Blood Duel (11 page)

Win was in his rocking chair under the overhang, slowly rocking. “I wish I could sell out and leave.”

“What? Where would you go?”

“Somewhere. Anywhere. Hell, I don’t know. But I don’t want to be here when the pistoleros and badmen start drifting in. It won’t be healthy.”

Chester settled into the chair he customarily claimed. “That is panic talking. You are letting Glickman spook you.”

“Listen to yourself,” Winifred said. “How can I have known you so long yet know you so little?”

Just then Sally Worth came out of the saloon. She wore a new dress cut low at the bosom to accent her charms. Stretching, she arched her back, then scratched herself. “I swear. I sleep in much too late. Half the day is gone and I am just waking up.”

“That is some dress,” Chester said, praising her.

Sally’s eyes twinkled. She turned in a circle while running a hand down her body. “You really like it? I bought it with my earnings from the three days we had those bodies on display.”

“Glickman was just here,” Win let her know. “He asked our illustrious mayor to change his mind about our invite to the lobos of this world.”

Sally put a hand to her throat. “You didn’t give in, I hope?” she asked Luce.

“I did not,” Chester said proudly.

“Not with his wife supplying the backbone he needed,” Win said.

Grinning, Sally bent toward Chester and winked. “You see, Your Lordship? Your missus is good for something, after all.”

Chester turned red. “I have never made any statements
to the contrary, and I will brand as a liar anyone who says I did.”

Sally Worth laughed, and after a bit, so did Chester.

“At long last I understand,” Win said.

Both Chester and Sally looked at him and Chester asked suspiciously, “Understand what, might I ask?”

“When I was a sprout my ma used to read to us. She liked books about those old-time Greeks and Romans.”

“Yes. So,” Chester goaded when Winifred did not continue.

“One time she read about how Rome was set on fire, and while the city burned, their mayor or whatever he was played a fiddle and admired the flames.” Winifred sniffed. “I never savvied how anyone could do that until just this minute.”

“I thought we were friends. I take that as a slur on my office,” Chester said indignantly.

“Take it however you like,” Winifred responded. “Because there you two were, laughing, knowing full well we have unleashed the whirlwind.”

“You worry a thing to death,” Sally said.

“And you don’t worry enough.” Winifred resumed rocking. “But have it your way. All that is left now is for us to sit back and wait for the killing to commence.”

Ernestine Prescott was a hundred yards from the schoolhouse when the brazenness of what she was doing brought her up short in breathless wonder. Stars sprinkled the heavens. Behind her, artificial stars twinkled the length and breadth of Dodge City.

Not ten minutes ago, Ernestine had snuck out of the boardinghouse where she was staying. She had been scared she would bump into one of the other boarders and they would ask where she was off to. Not that nine o’clock was all that late. But for a single woman to be abroad at that hour was most unseemly. For that single woman to be the schoolmarm was a notch below scandalous.

Thankfully, Ernestine had made it out the back and down the alley. To avoid Front Street she had gone half a dozen blocks out of her way. Now here she was, about to commit the ultimate folly. If she was caught, if any parents or civic or church leaders happened by and saw a light and came to investigate, she might well be summarily dismissed.

But Ernestine was determined to see it through. Personally, she did not think she was doing anything wrong. Not really. It was not as if she was a dove
working the other side of the tracks. She was a teacher, meeting a student. That the student was a grown man with whom she had spent a lot of time—alone—the past week was not a reflection on her moral fiber. Truly it wasn’t. She was willing to swear on a stack of Bibles.

Ernestine hurried on. She wanted to have the door unlocked and the lamp lit when he arrived. She was so intent in groping in her bag for the key that she did not notice the gruella until it nickered. Startled, she glanced up, blurting, “Who’s there?” A silly thing to say, she told herself.

A shadow came from the corner of the schoolhouse. “It’s me, Jeeter. Sorry if I spooked you, ma’am.”

“Not you, your horse,” Ernestine said nervously. She found the key and stepped quickly to the door.

“I want to thank you again for doing this,” Jeeter Frost said. “It is awful sweet of you.”

Her cheeks burning, Ernestine replied, “I would do the same for any of my students.”

