A Texas Hill Country Christmas (6 page)

Dugan's men shouted encouragement to their boss. Seth tried to dart out of the way of the attack, but the mud sucking at his boots slowed him. Normally he would have been quicker on his feet than the lumbering, heavyset rancher, but the weather conditions took away that advantage.

Seth was able to move enough that the looping punch Dugan aimed at his jaw clipped him on the shoulder instead. Even though it was a glancing blow, it packed enough power to stagger him. He caught himself and jabbed a swift left at Dugan's face. It landed on the man's nose with a satisfying pop and rocked Dugan's head back.

Dugan was about to learn that just because Seth was a man of God, that didn't mean he was a pushover in a fight.

Delta had grabbed Charlie and pulled him away from the battle. She held on to him and called to the two men, “Please stop! Don't do this!”

Dugan was too angry to pay any attention to her, and Seth was determined to defend himself. If Dugan wanted a fight, Seth would give him one.

Grunting with the effort, Dugan swung wild, roundhouse punches at Seth, who managed to avoid them despite being slowed down by the mud. The burly rancher had no technique at all, Seth noted. Either Dugan was used to winning his fights by sheer power, or else his opponents held back because he was a wealthy, influential man.

Seth didn't care how much money Dugan had or about his standing in the community. The old wild streak had welled up inside him when he was attacked, and as Dugan flailed away at him, he began to take pleasure in the way he blocked the punches or weaved aside from them, then stepped in to pepper Dugan with hard lefts and rights of his own.

The thud of fists against flesh and bone felt good, mighty good.

Dugan's nose was swollen and blood leaked from it. His mouth was puffy, too, and one of his eyes had started to turn black. Seth didn't waste time and energy pounding away at Dugan's torso, sheathed as it was in thick slabs of muscle. Instead he turned his efforts to the rancher's face and steadily, methodically, chopped it into something resembling raw meat.

One of the cowboys shouted a curse and said, “He's handin' the boss a lickin'! We gotta do somethin' about this!”

Another agreed eagerly and profanely with that sentiment.

Andrews, the man Seth had jerked off his horse and thrown in the mud, held his companions back.

“Mr. Dugan said to let him handle this,” Andrews pointed out grimly. “That's what we got to do.” He paused, then added, “But if he goes down, we'll hand that preacher man a thrashin' he'll never forget!”

Seth heard that and knew he faced bigger odds than just Dugan. Chances were, this confrontation would end with him taking a whipping from the cowhands, but he didn't care. In the time he had been in this part of the country, he had seen how Dugan had most folks cowed, and it was past due for somebody to stand up to him.

Dugan was halfway out on his feet by now. He was still throwing punches, but they were even slower and more clumsy than they had been at first. He didn't come close to making contact with Seth, who was punching him at will. Finally, with a bit of a shock, Seth realized that both of Dugan's eyes were swollen nearly closed. The rancher probably couldn't even see him anymore and was striking out blindly, unable to defend himself.

Suddenly, a wave of shame washed through Seth. This wasn't the sort of man he was, or at least the sort he was trying to be. He lowered his fists and stepped back.

“That's enough, Dugan,” he said. He was breathing hard. The air rasped a little in his throat. “We don't need to fight anymore.”

“Come on!” Dugan mumbled. “Come on, you blasted coward!” His speech was thick because of his puffy, bloody lips.

“No. It's over.”

Dugan roared furiously and somehow found the strength for one more charge. Seth didn't hit him this time. He just stepped out of the way. Dugan lost his balance and fell, plowing the mud with his face again.

“That's it,” Andrews barked. “Get him!”

The three cowboys had just started toward Seth when a loud boom froze them in their tracks.

It wasn't thunder, although there had been some of that with the storms over the past few weeks. This blast came from a shotgun. Delta Kennedy held it in her hands with the twin barrels pointed toward the overcast sky. She lowered the weapon and said in a ragged voice, “That's enough! No more fighting!”

The shotgun was aimed mostly at the three cowboys, but where Seth was he found himself staring down the barrels, too. He said, “Uh, Mrs. Kennedy, you might want to be careful—”

“This gun won't go off unless I want it to,” Delta snapped. “I've had to shoot enough rattlesnakes and run off enough coyotes to know what I'm doing. Now somebody roll Mr. Dugan over before he drowns in that mud.”

