Black Horse Creek (9781101607466) (20 page)

Her thoughts settled on the boy, and she wondered how long it would be before Jacob corrupted him to become just another horse thief and murderer like the rest of his men. She had often wondered if she should talk to Jimmy, and try to persuade him to leave Black Horse Creek before Jacob decided he was old enough to participate in the lawless activities with the crew. Jimmy was a decent boy. How long would he remain so with Jacob Blanchard's evil influence? Further thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Jacob Blanchard's footstep in the hallway. She dropped her dish towel at once and hurried to the stove to fill his cup with coffee.

“Hurry up my breakfast,” he ordered. “I'm leavin' for town right away.”

“Yes, sir,” she responded in her broken English. “Your breakfast ready. I keep it warm in the oven.” She eyed him carefully to determine his mood. Always dour, it was especially urgent this morning, so she assumed that things had not gone well the night before. She would be careful to stay out of his way, grateful that he would soon be gone.

“Holler out the door for Stump,” he told her. She set his plate down on the table before him, then immediately went to the kitchen door and called out for the simple little man. Accustomed to being summoned in this fashion, Stump was on his way to the house in a matter of minutes. When Stump arrived at the kitchen door, Rachel handed him a cup of coffee, knowing that he was always grateful to get one. “We ain't got time for you to drink coffee,” Jacob said, causing Stump to gulp the hot liquid as fast as he could. “You and Dan get saddled up. As soon as I've finished my breakfast, we're goin' to town. We've got some business to take care of.” He studied Stump's simple features for a moment, having second thoughts about taking him with him. Stump didn't have a mean bone in his body, and that was the reason Jacob wasn't sure he could count on him when the shooting started. At least he'll make the odds three to one, he decided, and he was better at tracking than Dan. “Jimmy can take care of things around here till we get back,” Jacob said.

“Yes, sir,” Stump said, and finished his coffee in several huge gulps, causing Rachel to wonder how the man kept from scalding his throat. She was glad Jacob was not taking Jimmy with him. The evil man had stolen her life. She decided to try to influence Jimmy to leave this place while he was still young enough to make a life for himself somewhere else—somewhere with no Jacob Blanchard. She often wished that she had run away from the brutal old man. But she had waited too late. When she was younger, he treated her much better, especially when she began to become a young woman. As the years and the hard work began to take a toll on her body, he started to look upon her as property, like his horse, or one of his cattle. There had never been any gentleness in the man his entire life, and as he aged, he became even more brutal toward her, deriving his greatest pleasure from abuse.

*   *   *

In spite of his feelings of responsibility the night before—to bring Jacob Blanchard to justice—he began to question himself again on this clear, sunny morning. There was a strong urge to ride straight to Fort Smith, bypass Black Horse Creek, and leave the chaos that was now settled upon the town to the citizens. He was sure there was no one to challenge Jacob Blanchard's authority, so consequently, life in the little community would continue on as it had—with Blanchard ruling supreme. A firm believer in “an eye for an eye” justice, he knew in his heart that Blanchard should be stopped. It just wasn't his responsibility. The people of Black Horse Creek would have to capture their town if they thought it worth salvaging. It was much easier not to get involved. Besides, he admitted to having a hankering to return to his room in Wanda Meadows's boardinghouse. Curiosity got the best of him, however, and he decided to swing by Jacob's ranch, just for the sake of looking it over. He had little doubt that Blanchard would be looking for him to avenge his son, so he decided it might be in his best interest to see what his adversary was up to.

Returning to the same ridge from which he had scouted the Blanchard house on two previous occasions, he left his horses in the ravine while he climbed to the top of the ridge with his field glasses. It was close to noon when he arrived and all was quiet around the house and barn. There appeared to be no one working near the corral or the smokehouse. If Blanchard was there, he was inside. While he lay there watching, the woman came out the back door and banged on an iron triangle with a piece of iron rod hanging there.
Dinner time
, Grayson thought and watched to see how many answered the call. He looked toward the bunkhouse, expecting to see someone turn out. No one did. One hand came out of the barn, a boy, and hurried up to the house where the woman exchanged a few words with him before they both went inside the kitchen.
There's nobody here!
The thought occurred to him.
He's left no one here but the woman and a young boy while he's taken the rest of his men and probably gone looking for me
. He started to head for town, himself, then decided it would be his best opportunity to know for sure exactly how many guns he was likely to face if he went after Blanchard.

