Massacre at Idyll Valley Page 4

  He’d arrived in time to watch the changing of the colors—aspens and poplars and maples squeezing out the green and silver for orange and yellow and red. And the pine scented air had a crispness to it that was part mountain elevation and part the leading edge of the oncoming cold.

  The chill on his skin he counteracted with sips of whisky which raced like a wave of heat through his blood all the way to the tips of his body hairs. This right here, right now, he thought, was what he’d looked forward to all these years.

  As he scanned his view a horseman came into sight riding up the trail to his cabin. As horse and rider came closer the glint on the tin badge of a man of the law became evident riding just inside his left shoulder. The man rode up to the end of the walk and dismounted. He came forward, stopped about ten yards away and rested his hand on his six gun.

  “I’d like to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Cletus Walker, Sheriff La Plata County. And you just threw my men out of this house.”

  “Your men?”

  “Cousin and a friend.”

  “Cousin. Ah, that explains a lot. Not a very hospitable pair.”

  “You put a bullet hole in one of them?”

  “He drew his scatter gun. Self defense. I never draw first.”

  The sheriff walked three steps closer. “What’s your cause?” he said.

  “I own this house.”

  “Prove it.”

  Jake reached in his pocket and pulled out the deed. He unfolded it with a flick of his hand and held it aloft.

  “Let me see that,” said the sheriff.

  “Not so fast,” Jake said, folding it back and placing it in his pocket. “I don’t know you very well and so I’m a little cautious about letting this deed out of my hands for fear it will suddenly go up in flames, you know, accidently of course, and then I’ll have a harder time keeping my rightful claim, especially if you’re inclined to put your cousin in another man’s house.”

  “Are you accusing me?”

  “Not unless it fits.”

  The two men stared at each other in a brief stalemate.

  “One thing more you should know,” said Jake. He reached in his other pocket and pulled out something shinny and affixed it to his jacket front. It was his spare Sheriff of Clarkston County star. “This conversation we’re having is sheriff to sheriff.”

  “Don’t make no difference.”

  “I take it you don’t mind the news that the sheriff of this lovely county unlawfully interfered with the rightful ownership of another sheriff to his deeded property? You do have a newspaper here?”

  Sheriff Walker was quiet.

  “One thing more you should know,” said Jake, “in case you’re thinking about unlawful removals from properties, is that I am quick and accurate with my draw.”

  Sheriff Walker rocked back and forth on his heels, his hand still remaining, palm down, on his piece. His hand drifted away.

  “We’ll continue this another time,” he said, mounted his horse and rode back down the mountain.

  Jake leaned forward on his chair and watched the sheriff until he was out of sight. He raised himself to his feet and stretched. “Time I got to know the people around here,” he said, saddled up and rode into town.

  ELEVEN

  Jake wandered through the town of Durango. He liked what he saw. The town was larger than Possum Trot, more sophisticated. There was a dress shop, a tobacconist, a bank, two taverns, one called Saddle Back and the other Reverie, a small hotel with restaurant, a church painted white with a tall steeple, and, of course, the Papa’s General Store where he’d bought his supplies. At the end of the town was Crawford’s Livery and Stable.

  The Animas River ran alongside the town and there was a little park with tables and swings out over the water. A large willow perched on the riverbank draped strands of delicate leaves like fingers dipping their tips in water. Oaks and Aspens surrounded the town.

  He strolled the boardwalk along the shops. Seeing two men sitting on a bench in front of the general store, he sat down.

  “New boy in town,” said the man with curly red whiskers and the stump of a stogie stuffed in the corner of his mouth.

  “Yessir, that’s me.”

  “What brings you here?”

  “Gettin’ cranky sitting around too much. Had to go do something.”

  The man laughed. “That’s pretty much what brings us all here.”

  A thin, grey man sitting next to the red head spoke up. “’Cept for those that get run out of town somewhere else.”

  Jake laughed. “Every town’s got some of those. I reckon I did some of that running people out of town business myself.”

  “Lawman?” said sandy hair.

  Jake nodded. “Tin star,” he said. He turned to the men. “Jake Paxton,” he said and extended his hand.

  Sandy head took his hand. “Ed,” he said. “And this here’s Ty.” Ty extended his hand out in front of him into mid air. “Ty doesn’t see too well,” said Ed. Jake got up, but to stand in front of Ty he had to walk around Ed’s swollen foot stuck out in front of him. He stood in front of Ty and shook his hand. “Pleased to know you,” he said.

  “Likewise.”

  Jake sat back down. “What’s the secret to this town?”

  Ed laughed. “Every town has layers. This one has strata.”

  Jake twisted his head. “What! Strata? You mean like the layers of rock in the side of a mountain?”

  Ed laughed. “What do you think, Ty?”

  “Pretty close,” he said. “Some of the layers are like rock, all right.”

  Jake shook his head. “You guys speak in tongues.”

  They just nodded. “You get that way sitting on this porch for long,” said Ed.

  A calm descended over them. The men just sat and appeared to be looking out at the world, taking it all in. Jake realized that that was all the information he was going to get and so he decided to go into the store and see if there might be more supplies he needed.