“Maybe so,” Jeeter said. “But it means a lot to me, you taking extra time like this so I can learn to read that much sooner.”

“You are making fine progress, Mr. Frost.” Ernestine twisted the key and entered. The inside was black as pitch. She moved along an aisle between rows of desks with the ease of long familiarity. It took a minute for her to light the lamp. She adjusted the wick and turned, nearly bumping into Jeeter Frost. “My word! You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Jeeter said. “Old habits, and all.” He took off his hat and claimed his usual desk. “What letter are we up to again? I keep forgetting.”

“You are up to
v
. All that is left is
w, x, y
, and
z
,” Ernestine revealed. “Another two days, I should warrant, and you will have learned the entire alphabet.”

“I’ll be switched,” Jeeter said with distinct pride. “Had I known learning it would be so much fun, I’d have done it years ago.”

Ernestine grinned. “Few of my young charges regard schooling as fun. To them it is more akin to torture.” She opened a drawer and took out the
McGuffey’s Reader
Frost had been using. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed.

“What first?” Jeeter asked. “Want me to write a
v
twenty or thirty times?”

“Actually,” Ernestine said, leaning back against the desk, “before we commence your studies I was hoping you would tell me the rest of your story about that incident in Newton you were involved in.”

Jeeter chuckled. “It beats me all hollow why you let me prattle on about my past. I have told you more about myself than I have ever told anyone.”

“You honor me with your confidence,” Ernestine said. She did not mention how illuminating the revelations had been. She felt she knew him better than she knew anyone except herself, and the knowledge she gleaned had cast this supposedly notorious killer in a whole new light.

“As for Newton, there wasn’t much to it,” Jeeter said. “Back in seventy-one, it was, before Dodge City came to be. Then Newton was the wildest and woolliest of the cow towns. The dance halls and saloons were open twenty-four hours of the day. A man could do anything, buy anything.”

“As you can in Dodge now, south of the tracks,” Ernestine commented.

“Oh, Newton was wilder, ma’am. It was about the toughest, roughest place I’ve ever been, and that’s saying something. I spent a lot of time gambling in those days, usually at Tuttle’s. One night I was there when some cowhands came up the trail from Texas.”

Ernestine listened in rapt attention, her eyes shining with more than reflected lantern light.

“It was the end of the drive and they naturally decided to tear up the town. All the outfits did in those days. They would clean up and get liquored up and make the rounds of all the saloons. Six of them came into Tuttle’s, and that’s when the trouble began.” Jeeter stopped, reliving it again in his mind’s eye.

“You were playing cards, you say?” Ernestine goaded when he did not go on.

“Yes, ma’am. I had just been dealt a flush, the best hand I had all night. I bet all I had. If I had won the pot, I’d have been a couple of hundred dollars richer. In those days that was a lot.”

“It still is,” Ernestine felt compelled to say.

“I reckon. Anyway, along about then, some drunk punchers got into an argument with some other fellas. There was a lot of name calling and pushing and shoving, and a cowboy came stumbling out of nowhere and fell on our table and upended it. Down went the money, our cards, everything.”

“That made you mad?”

“It sure as blazes did!” Jeeter exclaimed. “The cards were all mixed up on the floor. We couldn’t end the hand. Everyone was given their money back, so I suppose I should have been grateful. But when I saw
the cowboy who did it standing there smiling like it was a big joke, I lost my temper. I drew my revolver and pistol-whipped the bas—” Jeeter caught himself. “Sorry, ma’am. I tend to forget myself sometimes.”

“That’s all right. Go on,” Ernestine urged.

“Well, his pards did not take kindly to me breaking his nose and a few of his teeth, so the next thing I knew, lead started to fly. Two of them were down when a slug caught me in the shoulder. It didn’t break the bone but it sure hurt, and to make my predicament worse, my arm went numb.”

“Oh my. What did you do?”

“The only thing I could. I border-shifted and cut loose with the Colt in my left hand. I’m not as good with my left as my right, but I ain’t no slouch, neither. Two more kissed the sawdust. By then Tuttle had grabbed the scattergun he kept under the bar and roared that the next hombre who threw lead would be blowed to kingdom come.”

“Blown,” Ernestine said.

