"Does this substance have a name?" B. J. asked, gingerly prodding a lump with the tip of his spoon.
"Yes, sir," Matthew said, reading B. J.'s intention to distract Mr. Kane from his worries, "I call it Twenty-Mile Stew.' "
"Hm-m. Well, perhaps twenty miles is a sufficient distance. Provided you're upwind of it."
"I think it's delicious," Ruth Lillian averred loyally, offering her plate to be refilled by Matthew.
"Well, de gustibus non disputandum est, or so those who lack taste are constantly telling us." He turned to Matthew. "Kersti Bjorkvist came up to the Livery just as I was leaving. She said she'd been at your place."
"Did she tell you about… anything else?"
"Just that her mother threw her out. I wonder why?"
"Oh… some sort of fight." Matthew knew that Mr. Kane mustn't find out what had happened to Kersti over at the hotel.
"She and Frenchy are keeping the lamps lit and the fire going in the Livery office, in case those men look across."
"When is Coots-"
"Any time now!" B. J. snapped. Then he tightened rein on his nerves. "He'll go pretty soon, I guess. He said he'd wait until the storm breaks over the town. He figured it would cover any noise he might make."
"He's very brave, your friend," Mr. Kane said.
"Yes. " B. J. said simply.
"There's no alternative, I suppose? No way other than…?"
"Not with those men. Matthew told you about what they did to Mr. Delanny?"
Mr. Kane nodded and glanced apprehensively at his daughter, who looked down at her plate. Frenchy had told her what she'd done. And why.
"No," B. J. said. "With men like that, there's no other way."
"I suppose you're right, but…"
"But what?"
"It's all so complicated. I know that man is vicious and dangerous, but on the other hand, Matthew told me how he let Frenchy go. Just let her walk away, after she had deprived him of his prey. Why would he do that?"
"I don't know," B. J. said. "Maybe like dogs can smell fear on people, some men can sense panic on their victims, and it sends them into a frenzy of violence. But if you're not afraid-if they can't see it in your eyes-then they won't attack, because all bullies are cowards down deep. I remember an Indian tale about a young buck off alone on a purification fast. He emerged up from his meditation to find himself surrounded by hungry wolves, but he survived by locking his concentration on a mental image of his beloved mother, and he was able to walk slowly through the wolves, who couldn't smell fear on him. Maybe the fact that Frenchy stood up to Lieder… looked him straight in the eye and defied him… " B. J. shrugged. "While poor Chinky is shy and submissive… the perfect victim. Her terror excites her tormentors."
"Maybe you're right," Mr. Kane said. "But what about Matthew here? That leader seems to have taken a shine to him. Why?"
"No idea," B. J. admitted. Then to Matthew: "What happened when he came over to your place? Did you stand up to him? Refuse to back down?"
"Not as I remember. We just talked about… oh, yes! He made some remark about Mr. Anthony Bradford Chumms-the man who writes the Ringo Kid books? — and I told him that I wouldn't stand for any bad-mouthing of Mr. Chumms. I guess that was standing up to him… sort of."
"And maybe he sees something of himself in you," Mr. Kane suggested. "There's more vanity in our affections than we like to admit."
"I don't see that we're anything alike," Matthew replied testily. "He said that his pa used to beat him. And kids probably razzed and ragged him at school."
"Like you?" B. J. asked, glancing quickly at Ruth Lillian, with whom he had spent an hour that afternoon discussing Matthew.
"Like me? My pa never beat me. And you can bet that no kids ever razzed me at school. I wouldn't of stood for it!" He felt Ruth Lillian's eyes on him, and he recalled telling her about how the Benson boys had ridiculed him because his pa was a drunk and beat his ma. He kept his gaze averted, not wanting her eyes to touch his. He felt betrayed by her. He couldn't see anything he and Lieder had in common! He didn't know why Lieder had said they were both "damaged boys"! It didn't seem to him that they- Blinding light leapt from the windows. A deafening peal of thunder shook the walls of the Mercantile. Two flash-cracks in close succession left the acrid, nose-tingling smell of ozone in the room, while the imprinted shapes of the windows lingered on their eyes, but with lights and darks reversed.
At the flash, a gasp escaped Mr. Kane, who now sat rigid in his chair, drawing short quick breaths through his open mouth, not daring to exhale completely for fear of chest pains. Ruth Lillian reached over and grasped his hand, but his breathing was already beginning to slow, and soon he was able to smile weakly and say, "God enjoys His little jokes, scaring people like that. What next, I wonder? A little buzzer that gives you a shock when you reach out for His helping hand?" Everyone laughed a little, but Mr. Kane's face" was still ashen and beads of cold sweat stood on his forehead.
"There's no reason for you to sit up any longer, Mr. Kane," B. J. said. "God can scare you just as well in your bed."
"That's true," Mr. Kane said with a half chuckle. "Even better. He'll be able to mix his little jokes into our nightmares."
Everyone laughed a little again. Mr. Kane squeezed his daughter's hand to say he was all right now, then he rose and went to his room.
THE STORM WAS AT its height, and Coots estimated that the party over at the hotel was probably thoroughly lubricated by now. The time had come. He slipped a sixth cartridge into his revolver. Like most experienced gunmen, he always left the chamber under the hammer empty when he was doing physical work because, as he had once explained to Matthew, if the hammer should snag on something, a man could shoot off a toe… or something worse. He put a handful of cartridges into his jacket pocket as a matter of habit, but he knew that if he didn't do the job with the first six shots, he'd be unlikely to get a chance to reload. Frenchy stood at the bottom of the loft steps, watching these simple preparations. "You be careful, y'hear?"
He nodded.
"You're pretty old for this business."
"God knows that's true."
"Why you doing it then?"
"Beats my two pair." He pulled his hat down tight and went out into the storm.
THE THREE OF THEM sat around the lamp in tense silence, anticipating the next volley of thunder and lightning.
"It's getting late," B. J. said for something to say.
"What time you figure it is?" Ruth Lillian asked.
"Near midnight. I don't know exactly. My watch broke three-four years ago but, considering how slow things are in Twenty-Mile, I didn't bother to-"
"Ruth Lillian?" Matthew interrupted. "I think you better start getting your truck together, in case you have to leave town."
"What are you talking about?"
"I've thought it all out. You can follow the railroad track down to Destiny. It'll be tricky, what with the rain and slippery rails and all, but you've got to go, storm or no storm."
"I can't leave Pa! Not sick like he is, and weak."
"You gotta go, Ruth Lillian. There's things you don't understand. Mr. Lieder, he…" Matthew swallowed. "He wants a virgin girl. To carry his seed. He wants a son to continue the battle after he's gone."
"Continue what battle?" B. J. asked.
"Some kind of battle against foreigners and Washington D. C. and-I don't know-something about Jews not being lumberjacks, and other stuff he got out of that book of his. The point is, Ruth Lillian, he's meaning to have a virgin girl."
"But he doesn't even know I'm in town."
"He does now."
"How'd he find out?" B. J. snapped.
"Kersti told him… but it wasn't her fault! It just slipped out. She was being slapped around and treated rough. I mean real rough. And he'll be looking for you next, Ruth Lillian. I just know it. Probably not tonight what with the storm and all, but tomorrow for sure. That's why you got to get out of here. You understand?"