Massacre at Idyll Valley Page 6

  “Like suicides and divorce?” Jake said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Drama, huh? Always the tease. Keeping it light to pull us out of the crevices.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Smaller changes than that. But changes. Somebody might plant a geranium. Somebody might paint the kitchen, buy a horse. . . Keep your eyes peeled.”

  Ty spoke up. “So are you the Long Awaited Hero?”

  “Never wanted to be a hero.”

  “Sometimes, we have no choice,” said Ty.

  “I could walk away.”

  “Three times—the cousin, the sheriff and the bully—and you didn’t walk away. I rest my case.”

  Jake grumbled.

  “Not that it will be easy,” said Ty. “But you will persevere.”

  Ed leaned his direction. “Don’t ever doubt Ty. He can see the future.”

  Jake twisted his head to one side and looked at the two sages with a deeply skeptical stare. “I’m just a man who needs a drink,” he said. “What do you recommend?”

  Ed looked at him with laughter in his eye. “Well if you want to get soused, that’s the Saddleback. Try the Reverie if you want your willie dipped.”

  Jake took off for parts unannounced.

  ****

  Next morning when Lily went out to milk the cow the cow was already in the stall waiting. That had never happened. Always before she had to entice her with sorghum in the trough. Lily came around behind and Ralph was sitting there, panting and waging his tail, ready to nip at the heels if necessary, keeping the cow contained.

  Johnny came up. “Quick learner. I just showed him once and he took to it.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “It’s not magic. It was easy. That dog has herding built into his bones. Now all you need is some sheep or a larger herd of cattle to keep him busy.”

  “Can hardly take care of what I got.”

  Johnny picked at his thumb. “Yeah,” he said. “But now you got help.”

  Lily looked at him like she wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

  ****

  Nestled among the large boulders was a cluster of tepees surrounding a pool of water. The pool was fed by an underground spring which ran along the surface as a stream for about forty feet then ducked back underground again. Perfect spot for a secret settlement. No need to leave for water, no stream or river to lead the unwanteds and the unsavory their direction.

  Sabo was invited to sit in a circle with the tribal elders. Galen could sit nearby and watch.

  A long conversation ensued during which Sabo did a lot of talking and the tribal elders offered periodic interjections that looked like questions.

  While that was happening the women of the tribe brought food and drink for the circle and, to the delight of Galen, they served him as well. He ate roasted squab and corn patties, some kind of root that tasted a little like a rutabaga and some spinach-like leaves.

  An hour later, Sabo was released from the circle and joined Galen.

  “They are thinking things over,” Sabo said. “The only reason they let us in was that we followed Indian signals and I could speak their language.”

  “What did they want?”

  “A lot of history surrounding the massacre, Possum Trot, the westward move of the white man. They had to be convinced we were not hostile to them, or their people, or their settlement. That took a lot of doing. That you and I lived on the same farm and that I was half Choctaw helped a lot. All this was the exchange given for information on the Dry Creek Gang.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “That’s to come. They are deliberating now.”

  “About what?”

  “How much to trust us. What to tell, what not to tell. . .”

  Galen and Sabo sat on a log during the deliberation and observed the movement of children and women around the village, the preparation of food, the cooking, the delivery. Some of the teenage boys were sharpening arrows and spears. Galen did not miss the fact that there was a fair amount of guns and ammunition stacked here and there.

  A brave came to Sabo and invited him back into the circle where the elders spoke in animated tones. After twenty minutes Sabo returned.

  “What did you learn?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “We must leave the settlement now.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Lily drove the wagon into town to do a little shopping. She bought flour and sugar from the General Store, ammunition, and then from Ruth Ann at the Outfitter’s Shop, a new dress. She couldn’t remember the last time she bought a new dress. She stood a long time in front of the mirror picking just the right one.

  She locked her goods into a trunk in the back of the wagon, then walked over the Angel Dust to say hello to the girls.

  First thing she noticed walking in the door, was that the usual dingy, smoke-filled atmosphere that had been typical during the times Horse Diggins was running the place had dramatically changed. Now there was more light coming in the windows and the dark paint on the walls had been replaced with a creamy shade of beige. On top of the beige, and scattered around the room, were life-sized portraits of beautiful women in various stages of dress and undress. The man playing piano had replaced the jigs and reels with folk songs and classical music.

  Rosalie was just coming down the stairs and seeing Lily, called to Martha to come down and visit.

  The three women sat at the end of a broad table.

  “Love the way you’ve so changed this place,” Lily said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “That’s Martha’s doing,” said Rosalie. “I do the finances she does the art.”

  “And I see you’ve moved Venus de Milo onto a pedestal at the end of the bar.”

  “We wanted to give the impression of celebrating, rather than subjugating the female form,” Martha said. “You see she still has her right foot missing. I think it was Galen who shot it off one night when he was taunting Horse. We kept it that way as a symbol of the abuse women sometimes suffer.”

  “I’d offer some of our best whisky. . .” Rosalie began,

  “Too early for me,” said Lily. “I still have work to do back at the farm.”

