The Reckoning (17 page)

Big Al couldn't help smiling at his wife's remark, because it illustrated his ridiculous behavior. But he couldn't give in too easily. “She's still a child,” he uttered.

“Maybe you'd better take a good look at your daughter, Mister Thornton. Girls get married even younger, and you know it.”

“He's a drifter, and he don't have a pot to piss in.”

“Neither did you when we got married, but we turned out all right. I think that you should say
yes,
because the next man who comes along might not be as nice as Duane.”

Big Al had heard stories about other men's daughters running off with drummers, outlaws, and scamps. At least Duane was capable of hard work, according to the ramrod, and he didn't get drunk Saturday nights with the other cowboys. Besides, Christmas was a long way off.

“Please, Daddy,” she begged. “I'll never be happy unless you give us your permission.”

Big Al wanted to exert his authority, but not over his darling daughter. He felt backed into a corner, no way out. “Wa'al,” he said gruffly, “if'n that's what you want, I ain't a-gonna stand in yer way. But I ain't happy about it.”

Myrtle dug her elbow into his brisket. “Stop being such a cow turd, and give them your permission.”

Big Al looked at Duane and narrowed his eyes. “You ever wrong my daughter, I'll kill you.”

The magic word roused old Lew Krenshaw from the torpor where he customarily found himself. “Somebody get kilt?” he asked in his crackling voice.

“Not yet,” replied Big Al, looking straight at Duane. “But maybe soon.”

Phyllis hugged her father tightly. “Thank you, Daddy. You'll never regret it—I promise.”

“I guess it's official,” Myrtle replied. “Why don't you make the announcement, darling?”

“What announcement?” asked Big Al.

“The announcement of the engagement—what else?”

“Like hell I will!”

“Who's a-gittin' hitched?” asked befuddled Lew Krenshaw.

Myrtle replied, “Phyllis and Duane.”

Lew Krenshaw pondered that statement as Myrtle moved in front of Big Al, placed her fists on her hips, and looked into his eyes. “It's your job, as father of the bride, to make the announcement.”

Duane noticed Big Al's discomfort, and decided to let him off the hook. “He doesn't have to. We'll just tell people ourselves.”

Big Al realized that he was becoming a fool before his future son-in-law, whom he didn't particularly like. And Christmas was a long way off. “That's all right,” he said grandly. “I'll do it. If my daughter is crazy enough to marry a saddle bum, I'm crazy enough to make the announcement.” He filled his lungs with air, cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered, “Gather ‘round folks-I wanna say somethin'!”

His old ramrod voice echoed off buildings and drowned out the music. The fiddler and guitarists stopped playing, and everyone turned toward the front lawn, where Big Al placed one arm around his daughter's shoulders, and the other around Duane. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he roared, “I've got an important announcement. My daughter, Phyllis Jean, has just got herself engaged to Mister Duane Braddock here, and if he don't treat her right, as God is my witness, I'm a-goin' to
shoot
him!”

The guests didn't know whether to laugh, cheer, or run for cover, because it was the strangest wedding announcement that they'd ever heard, but then
Myrtle began clapping her hands, followed in a few moments by Vanessa and Lieutenant Dawes. The Bar T cowboys roared their approval, townspeople and other guests whistled and hooted, as Lew Krenshaw stepped forward to congratulate the bride and groom-to-be.

“I hope yer happy together,” he said, his eyes damp with sentiment.

The crowd applauded again, but the cowboys from the Circle K were confused, and Jay had turned pale, his real estate dream dashed, while unrequited love rotted his soul. The gall was especially bitter when Lew Krenshaw shook hands with the groom-to-be. I'll bet my own father wishes Duane Braddock was his son, ‘stead of me. If they knew the truth about that little son of a whore, they wouldn't cheer so loud.

Jay felt as though his head would explode. Nothing he did ever turned out right. Sometimes he thought his cowboys were laughing behind his back, and ranch earnings had plummeted ever since he'd taken over as boss. Something was eluding him, but he didn't quite get it, as though certain strands weren't connecting in his so-called mind.

Jay believed that he was being cheated, because Braddock wasn't what everybody thought. He saw his father kiss the bride on the cheek, as the townspeople lined up to congratulate the couple. Jay wished that he could receive everyone's good wishes, instead of their contempt and distaste.

