Sabrina's Man (8 page)

Waco stared at the note.
General Delivery, New York City
.

“Soldier, take the advice of an older man. Go to the police at once. Your friend has sold you out.”

“I'll be back.” Waco whirled and walked out, mounted Sarge, and headed down toward the house he had bought. He felt like when he had almost taken a bullet in battle. It had left him empty in the stomach and his pulse beating rapidly. He pulled up in front of Will's house and saw that it looked basically the same. He dismounted, walked up to the door, and knocked.

When the door opened, a woman greeted him. She was in her midthirties, he thought, with a wealth of brown hair and brown eyes. “Can I help you?”

“I'm not sure,” Waco said slowly. “Is the man of the house here?”

“No, my husband, Samuel Trent, works for the railroad. He won't be back for two more days. I'm Hattie Trent. Is there something I can help you with, Mr. . . .”

“I'm Waco Smith. May I ask when you bought this house?”

“Well, we moved here only three months ago. The house was such a bargain. Mr. Barton said they were leaving to go east, but he didn't say where.”

“He didn't leave an address of any kind?”

“No, I'm afraid not. Is something wrong?”

“Did you meet his wife?”

“Yes, I did. They hadn't been married too long. I did find that much out.”

Waco knew that further questioning of this woman was useless. The truth was sinking in on him, and he had a hollow feeling in his chest. Slowly Waco said, “Thank you,” turned, and walked away. He mounted his horse, moving slowly. He did not urge Sarge but let him walk slowly down the street. When he came to the sheriff 's office, he was relieved to see that Micah Satterfield still held the position. Waco dismounted, tied Sarge to the rail, and then walked inside.

Micah was sitting at a desk. When he looked up and his eyes lit on Waco, he jumped to his feet and cried out, “Waco!”

“Hello, Micah.”

“It sure is great to see you back from the war safe and sound.”

“I'm afraid I've got some trouble here, Micah.”

“What's the matter? You got wounded?”

“Not by a bullet, but I found out Will sold the store and house and ran off with Alice.”

“Well, I knew they left together.” Micah looked down at the floor as if he hated to look into Waco's eyes. “I sure did hate to have to face you with it. I guess they got married just before they left town. I heard about them selling the house and the business. Have you been down to talk to the new owner?”

“Yes, I have.”

Micah said, “Well, I don't know what charges we can bring. The lawyer who handled the sale said that Will was the only name on the property.”

“That's right, Micah. I signed it all over to him so it would be easier.” He grinned wryly and said, “Of course I didn't realize he'd be taking it all anyway.”

“We'll see if we can run him down.”

“I don't guess it would do any good.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, then turned and said, “If you hear anything of them, let me know.”

“Where'll you be staying?”

“I'll get a room at the hotel.” Waco left, but instead of going to the hotel, he rode down Main Street. His mind seemed to be closing. He couldn't think clearly. “I can't believe I was so wrong about a man—and a woman.”

He glanced down the street and saw the sign T
HE
G
OLDEN
N
UGGET.
It was an old saloon that had been there for years, and although Waco was not a drinking man in any sense of the word, he turned Sarge toward the saloon. He tied the horse up at a rail and went inside. He was struck by the acrid smell of alcohol, stale tobacco smoke, and unwashed male bodies. Walking over to the bar, he hesitated.

A heavyset barkeeper nodded and said, “What can I serve you?”

“Whiskey.”

“Sure.” The bartender put a shot glass on the surface of the bar, poured it full from a bottle, then started to take the bottle away.

“Leave the bottle here.”

“Right.”

Picking up the bottle, Waco went over to a corner of the room where there was a table with two chairs. He sat down in one, put the bottle down, then held up the shot glass. He studied it for a moment, and bitterness seemed to flood him. He was not by nature a bitter man, but he had been dealt a harsh blow. This was worse than being called back to the army! Worse than anything he'd ever had happen.

For a time he drank the whiskey off, bracing himself as the fiery liquor bit at his throat then warmed his stomach. He filled the glass again and downed it quickly. He sat there alone until one of the women who frequented the bar came over. But when he shook his head, she sneered and walked away from him.

An hour later, Waco knew he was drunk. He dropped some coins on the bar and was aware that there was a dullness of sound and knew that he had lost it. He got up, walked over to the barkeep, paid for the drinks, then left.

He knew he had very little money left, but he went to the hotel and got a room. Going inside, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, making the room seem to swim. The bitterness had turned into hatred, and he lay there thinking of his “friend” Will Barton and his new bride, Alice Malone. He could not turn his mind away from the two of them, and he finally passed out, still thinking of how he would get his revenge if he ever saw them again.

“That young man sure got a rotten deal,” Micah Satterfield said. He was talking to his deputy, Zeb Willis. They were both seated in the sheriff 's office.

“He sure did.” The deputy was a tall, lean man with a ferocious mustache and a pair of mild blue eyes. “As I see it, he let himself in for it. Must be a trusting sort of fellow, signing his business and house over to Barton like he did.”

“Yes, I guess he was trusting. He always was an easygoing man. Don't know if he'll ever trust anybody again.”

“Well, trusting someone to keep something for you is dangerous business. I think he'll have trouble getting his money back.”