Seth was the closest, so he bent down and grasped Dugan's shoulder with both hands. He rolled the man onto his back. Dugan gasped for air. Seth wiped some of the mud away from his mouth and nose so he could breathe easier.

“You're gonna be sorry you jumped the boss like that, preacher man,” Andrews said coldly.

“He went after me first,” Seth said as he straightened. “I just defended myself.”

“And I'll back up Mr. Barrett's story to anyone who cares to ask,” Delta said. She frowned at Seth and added, “Although you didn't have to defend yourself quite so . . . ruthlessly.”

Seth understood what she meant, but a part of him disagreed with her. When a man was attacked, surviving was all that mattered. If that meant fighting back as hard and brutally as he could, then so be it.

He tamped those impulses down and forced himself to nod.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I guess I just got carried away.”

“Carried away, nothin'!” Charlie exclaimed, wide-eyed with excitement. “You whipped him good!”

“Charlie, get in the wagon,” Delta said.

“Aw, Ma—”

“In the wagon.”

As Charlie obeyed, his mother went on to the cowboys, “You'd better pick up Mr. Dugan, get him on his horse, and take him home. He'll need to be cleaned up and have any injuries attended to. I think his nose may be broken.”

If it wasn't, thought Seth, it wasn't from lack of trying on his part.

Delta finally lowered the shotgun as the three ranch hands went to help Dugan, but she didn't put it back in the wagon where she had gotten it. Seth wasn't surprised she had brought the weapon with her when she went to Truesdale's store. The Hill Country was still wild enough that a person could run into trouble here and needed to be prepared.

The men got Dugan on his feet and half-dragged, half-carried him over to the big black horse he had ridden up on. With much grunting and straining, they lifted him into the saddle. Dugan was still in a stupor, but when Andrews wrapped his hands around the saddle horn, he hung on and kept from falling, although he still swayed some.

The cowboys mounted up. Andrews took Dugan's reins to lead the horse. He glared at Seth and said, “This ain't over, preacher man.”

“You know where to find me,” Seth said coolly.

“Yeah. Hidin' in that church.”

“I'm a little surprised you know where it is. I haven't seen you there.” Seth smiled faintly. “But I'll come out anytime you want to talk to me.”

“It ain't talkin' I got in mind.”

Andrews jerked his horse to the side. He and his companions rode around the wagon and plodded on in the direction they had been going before the fight.

Seth watched them until they had disappeared around a bend. Then he turned to Delta, who was putting the shotgun back into the wagon bed behind the seat.

“I'm sorry about that—” he began.

“You ought to be,” she interrupted him. “It was your fault.”

“My fault?” Seth stared at her. Even though he liked her, he felt a flash of anger at the accusation she had leveled at him. “How in the world was it my fault? You saw the way he came after me. You told Andrews you'd say as much.”

“I saw what happened, yes, but I also know it's unlikely Mr. Dugan would have attacked you if you hadn't laughed at him.”

“You didn't think it was funny when that stuffed shirt fell in the mud?”

Delta didn't say anything for a moment, then replied, “Maybe it was, but you had to know it would provoke him. A man like Mr. Dugan can't stand to have his pride wounded.”

“A man like Dugan needs to have some of the hot air let out of him now and then. That's all I did.”

Delta shook her head and said, “No. What you did was make an enemy. A bad enemy.”

“Some say you can tell a lot about a man by the quality of his enemies. And I don't believe in running scared from a bully. That's all Felix Dugan is.”

“I don't have any interest in arguing with you, Mr. Barrett.” Delta started to climb to the wagon seat. Seth moved to take her arm and help her, but she pulled away before he could. As she settled herself and took up the reins, she went on, “You should be careful.”

“I always am,” he said. That had been a habit of his for a long time, and he hadn't put it aside just because he had felt the calling and taken up preaching. As Delta clucked to her team and flicked the reins, he added, “I'll see you and Charlie Sunday morning?”

“We'll be there, like always,” she promised.

Seth watched as the wagon rolled on down the road toward the Kennedy farm. Delta was being careful now to stay in the middle of the path where the mud wasn't as bad. With any luck she and Charlie would get home with no more trouble.

As Seth turned toward his horse, he felt a drop of rain strike his cheek. He glanced up at the clouds and said, “More, Lord? Really?”