“What? Oh. Sorry. But that stopped the fight. Lucky for me the Newton sawbones was there and patched me up on the spot. He patched up three of the four cowboys I shot, too. The fourth was beyond patching.”

“To think how close you came to meeting your maker,” Ernestine said softly.

“I’ve come close more times than you have fingers and toes,” Jeeter told her. “But I never thought much of it. It’s just how things are.”

“I am glad you have survived as long as you have,” Ernestine said. “Otherwise we would never have met, and I would rate that a severe loss.”

“Shucks, ma’am. No need to flatter me so. I know I am imposing on your goodwill and good graces.”

“Mr. Frost, I say in all sincerity that I have enjoyed our sessions more than I have ever enjoyed just about anything.”

Jeeter Frost did not know what to say to that. It sounded to him as if she was saying she liked him, liked him a lot, but that was ridiculous. He was a killer; she was a schoolmarm. He was the dregs of the earth; she was the salt. He was an outcast, shunned by decent folk everywhere; she was all that was pure and virtuous in the world. Finally, when he could not take the strained silence any longer, he forced out, “That was sweet of you to say, ma’am, but you don’t need to pretend on my account.”

“That is the first unkind thing you have said to me,” Ernestine quietly responded.

At that Jeeter felt his skin grow warm, as his skin was wont to do in her company. “I would never, ever be unkind to you, ma’am. You are the kindest gal I have ever met. There is no one I hold in higher regard.”

“I trust you will not consider it too bold of me if I say I hold you in high regard as well.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible, ma’am. I shoot people, remember?”

“Please call me Ernestine. Yes, you have been quick on the trigger, but in every instance you were provoked or acting in self-defense.”

Jeeter tried to wrap his mind around the incredible wonder of what she was implying. “Are you saying—surely not—that you condone the deeds I’ve done, ma’am?”

“My name is Ernestine. No, I do not entirely approve,
but neither do I condemn you. The Good Book says to judge not, lest we be judged.”

“Well,” Jeeter said, at a loss as to what else to reply.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“I am a mite confused, ma’am,” Jeeter said. “Does this mean you think of me as a friend, sort of?”

Ernestine hesitated. Now that she had broached the subject of her feelings, she was deathly afraid of revealing more than she should. “I hold you in high regard, Mr. Frost. And again, call me Ernestine.”

“This beats all.” Jeeter smiled warmly. “A lady like you, saying all these nice things about me.”

“You are too hard on yourself, Mr. Frost.”

“No harder than everyone else is,” Jeeter observed. “Most folks treat me like I have some disease, like one of those, what do you call them, lepers?”

“Society does not always heed the Good Book,” Ernestine said. She realized her palms had grown sweaty and was so astounded, she lost her trail of thought.

“Ain’t that the truth?” Jeeter said. “When I was little I never could savvy why everyone couldn’t be nice and get along. Now I’m a lot older and I can’t say I savvy it any better.”

“You have a gentle soul, Mr. Frost,” Ernestine remarked.

“Me, ma’am? Gentle?” Jeeter started to laugh but stopped. It would be rude, he decided. “If you say so. But I doubt there’s another person anywhere in Kansas who would agree.”

“Perhaps that is because they do not know you as well as I do. You have not bared your soul to them as you have to me.”

Her mention of “bare” made Jeeter fidget. He suddenly felt awkward and foolish crammed into that desk, and shoving to his feet, he moved toward the window.

“Is something wrong?” Ernestine asked.

“No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Hell, ma’am, I am so confused, I am not sure whether I am awake or dreaming.” Jeeter pressed his forehead to the pane and closed his eyes. He felt queasy, as if he was going to be sick, and strangely light-headed. Under his breath he said, “What is happening to me?”

Ernestine came up behind him. She knew full well she should not do what she was about to do, but she did it anyway. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Would you care for a glass of water? I have a pitcher.”

Jeeter could not focus for the life of him. He felt her hand, and that was all. Her hand. On him. “Water would be wonderful, ma’am,” he said, his throat as dry as a desert. He was almost glad when she removed her hand and stepped back to her desk. Almost. He waited, afraid to say anything. Her next question compounded his confusion.

“How old are you, Mr. Frost?” Ernestine asked as she poured.