Jay had employees, but not a friend in the world, and could never talk with his father, who appeared not to like him much, even moving into
another house so that he didn't have to live with his son. I can't let them do this to me, Jay thought.

One foot moved in front of the other as he headed toward the newly engaged couple. An inner voice told him to stop, keep his mouth shut, and run away, but he felt as if his head steamed inside his hat.

Nobody paid attention to him, except the Circle K cowboys. They formed a disorganized mass behind the rancher's son and followed him toward the front lawn, where other guests crowded around the fortunate couple.

Duane tried to smile meanwhile, shaken to his boots by a friendly slap on the back. He'd awakened that morning another sleepy face in the bunkhouse, and now was marrying the boss's daughter? His wildest dreams were coming true, and he wanted to fall on his knees and thank God, but men pumped his hand constantly, while women kissed his cheek. The former acolyte didn't know what to make of it, events tumbling too quickly, he felt swept along by the whirlwind.

The lawn and yard filled with rejoicing as the musicians performed a lighthearted wedding serenade. Cowboys and soldiers whom Duane had never met treated him like a long-lost brother, and he was beginning to enjoy himself, when he saw Vanessa approach in the long line of well-wishers.

She held out her hand elegantly. “The best of luck to you, Duane. You couldn't've found a finer girl.”

He couldn't understand how she could be so casual, and it made him realize once more that
she'd never really loved him. He wanted to rip her clothes off and feel her long, lissome legs wrapped around him, but it was over forever. He tried to think of a clever rejoinder, but nothing came to mind.

Next thing he knew, his hand was grasped by the commanding officer himself, Duane's former rival. “Good luck,” said Lieutenant Dawes, a faint smile on his face. “You'll need it.”

Duane wanted to punch him, but Phyllis squeezed his hand reassuringly, and that brought the Pecos Kid back to reality. Lieutenant Dawes took one step to the left and found himself in front of the newest bride-to-be. He shook her hand and had to admit that she was exquisite in the light of coal oil lamps suspended over their heads.

“My very best wishes,” he said.

Phyllis looked at his gleaming brass buttons, gold shoulder boards, and wide-brimmed cavalry hat. “I've met your wife, and I consider you a very fortunate man.”

Lieutenant Dawes smiled ingratiatingly and was about to say something witty, when he heard footsteps behind him. A crowd of Circle K cowboys were approaching, led by Jay Krenshaw, and the festive atmosphere of the shindig suddenly turned sinister. Lieutenant Dawes stepped out of the way as Jay came to a stop in front of Phyllis. Jay turned down the corners of his mouth and hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “I'd like to congratulate you, ma'am, but don't feel that I can, under the circumstances. You see—I don't think you know who this man is that yer a-marryin'.” Jay
turned toward Duane. “Should I tell ‘er, Pecos, or will you?”

Duane went cold, and his mouth formed a thin indomitable line. Jay felt that his moment of triumph had finally arrived. He pointed toward Duane and said, “This feller here—he ain't the angel what everybody thinks. Duane Braddock is a fast hand what shot five men that I know about, and God only knows how many others!”

The crowd was silent, and not even Big Al knew what to say. Duane felt as if his heart would stop as Phyllis clutched his hand tightly.

“Duane Braddock,” Jay continued, “is a killer, but that ain't all I know about him. The rest of us here, no matter who we are, had parents who was married, but Duane Braddock is the bastard son of a dance hall whore and an outlaw named Joe Braddock, who got hung from a tree!”

The words echoed across the yard, bounced off the barn, and ricocheted against the main house. Duane tried to catch his breath as all eyes turned toward him. It was his most hideous secret exposed to the world, and it felt as though the ground opened up, swallowing him and all his dreams.

Jay leaned toward Phyllis, painted a cocky half smile on his face, and said, “If'n you want to marry this li'l white trash bastard, that's yer bizness, ma'am, but don't ‘spect me to congratulate you.”

Something snapped inside Duane as he charged Jay Krenshaw. Jay was prepared for that eventuality, and threw a vicious left hook at Duane's head coming in. Duane blocked it with his right arm, and shot a stiff left jab to Jay's nose. Jay's head snapped
back, and Duane cut loose a lifetime of pent-up embarrassment as he hurled a blizzard of unrelenting punches. Everything connected, and Jay was dazed, reeling, struggling to stay on his feet, while Duane bashed him unmercifully. The cartilage of Jay's nose cracked, his front teeth were knocked loose, and a cut opened over his right eye as he struggled to cover up and get away.