  Martha and Rosalie looked at each other but said nothing.

  Lily took note. She changed the subject. “Do you two still serve men?”

  Rosalie signaled for sarsaparilla to be brought to the table.

  “Not as much as before,” said Martha. “And we get to choose. Two sisters came to us from Waco who wanted to continue their profession a little more away from town, out in the country. We were only too happy to let them flourish here. They do all their own work and just give us a commission which covers room and board. I have to say that with this new management arrangement the men are a lot happier.” She paused. “Needless to say, so are we.”

  Silence had been rushing in between the little pauses, spreading the words apart. Now it sat like a stone on the table. Something was not being said.

  Lily nodded. “You know don’t you.”

  The girls shrugged.

  “He came to me one evening. . .”

  “We heard,” said Rosalie.

  “. . . all damaged and weak. I restored him and, like it was a resurrection of sorts,” She laughed, “he became a swan. A gorgeous man.” She looked down at her hands. “But a man with a past that haunts him.”

  “Nothing like a woman to drain the poison out of a man,” said Martha.

  Lily smiled. She blushed at the top of her cheeks. She knew Martha was right. She sucked in a quick breath. “First the restoration,” she said, “then we’ll see about that poison.”

  The girls giggled together.

  The conversation moved to other things. Idyll Valley was not even mentioned. Directly, she said goodbye to the women and went back to her wagon. She checked the trunk at the back—still locked—then moved around to the side. As she looked down for the step upon which to lift herself to the spring seat she saw a pair of bl
ack boots standing next to her.

  She looked up to see Jebediah Tull eighteen inches away.

  “You startled me,” she said.

  “Have some business to discuss with you.”

  Lily was a little taken back by his abruptness, but knowing Jebediah, this was not out of the ordinary. “What business?” she said.

  “I have come into the knowledge that you are harboring a man on your property.”

  Lily stepped back and put a fist on her hip. She cocked her head to one side as if she didn’t hear straight. “Come into the knowledge?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Just how did you ‘come into the knowledge’?”

  “My own ways. That doesn’t matter. The point is, who is that man?”

  Lily lifted herself up to the spring seat. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you go ask him yourself?”

  Jebediah grabbed the reins to prevent Lily from leaving.

  “I’m asking you.”

  “What’s your interest?”

  “General safety.”

  “You needn’t worry about that.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Lily glared at him. “By what right to you have to be asking me these questions, Jebediah Tull, asking me in the first place, or even to know who I’m keeping at my farm. Isn’t that up to me?”

  “These are troubled times and I am the guardian of the safety of this community.”

  Lily thought she saw Jebediah’s chest expand three inches. She looked at him with a new understanding. “By whose authority? I don’t remember Galen saying he left you in charge.”

  “I’m the only one with the background experience it takes to keep watch.”

  A cynical smile crossed her face. “You keep talking about your ‘experience.’ But you never tell us what that is. Maybe it’s time you did. What is your background experience that encourages you to walk around this town with a gun slung low at your side, all dressed in black, acting like the coming of the Lord mixed in with a touch of Devil? Who do you think you are?”

  There was a small crowd assembled around this confrontation now, and they were listening intently because that was a question they, themselves, had often thought to ask, though they never did.

  “You have a past,” she said. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe if this man also has a past, you and he are a lot alike?”

  Jebediah was silent for a while.

  Lily waited.

  The crowd waited.

  “Come on, Jebediah, don’t you want to tell us your past?” she said.

  A man in the crowd echoed Lily’s words, “Yeah, Jebediah, tell us your past.”

  He turned and looked at the man, then back to Lily. Directly, he turned loose the reins. “That be for another time,” he said and walked away.

  Lily raised her voice his direction. “Maybe your past and this man’s past both want to stay buried. Should stay buried. Or, alternatively, you could preach a sermon on that subject,” Lily said. “The Past.” She was practically shouting at this point. “I’m sure we’d all like to know about yours.”

  He kept walking.

  She slapped the reins and drove out of town.

  EIGHTEEN

  Galen and Sabo made it back to the trail and stopped to consider their situation. Turn left, go back home. Turn right, go toward Capstone Canyon. “What are you thinking?” said Sabo.

  “I’d sure like to know more about their hideout. I’d like to be certain they’re there.”

  “They’re there. The Tribal Leaders know that. Their scouts keep them up to date almost daily. And as for the geography of the place the Apache know every inch.”

  Galen wasn’t satisfied. “So, suppose we go back home and while we are sitting there they start to move? We wouldn’t know about it until they were breathing down our necks.”

  “It’s not likely they have a reason to attack us. They typically rob stage coaches. We don’t have a stage coach stop.”

  Galen turned his head left. Turned back right. He looked down at the ground and took a deep breath. “It’s dangerous if we get close to the hideout. I know that. And I agree, I don’t know why they would have a reason to attack Possum Trot, but I have a suspicion, maybe it’s my intuition, they might.”