*   *   *

Rachel paused, the coffeepot in her hand, having just refilled Jimmy Hicks's cup. “Somebody's coming,” she said. Jimmy, seated at the table, paused also, but only for a moment when Rachel put the coffeepot back on the stove and went to the door to see who it was. “Stranger,” she announced. “I never see him before.”

Curious, Jimmy got up from the table and joined her by the door. “Me neither,” he said. Assuming it was someone who had come to see Blanchard, he stepped outside to greet their visitor. “Howdy,” he greeted the rider. “If you're lookin' for Mr. Blanchard, he ain't here right now.”

“Is that so?” Grayson returned. “Well, I'm sorry I missed him.” He stepped down, and seeing Rachel standing in the door, nodded. “Ma'am.” She made no response. Grayson continued. “Yep, I'm sorry he ain't here. I heard he might be lookin' for some extra hands, so I thought I'd come talk to him about a job.”

“You ain't from around here,” Jimmy stated.

“That's a fact,” Grayson said. “I just rode up from Texas.” He looked toward the barn and the bunkhouse, then asked, “Is there anybody else around I could talk to? A foreman or somebody?”

“No, sir,” Jimmy replied. “There ain't nobody here right now but me and Rachel. But I reckon you heard right, Mr. Blanchard will most likely be lookin' for some more men.”

“You expect Mr. Blanchard back anytime soon?”

“Not likely,” Jimmy answered, “maybe later tonight. He rode into town.”

“Much obliged,” Grayson said. He had the confirmation he had sought. Blanchard's crew was reduced to himself and possibly some other men who may be with him, plus this young boy. And Jimmy didn't impress him as a real gun hand, although he didn't discount the possibility altogether. After all, Billy Blanchard wasn't much older than this boy when he established himself as a hardened killer. He turned and prepared to step up in the saddle.

Rachel had remained in the doorway, silently listening to the conversation between Jimmy and the stranger. Studying the man intently as he questioned Jimmy, she now spoke. “We're eating dinner. We have plenty of food if you're hungry.”

Surprised, for he hadn't even thought of that possibility, Grayson hesitated a moment to think the invitation over. It didn't seem like the right thing to do since he had come with the intent of possibly shooting her boss.
Why not?
he thought.
No sense in letting good food go to waste—might be a good cook.
It also occurred to him that if she wasn't, it might be one of the reasons the Blanchard clan was so damn mean. “Why, that's mighty nice of you, ma'am. I guess I could take dinner with you. It's been a while since I've sat down to a lady's cookin'.”

“Want me to pull the saddle off your horse?” Jimmy asked.

“No, thanks just the same,” Grayson replied. “I won't be here that long. Soon as I eat, I reckon I'll be on my way—see if I can catch up with Mr. Blanchard in town.”

It seemed more than a little strange, sitting down to a meal, just the three of them in the middle of a huge working ranch. It was a lot of responsibility to leave on the shoulders of the young boy. As far as the quality of Rachel's cooking was concerned, he had to admit that it was some of the best he'd had, even compared to Wanda Meadows's. It was a cordial dinner with Grayson able to fabricate enough stories to answer Jimmy's many questions about raising cattle in Texas. By the time the meal was finished, he had come to the opinion that the woman and the boy were involved only in working the ranch and had nothing to do with Blanchard's darker business. With sincere thanks to the Creek woman for her hospitality, he bade them farewell, and stepped up on the gray gelding.

“Maybe we'll see you again, soon,” Jimmy called out after him.

“Maybe so,” Grayson replied.

Rachel had said very little during the entire meal, as was her custom, but she listened carefully to all that was said. Most of it was idle conversation about the weather, the season, and trail drives up from Texas. She was an intelligent woman and able to think for herself. She watched the stranger ride off toward the gate by the path and thought to herself,
Grayson
. She decided it best not to share the thought with Jimmy.