“He thought Barton was his friend,” the sheriff said. He remembered now how Waco had unloaded to him, and the sheriff knew there was really no recourse for Waco Smith to regain his business or his woman. But he had to check out every opportunity.

A silence fell between the two men. Then Willis said, “I hear he's staying drunk most of the time.”

“Yes, he is, and that's different, too.”

“Well, I don't know where he's getting the money, but he's sure trying to drink the Golden Nugget dry.”

“Waco never was a real drinking man. Never any trouble in that way.”

“I reckon he thinks he's got a good excuse. Bad enough to have to go to that war, but to come home and find your best friend skipped out with your cash and your woman. That's tough.” Zeb leaned back and said thoughtfully, “You know he's got a pretty hard look in his eyes. I don't blame him a bit.”

“Well, he's been hurt pretty bad. Last night I went by to try to talk him out of drinking, and he said, ‘They done me in, Sheriff, but they won't do it again.' You know, I don't think he was talking just about Barton and that woman. He's not going to trust anybody for a long time.”

The deputy got up and left, leaving Satterfield to his thoughts. He sat for a long time, trying to think of a way to trace Barton, but knew there was little he could do.

Finally he looked up to see Waco and called out, “Come and sit.”

Waco stopped, hesitated, then came and lowered himself into a chair. He said nothing.

Finally Satterfield said, “Well, you got to put this behind you, Waco.”

“How do you do that?” Waco's voice was harsh and had an edge to it.

His eyes, as the sheriff had noticed, were hard and sharp, something unusual for him. “You need some money?”

“No. I got a little grubstake. My grandmother left me a little plot of land. I sold it. My partner didn't know about it, or he'd have that money, too.”

“Well, why don't you go back into business, Waco. The town is booming and—”

“Nope, I'm pulling out.”

“But you've got friends here.”

“It's not the same anymore. I need to get away.”

“I sort of figured you might. Where will you head for?”

“Someplace far out in the woods where the only company will be squirrels and timber wolves.”

Micah Satterfield was a student of men, and he studied the stubborn cast to Waco's face. The two had been close, and with a heavy heart he realized this was not the same happy young fellow he had known before the war. The easy ways and the careless manners were gone. What he saw now was a man filled with cynicism that obviously was turning into something much worse.

Finally Waco shook his head and said, “I've had enough of people to do me for a lifetime. This is probably good-bye. I'm leaving early in the morning.”

“Keep in touch. Drop me a line when you can.”

“I won't promise that. I never was much for writing.”

Something much like grief touched Micah Satterfield. He hated to see a man go wrong, and if he ever saw a man on the way down, it was Waco Smith. “Look, boy, it's not the end of the world. Not everybody's a crook like your partner was. Not everybody's a hussy like that woman was.”

Waco shook his head and said, “No, I'm going to get out of here. Far away from everything I know. I don't know where I'll go. Maybe get on a ship and go to England or somewhere.”

“You won't like it there.”

“Probably not.” Waco put out his hand and gripped the sheriff 's hand hard. “You've been good to me, Micah. I know it won't please you, but I think I found a place where I can just live and won't have to fool with any man or woman.”

“Where's that?”

“Indian territory. Out in Oklahoma at the edge of Arkansas. Judge Parker is out there now, but he's got some marshals. It's a huge territory. A man can do anything he pleases.”

Satterfield shook his head. “No. No man can do that. There's still laws and rules.”

“I'm through with all that,” Waco said. “So long, Sheriff.” He turned abruptly and walked outside.

Satterfield stared at the door, shook his head, then murmured, “He's headed the wrong way, and there's not anything I can do to stop him.”

Waco had pushed his way slowly westward, and as long as he had money, he stopped at small towns and drank himself insensible at bars. He would then carry a bottle with him and get drunk on the way.

The whiskey destroyed something in him. He had not known alcohol could have this much effect. All he knew was that he had lost his good opinion of men, and at some point on his journey he reached a conclusion that he never would have thought of back in earlier days. “I'll take what I want as long as I live.” That was the sum of his philosophy. It gave him a grim satisfaction to realize that he was headed for the one place in the United States where that would be totally possible—the Indian Nations where the only law were a few scattered marshals who could not possibly keep up with all the wrongdoers.

He was almost to Oklahoma when he drew up and saw that a wagon was pulling up close behind him. He pulled Sarge over and hid behind a bush. He saw that it was a Union Army wagon.
They're bound to have some money on there. At least those soldier boys will have
, he thought.
I'll get what they've got in their pockets
. Pulling his pistol, he waited until they were close enough then stepped out and called loudly, “Pull up there, or I'll shoot!”

One man was driving the wagon; two more were on horseback. One of them immediately reached for his gun.

Waco fired, not to kill but just close enough where the man might have heard the bullet whizzing by his ear. “If you want to die, go ahead and pull for that gun,” Waco called out and was gratified to see that the man stopped. “No shooting,” he said. “Now, you two drop your weapons and get off your horses. You get out of that wagon, sonny.” He waited until all three men were down and were disarmed. “Okay, you head back down the road. If I still see you in five minutes, I'll shoot you.”