Then he felt bad for doubting the Lord's intentions, swung up into the saddle, and headed for the church, hoping he would get there before another downpour started.

 

Ace and Chance were in the hotel dining room, just finishing up an enjoyable breakfast, when William Sydney Porter came in, spotted them, and started toward their table.

“Uh-oh,” Ace said under his breath. “Here he comes. I was sort of hoping he'd forgotten about what happened last night.”

“I don't think he's the kind of fella who forgets things,” Chance said. “Claimed he wants to be a writer, didn't he? I'd think a gent like that would have to have a good memory.”

“I don't see why, just to make up a bunch of nonsense.”

Porter reached the table, grinned, and said loudly, “Good morning, amigos. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?”

“Well, it's not pouring down rain right now,” Ace said. “I reckon that's an improvement.”

“I think I even saw a sliver or two of sunshine,” Chance added. “Didn't look like it was going to last, though.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Porter pulled out one of the empty chairs at the table and sat down. A waitress in a starched white apron started toward him. He turned to smile at her and said, “Just coffee, my dear.”

Narrow-eyed, Ace looked at Porter and said, “You don't look much the worse for wear.”

“Why would I be?” Porter asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“Well, you put away a considerable amount of whiskey last night,” Chance pointed out.

After the confrontation with Oliver Hudson and the brief meeting with Evelyn Channing, Porter, Ace, and Chance had spent some time in one of Austin's saloons, Porter knocking back glasses of whiskey while the Jensen brothers stuck to coffee. Under the circumstances, they had figured it might be a good idea to keep an eye on Porter. They had just met the hombre and had no responsibility for him, of course, but Ace felt sorry for him and knew that Chance did, too.

There was nothing like love to make a man act like a full-blown idiot. Unrequited love, which was apparently the case with Porter, was even worse.

He had kept raving about how he was going to follow Evelyn to Fredericksburg and stop her from marrying Oliver Hudson. It would be a grand, romantic gesture, he proclaimed, and when he did, she would see how much he loved her and realize that she should have been with him all along.

As gently as possible, Ace and Chance had tried to talk him out of that crazy idea, but they weren't able to get through to him. Finally, in sheer frustration, Ace had said bluntly, “You show up at the wedding and try that speak-now-or-forever-hold-your-peace business, Hudson's liable to put a bullet in you.”

“I know that,” Porter had said as he poured another drink. “That's why you two young cavaliers will be accompanying me.”

“You want us to come along and protect you?” Chance had asked. “Sort of like bodyguards?”

“Both of you wear revolvers. And I suspect you're quite capable with them, because I know from the earlier altercation that you're no strangers to violence.”

“We've run into our share of trouble,” Ace had said with a frown, “but we're not hired guns.”

“Anyway,” Chance had added, “you don't appear to be all that flush. You couldn't afford to hire us.”

“I thought I would prevail upon you to come with me as friends.” A thoughtful expression had appeared on Porter's thin face. “Although . . . I
do
work in a bank and have access to a considerable amount of funds . . .”

“Stop that,” Ace had said sharply. “You start talking like that and we'll just leave you right here.”

“We've run across some shady characters before,” Chance had said. “We throw in with an embezzler and we're liable to wind up behind bars.”

A shudder had run through both brothers at the thought of that prospect.

“We don't intend to be locked up,” Ace had said in a tone of finality.

Porter hadn't said anything more about getting money from the bank where he worked, but he hadn't backed off from his determination to win Evelyn away from Hudson. That was the way it had been left when Ace and Chance walked him back to the house where he was living. Ace had hoped that when Porter woke up this morning, he would be hungover and would have forgotten the events of the previous evening.

Obviously, that wasn't the case. From the looks of it, Porter was one of those fellows who could get staggering drunk and then be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the next morning.

Porter sipped the coffee the waitress brought him and said, “It's lucky I remembered you mentioning the hotel where you're staying, or else I might not have been able to find you in a place the size of Austin.”

“Yeah,” Ace said dryly. “Lucky.”

“I've already been out and about this morning, doing some investigating. Evelyn has tendered her resignation at the café where she works. She's taking the stage to Fredericksburg this afternoon, so we've no time to waste.”

“How do you know that?” Chance asked.