  Sabo wrinkled his brow. “But if you get killed spying on their hideout, not only would they have even more of a reason to attack your home town but you wouldn’t be there to defend it.”

  Galen took off his hat. Scratched his head. Spat in the dirt.

  “I know you’re fast and accurate,” said Sabo, “but you’re no match for twenty or thirty men.”

  Sabo watched Galen struggle with his situation. Felt anguish radiating from him. “I have an idea,” he said.

  Galen turned to Sabo. “I could hear an idea.”

  Sabo stood in his stirrups and sat again. “I got along with the Apache pretty well. I speak their language. I’m half Indian. The reason we had to leave is. . . well, it’s against their culture to have a white man overnight in their camp.”

  Galen nodded.

  “But I could go back to their settlement. I could speak to the leaders and perhaps they’d let me stay in camp or nearby somewhere. Then I could get information from their scouts or even go with them from time to time to watch the activities in camp. You can tell a lot by the kind of motions people make within a camp. It’s obvious when they’re gearing up for a raid. If something looks dangerous I could come back and warn you.”

  Galen nodded. A worried look crossed his face. “Sure you want to do this?”

  “It would feel like going home.”

  ****

  Jake returned to his cabin to find it ransacked. Sugar was spread all over his floor and the flour bag was thrown against a wall so that it splattered like a stick of dynamite went off inside it. Furniture was turned over and “Go Home” was written on the kitchen wall in red paint.

  It took three hours to clean up the mess and paint over the message on the wall. During that time he was making plans.

  He posted a sign in front of his house that read:

  Trespassers Will Be Shot

  Next morning he rode into town. This time he surveyed the buildings and streets with a sharp set of eyes. He entered Pop’s General Store and repurchased his basic needs. Whatshername took his money and heard his story.

  He walked out onto the boardwalk and looked up and down the street. He sat next to Ed.

  “Supplies already?” Ed said.

  “Somebody liberated my goods and left a rather unfriendly calling card behind.”

  Ed nodded. He coughed. “You might want to watch this street for a spell. It could teach you something.”

  Jake looked at Ed. He sensed something unsaid. “That I’ll do, thank ye.”

  To the far left was the church with its steeple. Next to that was a toggery, then a bakery, then The Saddleback Saloon. An empty building stood next and beyond that was the Sheriff’s office. Across the street from the office was the Reverie, a boot shop and the general store. Beyond that a creamery and a blacksmith shop. Stables occupied the end of the street.

  A man came out of the Sheriff’s office and stood surveying the street.

  Ed leaned over to Jake and said, “That’s Orin Waters. He’s the sheriff’s deputy. He does all the sheriff’s dirty work.”

  “Dirty work?”

  “Stirs up trouble so the sheriff can put somebody in jail, usually someone he has a vendetta against.”

  “Nobody’s shot him yet?”

  “He’s backed by the Sheriff.”

  Orin stood looking, looking. His eyes moved up and down the street then seemed to stop on Jake. He moved suddenly to his horse and rode out of town on the main road, moving parallel to Jake’s house above the town to the west.

  Jake turned to Ed. “The fun has begun,” he said and stood up.

  “You think he’s up to something?”

  “I know he is. He’s only going that direction
to throw us off. He’ll turn right soon as he’s out of town and catch up to the trail that leads to my house.”

  “You could be right.”

  “I know how these turd-balls think. But he’s in for a surprise.”

  Oren did ride out of town south. He did turn right and join the trail. He approached Jake’s house and dismounted. He looked in the window, he went around back, and returned to the front porch.

  He stepped back five steps, drew his gun and shot three holes in Jake’s front door.

  He nodded. Holstered his gun with a dramatic slap and turned to mount his horse.

  As he finished his turn he jumped back two feet. Jake was standing there on his horse, blocking his way out.

  “Did you read my sign, ass hole?” Jake said.

  “I read it.” Oren shook off his startle and tried to screw up his courage. “I don’t put much stock in anything a lying Texan might say.”

  “That’s where you made your biggest mistake.” Jake dismounted and stood in the trail.

  The men faced each other without speaking.

  Oren spoke up. “I’m just going to get on my horse and play like nothing happened here.”

  “I guess that makes you the liar, cause I got three new bullet holes in my door.”

  “You call me a liar?”

  “That, and the panty waste that sucks the sheriff’s tit.”

  Oren growled and reached for his gun.

  Jake outdrew him with one quick pull and shot the gun and the hand while it was still on the holster.

  The gun spun out of the way. Oren screamed. Blood dripped from his hand clutched to his side.

  “Shut up you big pussy,” Jake said, “or I’ll put the next shot square between your eyes.”

  Oren closed his lips but was still whimpering.

  “And tell that fucking sheriff of yours,” Jake said, “not to send you out here again or you might come back in a box.”

  Oren mounted, rode back down the hill, sniffling.

  NINETEEN

  The Charles family gathered for dinner. As was their custom, they ate before the evening crowd came to fill the house at The Rusty Bucket, so they could be ready to provide for others through the long, busy evening.