The Listening Sky (40 page)

His horse was behind the privy. He would have Jane on it and be gone before Kilkenny knew she was missing. And when Kilkenny
found out he’d not be able to track them in the dark. Callahan didn’t know where the cabin was and couldn’t lead him there.
By daylight he and Jane would be at the trapper’s cabin, well fortified should Kilkenny arrive.

Reaching his horse, Bob carefully laid the unconscious woman face down in front of the saddle. The animal shied a little,
not understanding the unaccustomed weight on its neck. Bob spoke a few words to it until it calmed, then went to the tree
limb to untie the reins.

When he turned to mount, a woman stepped out not three feet from behind the horse’s rump. Surprise froze him in his tracks
for a minute or two. He had not heard a sound. Her arms were extended out in front of her and she gripped the pistol with
both hands.

“How’d you get here?”

“Ya ain’t as smart as ya think ya are. Get away from her!”

“Or what?” he sneered. “You gonna shoot me with that pea shooter?”

“I’m gonna give it a damn good try.”

“She… it! You couldn’t hit the side of a barn with that thin’.”

“Try me, you… horsecock!”

Fresno dropped the reins and reached for his gun all in the same motion. His gun had cleared the holster when Sunday’s first
bullet struck him just left of his coat button. Her second bullet struck where she thought his belly-button would be. He looked
at her as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. His gun hand dropped. He stumbled as if trying to get his balance.

“Ya… shot me—”

“Tor ya I would, and I’m fixin’ to do it again.”

Bob sat down hard on the ground, then fell back. The horse shied a few steps and then stood still. Sunday advanced, holding
her gun in front of her, and pointed down at him. She was afraid to take her eyes off him to see about Jane. She half-expected
him to jump up, and she had to be ready to shoot again. She had been taught that if she had to shoot, shoot to kill, and that
she’d done; but she wasn’t sure yet if he was dead.

It seemed to Sunday she had stood there an hour waiting for him to move when she heard T.C. shouting first Jane’s name and
then hers.

“Here, T.C.” she shouted, her eyes still on the man on the ground. “Hurry. See about Jane. She’s on the horse. I got this
sorry polecat covered. If he makes a move, I’ll shoot his blasted head off.”

T.C. ran up, looked down at Fresno, jerked the gun from his hand and tossed it aside, then went to where Jane lay across the
horse’s neck.

“What did he do to her?” He lifted his wife off the horse and gently lowered her to the ground. Kneeling beside her, he cradled
her in his arms. “I’ll kill the sonofabitch!”

“I think Sunday already did.” Herb was not quite as fast as T.C. He pressed down on Sunday’s hands until the gun she gripped
was pointed to the ground. “Ya can put the gun down.”

“Ya sure he’s dead?” Sunday asked.

“I’m sure. He’s not gettin’ up. Turn loose the gun,” Herb said patiently.

“I… he might get up—” Sunday’s hands seemed to be frozen on the gun.

Herb took it from her, uncocked it and stuck it in his belt before he knelt down beside Fresno. The eyes were open and staring.
There was a neat hole in his coat over his heart.

“He’s dead. That little sucker works good at close range.”

Sunday seemed to come out of her shock and went to where T.C. was holding Jane.

“Is she all right?”

“She hasn’t come around yet. You?”

“He hit me on the side of the head. Knocked me cold for a minute or two. I’m just sorry as I can be for letting him get to
her.”

“You did well, Sunday. Herb, you sure he’s dead?”

“Deader’n a doornail.”

“That’s Bob Fresno!” A man in the crowd that gathered around them swore.

“Godamighty! What’d she kill him for?”

“’Cause he was tryin’ to carry Jane off, ya… dumbass!” Sunday turned and shouted. Her head hurt, her knees were scratched
and bloody, and if not for the hairy faces looking at her she would have lain down and bawled.

“Sounds fishy to me! Why’d he want do that? Fresno was a good sort.”

Herb’s big hand settled on the back of the man’s neck and propelled him to where T.C. knelt holding Jane.

“Take ya a good look at where he hit Miss Jane. Then open yore mouth again ‘bout him bein’ a
good sort
and ya’ll be swallerin’ teeth.”

“I didn’t mean… well… he
seemed
to be all right.”

When Tennihill got there, he looked down at Fresno, then at the group of men gathered around.