  As he entered there was a commotion going on at the counter. A burly, unkempt man was leaning over toward the girl. The girl, the one he’d seen before, was trying to explain something and apparently not getting through.

  Jake stood a little closer.

  “Just one drink,” the man was saying. “Can’t hurt none.”

  The girl was obviously stressed. She had a worried look on her face like she’d seen this action before. The man persisted. The girl refused.

  Suddenly the man came around the counter, grabbed hold of the girl’s arm and started pulling her toward the door. “Come with me, little darlin’,” he was saying.

  She pulled back but was not strong enough to withstand.

  The man drug her with him but as he was moving toward the door he backed into something. He turned around to see Jake standing there, feet firmly rooted on the floor, not giving way.

  “Outta my way,” the man said.

  “Not this day.”

  “This here’s none your bidness.”

  “Is now, since I’m standing here.”

  The man glared at Jake and released the girl. He threw a punch Jake’s direction but Jake wasn’t there. He’d anticipated the move, dodged off to the side, a maneuver which resulted in a plastering of the side of the man’s head with a very strong fist.

  The man was large and didn’t fall. He just staggered and righted himself.

  He lunged at Jake taking him down to the floor where they threw punches at each other and rolled up against the counter.

  Jake, on top at this juncture, sprung up and grabbed the man’s arm and threw him out the door onto the street.

  The man got up immediately and tackled Jake against the steps up to the boardwalk.

  Jake pushed the man away with his feet like a kangaroo in a fight.

  The man sailed backward and landed again in the street. This time when he got up he pulled a knife.

  “Only chicken shits pull a knife,” Jake said.

  “N
ow you know what you’re up against,” he said, and started swinging it wildly. He made several attempts to stab Jake but Jake dodged and rolled. Finally the man lunged at Jake.

  Jake sidestepped, pulled his gun and struck the back of the man’s head as he flew by. The man dropped unconscious in the street.

  Jake stood over him. He turned and spoke to the crowd. “Someone go get the sheriff.”

  “Sheriff won’t do anything,” said a man standing in front. And the crowd slowly disbursed.

  The big man was waking, stirring, rising to a sitting position but was unsteady even just sitting there. Jake picked up the knife and walked away.

  Ed shouted to him. “That’s one of those layers,” he said, as Jake walked by.

  Jake nodded and dropped the knife in a water barrel under the eves of the General Store. Only then did he feel something wet on his left arm. He looked down to see a large red stain growing larger.

  The girl from the counter came up. “Come with me,” she said. “You’re going to need a little fixing.”

  TWELVE

  Lily knocked on Galen’s door. The town hall meeting was over and everyone was home. The night was still. No wind. A crescent moon dipped into the western sky.

  Crissy came to the door. “Why, Lily, what brings you here?”

  “Guess I need to speak to Galen.”

  “Sure, come in. Galen’s out back feeding the chickens. He’ll be in directly.

  Lily sat in a chair at the pine table, now clear of the evening meal, freshly wiped clean. Crissy sat opposite.

  “Where’s the boy, Ethan?” Lily asked.

  “Sleeping already. We work him pretty hard, I guess. Galen thinks it’s a way of keeping his mind off the atrocities of his hometown, seeing his mother die, all that unspeakable horror.” She paused. Rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know how he bears it. But somehow,” she gestured laterally with her hand, “he just pitches in and helps out. I just hope he doesn’t explode with rage someday.”

  “He’s acting normal?”

  “I’m watching him for grief ‘cause I know that when grief arrives it undoes your being. I want to be around for him if that happens.”

  “You and Galen still have your little medical shop in town?”

  “We do. Not much going on in that department except lots of anxiety. People need help with that. Our supply of Valerian root keeps running out.”

  Lily smiled.

  “I guess we’re all pretty tense,” Crissy said, “what with all this massive killing right next door.”

  Lily nodded. “Just one more tornado to dodge,” she said, and thought of storm cellars and mountain caves.

  Lily looked across at Crissy. She appeared younger than ever before, much prettier compared to the days she was working as a whore at the Angel Dust, having to put up with daily harassment from Horse Diggins, dealing with the surly clientele. She remembered how Diggins knew Galen was sweet on Crissy and had her kidnapped in order to get at him, to lure him into a trap with built in ambush and certain death but how fate, along with some intelligent calculations on the part of Crissy, had stepped in and saved her life. And Galen’s for that matter.

  “You look great,” she said.

  Crissy blushed. “Never thought I’d end up in such a good place,” she said.

  Galen came in the door.

  “Surprised to see you here, Lily. What can we do for you?”

  “I guess I’m the one with the surprise. I’ve got one for you, Galen.”

  Galen sat down at the table. “All ears,” he said.

  “Turns out,” Lily said, “I’m in possession of some important information. I didn’t expect to get involved in all of this mess with Idyll Valley, but. . . it kinda got thrust upon me.”

  “Involved how?” said Galen.

  “I know you’re headed off tomorrow to see if you can find where the Dry Creek Gang is located and I tried real hard to keep this a secret. . . it’s better for me if I do keep it secret. . . but I can’t let you put yourself in that kind of danger without your knowing what I know.”