Duane stayed after him, throwing heavy shots with both fists, trying to inflict as much damage as possible. An overhand right sent Jay sprawling against the side of the barn, as Duane moved in for the kill. A tiny part of Duane's mind begged for caution, but Duane had never been so enraged. Duane slammed Jay in the mouth, split his lower lip, and Jay's head bounced off the side of the barn. Duane pushed him backward, whacked him in the liver, and threw a straight right down the middle, flattening what remained of Jay's nose. Jay's head crashed into the barn, bounced, and Duane clocked him with a solid left jab.

Jay was ready to drop, but Duane wouldn't let him fall. Jay's eyes were bloused, his mouth a bloody mass, and Duane was loading up for another overhand right, when a gang of soldiers and cowboys jumped onto him, to end the gory massacre.

Duane felt their arms clamp over him, but wouldn't give up. He threw one soldier to the ground, elbowed another on the cheek, but then they were all over him, and the weight of their numbers forced him to the ground. They piled on top of him and buried him as he struggled to get loose. He heard women screaming, men shouting,
and then the voice of Lieutenant Dawes. “Let him up!”

The soldiers and cowboys removed themselves from the pile as Duane tried to work himself free. Finally the last man climbed off, and Duane saw Lieutenant Dawes pointing his service revolver at him. “You're under arrest!”

Meanwhile, Circle K cowboys gathered around the prostrate form of Jay Krenshaw. “He's still alive,” one of them said.

The time had arrived for Big Al to take control of his ranch. He stepped in front of his guests and said, “You can't arrest this man fer fightin'. Why, after the lies that Jay Krenshaw said—what'd you expect him to do?”

A weak voice replied haltingly, “They ain't lies.”

Everyone turned toward Jay Krenshaw struggling to regain his feet, assisted by his cowboys. Jay's face was a red mask, he spat out a tooth, blood leaked from his left ear, and he looked as if a stagecoach had run over him.

“Where's Raybart?” he asked.

In the darkness at the fringe of the crowd, a short chinless man said, “Here I am, boss man.”

“Tell ‘em the truth.”

All eyes refocused on Raybart, who felt a strange thrill at being center of attention. He wanted to help Duane Braddock, but had to tell the truth, no matter who got hurt, and where the chips fell. “I went to a Cathlick monastery in the Guadalupe Mountains, where Duane Braddock growed up, and I found out ...” Raybart's throat went dry, because he saw himself as Judas Iscariot,
“... that his father was an outlaw, and his mother was a ... soiled dove, and they wasn't married.”

Duane felt naked, vulnerable, and loathsome as he lowered his eyes. The disgrace overwhelmed him, and he felt their glares as a painful force. He had to get away, and almost wished someone would shoot him in the back as he headed toward the bunkhouse. Now everyone knew the unmentionable truth.

He felt sick to his stomach, his beautiful dream exploded in his face. It took an eternity to reach the bunkhouse, and inside, he gathered his paltry belongings, stuffed them into his saddlebags, rolled his blanket, and hiked it to his shoulders. Then he heard a sound, and looked down to see Sparky, who whimpered sadly. “You can come with me,” Duane said, “but it's not going to be easy.”

Duane opened the door, and Phyllis stood before him, with her parents, while behind them, other party guests congregated expectantly.

“Where are you going?” asked Phyllis.

“Away,” he replied laconically, carrying his bedroll toward the corral.

“But I don't want you to leave.”

Duane couldn't talk about the most embarrassing fact of his life, so he continued on his way. But then Big Al cut in front of him. “Now hold on, than You don't run out on my daughter, ‘specially after I made the announcement.”

Duane looked him in the eye. “Get out of my way or I'll go right through you.”

An expression of tenderness came over Big Al's eyes. “It don't matter where you come from, or who
yer daddy was. All God cares about is what you do from now on.”

Myrtle Thornton reached toward Duane. “You'll break Phyllis's heart if you leave. You're not the only one whose folks weren't hitched. Sometimes it happens that way, but all a body can do is just keep going.”