“Make no mistake ‘bout it. Fresno was a flimflammer and a killer. He’s suspected of doin’ away with more’n a few. He could
charm a flea off a dog if he set his mind to it.”

“I didn’t know him or nothin’. I mean he was all right when he was here.”

“That’s why it was hard to pin him down. The women he bamboozled, for the most part, went with him ‘cause they wanted to”.
Tennihill shook his head in amazement. “And when he was done with ‘em he got rid of ‘em one way or t’other.”

“You a lawman, ain’t ya?” someone asked.

“Why’d ya think that?” Tennihill asked in reply. “If I was, I’d a got him.” He let out a dry chuckle. “He was laid out by
a slip of a gal with a little old pop gun. Miss Sunday, yo’re due a reward. A wanted poster came in on the stage for one Robert
E. Lee Fresno, better known as Bob. Ya’ll be collectin’ ya a bounty.”

“Hurrah for Miss Sunday!” Fielding, a logger from the north camp whose family lived in town, shouted, and the group of men
took it up.

“I’d a shot him in the back and he’d not a got this far, but he had Jane over his shoulder.”

Jane stirred and tried to push away from the arms holding her.

“You’re all right, honey,” T.C. murmured. “You’re safe. Just lie still for a minute.”

“T.C.? What—?” She groaned. “My head!”

“That head of yours has taken a beating lately.”

“Why am I on the ground?”

“Bob Fresno was trying to carry you off. He hit you, knocked you out.”

“I remember now. I saw him just before—Sunday! Where’s Sunday?’

“I’m here, Jane. I’m all right.”

“Where is… he?”

“Sunday shot him.”

“Is he… dead?”

“Yes, honey. He’s dead.”

“Thank goodness Sunday wasn’t hurt.”

T.C. stood and lifted Jane to stand beside him. He put his arms around her for support, and she leaned against him.

Herb had gone through Fresno’s pockets and put what he found in his hat. He had a roll of money, a pocketknife, chewing tobacco
and a fancy cameo pin wrapped in a cloth. Herb took the saddlebags, rolled blankets and a food pack from the horse. All Fresno’s
belongings lay in a pile beside his body.

“He was ready to trail somewhere. What’ll we do with this pile of bones, T.C.?”

“Roll him in his saddle blanket and leave him in the barn till morning. Fielding, will you give Herb a hand?”

“Shore will. Ya go and take care of the womenfolk. Miss Sunday, I’d sign on to ride the river with ya anyday. Air ya spoke
fer, honey?”

“Fielding, you old flirt. I’ve a mind to tell yore wife what ya said,” Sunday retorted sassily.

“Ya do and she’ll clean my clock.”

“It would serve ya right if she made you sleep on the floor for a week!” Sunday’s voice was shrill and forced.

T.C.’s arms were still about Jane. He turned and looked at Sunday.

“Are you all right, Sunday?”

“’Course she ain’t.” Tennihill took Sunday’s arm. “I’d be plumb proud to walk ‘er to the house. She’s got enough grit for
a dozen gals her size, but she’s used up a heap of it.”

“I don’t need no help.”

“I aim to give it anyhow. If I was twenty years younger, no, make it ten—Hell, if I was five years younger I’d be after ya,
gal, like ya was a swaller of fresh spring water when I ain’t had no drink in a week.”

“Well, now, ain’t I got somethin’ to crow about? I got two fellers wantin’ to court—” Sunday’s voice trailed away and she
never finished what she was saying. She slumped in Tennihill’s arms in a dead faint.

On arriving at the house, Maude and Stella had gone quickly to their room.

“What’ll we do, Mamma?”

“Maybe he didn’t see us.”

“He did,” Stella insisted. “He looked right at me. I moved behind Polly and peeked around. He was staring at you.”

“There was so many people there, how did you happen to pick him out of the crowd?”

“I don’t know. I just saw him there on the hotel porch. I hate him! I wish he’d die!”

“Oh, honey. I was so hoping he’d not find us. But he has, so he must know the name we’re using.”

“Will he come here?”

“Not tonight. He’ll come in the morning as the successful man all broken up because his family left him after a very minor
misunderstanding. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He’s practiced it for years. He could talk his way out of a jug with
a cork in it.”

Maude heaved a big sigh and sat down on the bed. Stella snuggled against her and began to cry.

“I don’t want to go back there. I want to stay here.”

“So do I.”