  Galen was staring at Lily like he’d never seen her before, trying to solve the mystery of who she was now and what she possessed.

  “You know something I need to know, is that right? Something that you don’t want to tell me because it will put you in some kind of danger? Is that it?”

  “Not danger, exactly.” She paused to collect her thoughts. Galen thought he saw a sadness cross her face. “It’s not the danger I worry about. Just that. . . I might lose something.”

  Galen leaned back a little, processing what he’d heard. “Maybe if I promised I’d help you not to lose whatever it is you’re worried about. . . would that help?”

  “I was determined to tell you anyway, but I thank you for that, Galen. You are a true gentleman.”

  Lily sighed. She turned to Crissy. “Maybe you remember the feeling when Galen came to rescue you. Maybe you saw your life open up from the darkness you’d been living in before. Well, I guess I, over these past few days, have experienced something like that. Something I don’t want to lose but almost certain I will.”

  She turned to Galen. She cleared her throat. Her eyes misted. “The Dry Creek Gang is hiding in Caprock Canyon. They always go there after a big shoot out to let things cool down a while. They are invisible there and they have a back door exit in case someone attacks them from the front.”

  The information sat on the table before them like a suspicious party gift.

  “Sorry to do this,” said Galen, “but I have to ask how you know this. You understand. Before I go off following this lead of yours I have to know how authentic it is.”

  “I knew you’d ask,” Lily said. “That’s the part that’s hard for me. That’s what kept me from speaking up at the Town Hall Meeting. The whole community would be out at my farm gawking, asking questions, casting aspersions my direction. . . and I’d probably lose. . .”

  Her voice faltered. She traced the grain in the wood of the tabletop with her index finger, then smothered her hand under the leaning of her body against the table.

  “A man came to visit. Not exactly visit. More like he crumpled onto my doorstep, wounded, half dead. I nursed him back to health, at least, back to alive. Turns out he was a member of the Dry Creek Gang but after the massacre at Idyll Valley he was so repulsed and shamed that he did something no member of that gang ever does because they know it means sudden death. He left.”

  She spread her hands on the table and looked down. “You will know the rest,” she said, not looking up.

  When she did look up it was with a tear in her eye. “Don’t be too hard on him,” she said. “Please.”

  Galen watched her with soft eyes. He nodded. He shifted in his chair. “That’s no outlaw,” he said. “that’s just a man with a past like the rest of us.”

  THIRTEEN

  The girl took the injured Jake through the store to the back where she opened a door to a room with a desk and a man sitting there doing much of nothing. “Father,” she said, “I need you to leave.”

  “Its my store,” he said, “not accustomed to leaving in the middle of the day.”

  “Just go out front and mind the store while I’m taking care of this man. It would give you a chance to talk to some of the people.”

  The father examined Jake with stern eyes. “Looks like a fighting man. Why you want to get involved with a fighting man?”

  “Troll was giving me trouble again, this time trying to drag me out of the store. This man saved me a lot of pain and misery. I’m going to tend his wounds.”

  The father grumbled.

  “Go on,” the girl said. “Do something you might enjoy.”

  The man’s eyes widened like a calf at branding time but he got up slowly and wobbled to the front of the store.

  She turned to Jake and took off his shirt. She folded it neatly and placed it near a lavatory. She looked at the wound, spread it open by traction on the skin from both si
des with her palms and thumbs. “My father has a drinking problem. Gambling too. I had to take over the finances and the running of the store. He barely retained ownership when he almost lost everything and would have for sure if he still was in charge.”

  Blood had clotted on the surface of a three inch slash across the Deltoid muscle of his left shoulder. It started bleeding again. “Got to get all that dirt and shit out of there or you’ll get blood poisoning.”

  “You were pretty nice to your father.”

  “He fried his brain with all that alcohol. Now he doesn’t think clearly. The people know that and humor him. Besides. . . he’s my dad.”

  She wiped away the blood as it came forth. She tossed the soiled towel to the floor and brought another one. She squeezed the muscle until the blood gushed. “Hold this,” she said, placing the new cloth over the wound.

  She went to the cabinet and brought out a bottle of vodka. She removed his hand and cloth, uncorked the bottle, spread the wound with a finger and a thumb on each side and without warning, sloshed the wound full of liquor. Then she corked the bottle and put it on the counter.

  Pain shot through Jake like a bayonet, sharp and deep. It travelled to his spine and encircled the base of his skull. It shot all the way down to his toes. Never had that happen before. He wheezed. He shivered but he did not speak.

  “Tough man,” she said.

  “There’s a lady present. Don’t want to hear what I was thinking.”

  She laughed. “This lady is also a seamstress. Let me get my kit.”

  She disappeared and returned with a sewing kit, opened it, threaded a large needle with thick black thread and pinched the sides of the wound together. She commenced sewing.

  Jake looked over at her, intent as she was with her task. “Since you’re sewing up a goddamned hole in my body I think that means our relationship has reached a new level. At the very least I should know who you are.”

  “Think you’ve earned my name?” she said.