, looking out into the darkness, thinking of his past. Those years seemed as far away now as the moon that was finally coming up over the hills to the east.
“Want some more coffee?” asked the boy, his hand outstretched to take the cup.
“No. No, thank you. You know you showed a lot of courage in there, son, handling that gun and all. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Robert Bonham, Junior,” he answered proudly.
“What does your ma call you?”
“Bobby, usually, but sometimes Robert when she’s mad.”
Matt smiled. “And how old are you, Bobby?”
“Eight. Gonna be nine next month.”
“I had a boy, would of been six years old next month,” Matt said wistfully. He shook himself. “It’s late now. You’d best go in and say goodnight to your ma.”
“Okay,” said the boy awkwardly, “but I got to ask you your name first so’s I can thank you proper like my Daddy taught me.”
“The name’s Matthew Howard, but my friends call me Matt.” He offered his big, leathery right hand to the little boy. Gravely, Robert Bonham, Jr. took hold of Matt’s hand with a tiny white one of his own and shook it.
“Thank you, Mr. Howard,” he said formally, as if reciting a lesson learned at school, “for helpin’ my ma. You’re a true gentleman and a civilized man.”
Matt laughed lightly, still shaking the boy’s hand. “Your pa taught you fine. It’s a true gentleman and a civilized man he’s made of you. Only one thing, Bobby. Call me Matt, not Mr. Howard.”
Sharee Bonham walked briskly out onto the porch, a shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders. “You brought the man a cup of coffee like you wanted. Now don’t get to bothering him.”
“He wasn’t botherin’ me, ma’am.”
“Just the same, Bobby, it’s way past your sleepin’ time. Now off with you.”
“Can I stay in my room tonight, ma, instead of the barn?”
She hesitated a moment, not knowing what Matt’s real intentions were. Matt caught her worried indecision. After coughing to clear his throat he said, “If I may, ma’am, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me bed down in your barn tonight. Sleepin’ on some soft straw ought to get some of the kinks out of my back. Been sleepin’ out on some mighty hard ground these past few weeks. Besides, I could get up and out in the mornin’ without wakin’ no one. Want to get an early start to this town of yours and drop off these shootin’ irons with the sheriff before the town gets to stirrin’ too much.”
“That’ll be fine with me, Mr. ... Mr. ... I never did learn your name.”
“His name is Matthew Howard, ma,” young Bonham volunteered.
“I wasn’t speaking to you, Robert, I was speaking to Mr. Howard. And what are you waiting for, anyway? Get your things out of the barn and into your room. And don’t forget to leave the lantern burning for Mr. Howard neither. Now go. Shoo.”
“Goodnight, Matt,” the boy sang out over his shoulder as he raced off to the barn.
“Goodnight, Bobby,” he called back. Standing up, he stretched and said to Sharee Bonham, “He’s a real fine boy, your son. You must be very proud of him.”
“I am. But he’s got a heavy burden to carry for such a little boy. I worry about him.”
“It’s pretty hard land out here, but most young fellers seem to grow up pretty straight,” he said, adding, “It’s the young girls who don’t seem to make out so well.”
She caught his meaning and bristled angrily, “You don’t know anything about me. A no-account like you got no right to look down your nose and judge. I thank you for your help before and now goodnight.” So saying, she whirled away from him, slamming the decaying front door behind her. She slammed it so hard, in fact, that it bounced back open.
Matt shrugged his tired shoulders. “The hell with it,” he muttered to himself. He looked for a railing or a stoop to leave his empty coffee cup but found no safe place to put it where it might not get broken accidently. He noticed, then, that the cup was of the same porcelain design as the pitcher and wash basin that had gotten smashed during the fracas. Matt heaved a heavy sigh, took a deep breath, and knocked on the already partially opened front door.
“What is it, Mr. Howard?” she asked sharply from somewhere inside the house. “Did you change your mind about sleeping in the barn?”
He ignored her swipe at his integrity “No, ma’am,” said Matt, “I just want to give you back this here coffee cup lest it get broke.”
“Oh.”
A moment later the door stood full open. “I apologize for snapping at you, Mr. Howard. It’s very kind of you to think to return the cup.” She took it from his offering hand. “There are so few pieces left from the set that aren’t broken.”
“I’m sorry, too, ma’am, for what I said before. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, ’cept that I know it’s tough for a woman alone out here.”
Sharee Bonham cracked a knowing smile and said, “Is that all you really meant to say?”
“Ma’am, won’t you let me out of it, graceful?”
She laughed out loud. “Okay, Mr. Howard, let’s forget the whole thing.”
“Fair enough.”
“One more thing, Mr. Howard ...”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Are you really planning to take those guns in to the sheriff tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t think you should.”
“Well, ma’am, I was plannin’ on findin’ me a town anyway to load up with provisions and get cleaned up a bit.”