“You won’t let him take me?” Stella asked in alarm.

“We’ll stay together. If you go, I’ll go.”

“What… if he don’t let you come?”

“I promised, baby, that I’d stay with you and I will. Now don’t worry.”

Maude hugged the child who meant more to her than anything in the world. If she had to kill Eldon Cottington to keep Stella
out of his hands, she would. It would mean she would forfeit her own life, but Stella would be safe. Jane would take her to
raise, or perhaps Polly and Herb. There was no family member to come forward to claim her.

Thinking about it now, Maude realized that she should have killed the man long ago.

Stella cried herself to sleep. Maude put her in the bed and covered her, then sat in the darkened room and tried to plan.
There was no use running. She should have known that he had the ways and the means to find them. It had been a desperate on-the-spot
decision that had caused her to sign on to work here. The last beating, when she thought he would kill her and Stella would
be left alone with him, had given her the courage to steal the child out of the house and get on the train.

She had gambled and she had lost.

T.C. lay awake holding his wife in his arms. After bringing her and Sunday back to the house, Herb had gone to fetch Polly,
then had stayed with the women while T.C. and Tennihill had patrolled the town, keeping an eye on the rowdies until about
midnight when the fiddlers stopped playing, the lanterns were taken down and dirt was thrown on the bonfires. By then, the
families had all gone home and only a few die-hards remained.

What more could happen to this sweet woman?

He was proud of the way she had accepted his assurance that her parentage was not important to him. She had given him her
complete trust. She was not a woman who tried to hide her feelings and was surprisingly open about them for someone who had
not had much love in her life. She hadn’t wavered in her determination not to allow the threat from this unknown person to
interfere with their future together.

Tennihill didn’t think it possible that Fresno was the one who had sent the threatening notes and had attacked Jane out at
the privy. Fresno had not had many women reject him as Jane had done, and Tennihill seemed to think Fresno had wanted to prove
to himself that he still was the lady’s man he considered himself to be.

On the other hand, T.C. thought it possible the man had fallen desperately in love with Jane. He himself, certainly had.

By the time T.C. and Tennihill had walked back uptown, everyone had been buzzing with the news that Sunday had shot Bob Fresno.
Not wanting any more gossip about Jane than necessary, T.C. had let it be known that the man was disgruntled about not getting
the job he wanted and was trying to get back at T.C. by attacking his wife. Folks had seemed to accept the story.

Jane’s soft thigh worked its way between his muscular ones. She snuggled closer and slept like a contented kitten.

T.C.’s arms tightened about his wife, and a low groan came from his throat when he considered what could have happened if
not for Sunday and the pistol in her pocket. He had wanted to have the new doctor come and take a look at both Jane and Sunday,
but neither one would allow it.

In the morning he would insist.

Morning came, bringing the first light snowfall and also trouble from an unexpected source.

T.C. awoke at dawn and looked down at his sleeping wife. He tried to ease out of bed, but she awoke as soon as his arms were
no longer around her.

“You gettin’ up now?”

“Yes, sweetheart, but you stay right here. I’ll bring you some coffee in a little bit.”

“I love you,” she said sleepily.

“I love you, too.” He kissed her on the nose.

He dressed and went to the kitchen, where Maude was preparing breakfast.

“Morning.” He had washed his hands, splashed water on his face and dried himself with the towel before he realized he had
received a mere grunt in reply to his greeting. “Polly said you and Stella came home early last night. Is Stella all right?”

“She was tired. Do you want eggs, Mr. Kilkenny? I’m cooking smoked meat and making gravy.”

“No eggs for me, thanks. Jane and Sunday will sleep a little later after what happened last night.”

“What happened?” She turned quickly, alarm on her face.

“That’s right. You don’t know. You were in bed when we came home last night. We had a hell of a night, Maude.”

“What happened?” she asked again.

“Sunday killed Bob Fresno.”

“Killed Bob Fresno! Forevermore! That girl’s a rare one. She’d tackle the devil himself.”

“If not for her, Fresno would have stolen Jane and been gone. I wouldn’t have had a clue where to find her.”

“I’m glad Sunday’s been staying here nights. She’s been mighty unhappy over what Mrs. Cabeza has been tellin’ around about
Mr. Tallman.”

“That’ll work itself out in time.”

While Maude stirred the gravy, T.C. gave her details on the events of the night before.