“I talked to the clerk at the stage line office,” Porter explained.

“I didn't think they were supposed to give out information like that,” Ace said.

Porter smiled and said, “Well . . . when I told him that I was searching for my dear, sweet, innocent sister who had fallen under the spell of a dastardly, conniving, evil man who wished to lure her away and besmirch her honor, I was able to convince him to assist me. When I described Evelyn, he admitted that he had sold her a ticket for the Fredericksburg stage.”

“You don't need to be writing stories and essays,” Ace said. “You ought to write melodramas instead.”

“Melodramas are the stuff of life, exaggerated for effect,” Porter responded with a smile.

“What about Hudson?” Chance asked. “Is he going on the stage, too?”

Porter shook his head.

“Apparently not. I described him for the clerk as well, and the man claimed never to have seen him, let alone sold him a ticket. I believe the gentleman. He was eager to help. Most men live small, quiet lives and are happy to take part in grand, exciting adventures, even though it be vicariously.”

“Hudson must have a horse and plan to ride to Fredericksburg,” Ace mused. “Could be he's left town already.”

Porter made a fist and thumped it on the table.

“That's exactly what I fear has happened,” he said. “He's stolen a march on us, gentlemen, and we must act quickly to forestall him!”

“What?” Ace said with a frown. “You can't stop him from riding to Fredericksburg if he wants to. It's a free country.”

“And neither can he stop us. You have horses, I take it?”

“Yeah, we have horses,” Chance said. “Do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I have a saddle mount I sometimes take for rides in the country. The animal is stabled near here. I can go back to my boarding house, pack a few things, and be ready to ride in, say, half an hour?”

Ace leaned forward, clasped his hands together on the table, and said, “Listen to me, Will. This is a bad idea you've got. You're just going to get yourself in trouble. I didn't like Hudson, either, but if Miss Channing wants to marry him, that's her decision to make.”

“And he's not going to put up with you making a pest of yourself,” Chance added. “You'll be better off if you just forget about both of them and get on with your life.”

Porter looked back and forth between the brothers as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. After a moment he said, “Have you no passion in your souls, my friends? Have you never been in love? Have you never had your heart broken?”

“I've had my heart broken plenty of times,” Chance said. “It's sort of like when a red ant bites you. Stings for a while, but then it gets better.”

“Ace, surely you understand,” Porter said as he turned to the other Jensen brother. “I sense that you and I, we're kindred spirits.”

“I don't hardly see how you get that,” Ace said. “We didn't come to Austin to get mixed up in any trouble. We figured to just spend some time here taking life easy. Besides, it's going to be Christmas in less than a week. It's a time for celebrating, not fighting.”

“Christmas!” Porter slapped the table. “The holiest time of the year. You'd allow a poor man to be emotionally devastated at Christmas?” He heaved a sigh. “What a bitter present the wise men doth deliver!”

“Now, dadgum it—”

Porter held up both hands, palms out, to stop anything else Ace and Chance had to say.

“Never mind,” he said. “I understand. We barely know each other. I have no right to ask you to inconvenience yourselves by helping me.” He scraped back his chair and stood up. “I'll deal with this matter myself.”

“Hold on a minute,” Chance said. “You're still going to try to stop Miss Channing from marrying that fella Hudson?”

“I have no choice in the matter,” Porter declared. “A man must follow the dictates of his heart.”

He turned and walked out of the hotel dining room, head held high.

Chance looked across the table at his brother and said, “Ace, you know he's going charging off to get himself killed, don't you?”

Ace sighed and said, “Hudson didn't strike me as the sort of hombre to put up with anybody interfering with his plans.”

“He's a gun wolf, and you know it. We've seen plenty like him.”

“We have,” Ace agreed soberly.

“And Will, there, he's just hopeless. He wouldn't stand a chance against Hudson.”

“Not a chance in the world. But he's not our responsibility, either.”

“We can't let a poor fool go off and get shot to pieces at Christmastime.”

“A man's not any deader from getting shot at Christmas than he is any other time of the year.” Ace put his hands flat on the table and pushed himself to his feet. “But you're right. Let's go after him.”

Chance grinned as he stood up.

“You heard what he said about Fredericksburg. Place is full of Germans. I'll bet they celebrate Christmas mighty fine up there in the Hill Country!”