“Buy provisions?” she said with some surprise, “How are you gonna pay for them?”
“Ma’am, with all due respect, it ain’t really none of your business, but I got me a little pouch of gold dust ought to cover the cost.”
“So, you’ve got some money after all. Just the same, though, you oughtn’t to go to Woodston in the morning. You shouldn’t go there at all. Ever.”
“I need those supplies, ma’am.”
“You won’t get them in Woodston. The man you killed, Cal Taren, his father owns the general store and he’ll make trouble for you. I know him.”
“You know him, do you?”
Her eyes became slits and her jaw hardened. “You can think any damn thing you want of me, Mr. Howard. I’m just trying to give you some good advice.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said evenly. “I guess I won’t bother to get those provisions. But I do have to deliver those guns and report my side of the shootin’ to the law.”
“Your side of the shooting?” she laughed harshly. “Why should the sheriff believe you?”
“Well, for one, I got you as a witness. For two, I can’t believe all four of those men will lie—that mean one, Archie, sure, and maybe the one named Barney, but not the other two.”
“What makes you such a good judge of character?” she asked sarcastically. “I wouldn’t bet my life on any man telling the truth if he don’t have to. And as for me being a witness, my word don’t mean spit in that town.”
“Why do you stay?”
“Don’t change the subject. I’m telling you for your own good to just pass on through. Skip Woodston. The men’ll come for the guns here if you don’t drop them in town.”
“Can’t do that, ma’am,” he said simply. “I gave my word I’d deliver those irons. If I don’t keep my word, why should I expect that older cowhand, Mike, or that Gilson feller to hold faith with the truth?”
“Bullheaded dope.” She turned on her heel and walked into the house, closing the door behind her.
Matt stood quietly on the dark porch without moving. Without thinking. Without much caring. He watched as the lights inside the house were blown out. Shivering slightly from the cold and from his weariness, he picked up the bedroll from his saddle where it lay at the end of the porch and trudged to the barn.
The kerosene lantern had been left burning, lighting a section of the ground where Bobby Bonham had fashioned a straw bed. With a grunt, Matt pulled off each of his boots. “Gonna have to wash these feet in the mornin’,” he said idly to himself. He took another whiff. “Damn,” he said. His boots went back on in a hurry. Shaking his head in disgust, he curled up in his bedroll on top of the soft pile of straw and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Five
LONG ABOUT DAWN, a scuffing noise woke Matt with a start. Rolling hard and fast to his left, he clutched his hunting knife. He would be ready to hurl it as soon as he could set himself and see his target. What he saw, however, was Bobby Bonham feeding a carrot to his horse.
The boy was so startled by the sudden movement that a small, inarticulate cry escaped his lips.
Matt felt foolish wielding a knife at an eight-year-old boy. To cover his embarrassment, he lashed out, “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a man that’s sleepin’?”
“I wasn’t sneakin’, Matt, I was just trying to keep quiet so as not to wake you,” Bobby answered with hurt in his voice.
“What are you doin’ here, anyway?” Matt said, still trying to be stern.
“You said you were gonna leave early for town. I wanted to say goodbye.”
Matt lowered his head and stared at the ground.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you, Bobby,” he said finally. “I guess I’m a little jumpy after last night.”
“Is it all right then ... can I stay awhile?” the boy asked.
“Sure. Make yourself at home,” said Matt, cranking up a smile. “Pull up some straw and set a spell. Just excuse me a second while I go back and water the flowers.”
The boy giggled, then called to Matt: “Make sure it’s the flowers and not the vegetable garden.”
“I’ll be mighty careful.”
A minute or so later Matt sauntered back, a thoughtful look on his face. “I wonder,” he said to Bobby, “if you could scare me up a bucket of water and some soap. My feet are in desperate need of a good scrubbin’.”
The boy nodded his head and said he’d be back as soon as he could. Before long he returned, struggling with the weight of a wooden bucket, water sloshing out on all sides, soaking the legs of his pants. Matt walked out barefoot into the yard to help him.
“You got the soap too?” he asked in a whisper. They were close to the house and he didn’t want to disturb Bobby’s mother.
“I got it here,” he said, pulling a half used cake from inside his shirt.
While Matt worked at removing two weeks’ worth of dirt and stink from his feet, the boy sat by watching restlessly. It wasn’t until Matt began drying his feet with a handful of straw that Bobby finally tried to ask the question that had been on his mind all morning.
“Matt ... uh ... I know it ain’t right, but ... uh ... I know nobody’s supposed to ever ask ... but ...”
“But what, Bobby?”
“Well, my pa told me ... ma told me too—you don’t ever ask a man out west about his past or where he’s been or nothing like that. I know it’s wrong of me but you’re leaving so soon and I don’t know anything about you ...”