*   *   *

A meeting had been called of the small group of citizens who were secretly seeking to free the merchants from the costly yoke of Jacob Blanchard. The recent killings and the burning of the town's jail had been signal enough that their little town was on the verge of destroying itself. There was still no word from Henry Farmer's son, Bob, and no contact from anyone in Governor Anthony's office. “I'm bettin' that boy's dead—lyin' in some gully between here and Topeka,” Shep Barnhill said. “Jacob Blanchard wasn't about to let somebody go up there and tell those people what's goin' on in Black Horse Creek.” His comment triggered a wave of grumbled responses.

“If that's so,” Earl Dickens asked, “who told him Bob was on his way to see the governor?”

“If I had to guess, I'd say it was most likely Roy Brown,” Shep commented. The bartender next door at the saloon was an easy suspect since he worked directly for Jacob Blanchard, who owned the Black Horse Saloon. Looking around the room at those gathered, it was difficult to believe any of the others would have told Blanchard.

“Well, then,” Dickens countered, “who told Roy?”

“I doubt anybody did,” Louis Reiner said. “There ain't any use to jump to hasty conclusions. We don't know for sure that Bob Farmer didn't get to Topeka. Maybe he got to see the governor and maybe not. We haven't heard from him one way or the other—and that's all we really know for sure. So we might as well decide what we're gonna do without government help. There ain't gonna be a better time for us to take over this town than right now,” he suggested. “Slate Blanchard's dead and Troy hasn't been seen since the funeral. We don't have a sheriff or deputy. We don't have a mayor or city council. We're just a bunch of dumb merchants who got hoodwinked into paying Jacob Blanchard taxes for trying to run a business on land that doesn't really belong to him.”

“Hold on!” Morgan Bowers called out from his position by the window. “Quiet down! Here comes Burt McNally. He looks like he's coming here.”

“It's all right,” Reiner said. “He
is
coming here. Burt's in this with us. I'll vouch for him.”

“Are you sure he ain't comin' here just to take names?” Shep asked. “Every time Slate and Troy ain't around, Burt's the actin' sheriff.” He looked around him, looking for support for his suspicions. “There's liable to be hell to pay if ol' Blanchard finds out what we've been talkin' about. He ain't in too good a mood as it is, ever since Slate got killed.”

“I'm sure he's all right,” Reiner insisted. “He doesn't like Blanchard any better than the rest of us. He and I have had several talks about what we could do to run our own town.”

“You coulda fooled me,” Bowers said. “I was working right beside him when we were trying to put out the fire in the sheriff's office. He never said a word about it, even when Blanchard made him jump in that burning building to drag Slate out.”

“I expect he wasn't sure he could trust you,” Reiner replied.

Further discussion on the matter was halted when Burt stepped up on the walk and opened the door. He paused momentarily to look around at his neighbors, nodding to each in turn. “I think you might wanna know that Mr. Blanchard just rode into town. Stump Haskell and Dan Slider are with him, but not Troy. They're over at the barbershop talkin' to Percy about Slate's body, I reckon.”

“Well, I guess that's the reason Percy didn't show up,” Reiner said. “He said he was going to be here.”

“Oh, hell,” Morgan Bowers swore. “I hope Percy ain't in any trouble. Blanchard told him to take Slate's body to my hotel and lay him out in one of my best rooms. Percy told me he couldn't work on Slate there, so he moved him to his place. Blanchard might not like that.”

“Maybe he'll understand that Percy's got all his tools and stuff back of the barbershop,” Reiner said.

“Huh!” Shep blurted. “When have you ever seen Blanchard understandin' anything that's against his orders?” The question was barely out of his mouth when it was punctuated by the sound of a gunshot in the direction of the barbershop. The room was immediately immersed in silence as everyone froze in place for a long moment, listening.

“That don't sound good,” Earl Dickens blurted.

“We mighta just lost us a barber,” Shep said.

“Maybe it'd be a good idea if we broke this meeting up,” Louis Reiner suggested. “It wouldn't be too good if Blanchard came down here and found all of us together—might make him suspicious.” Everyone agreed. “Best get back to your establishments,” Reiner went on. “File outta here one or two at a time. Some of you can slip out the back. Now is not a good time to get him to thinking we're up to something.”