He didn’t look back. He trusted Salmon. Instead, he forged ahead to Abigail’s place, turned the corner, and swung wide the doors. Rafe entered right behind him.
Abby turned round at the sound of their entry, and said, “Good evening, Jason, Rafe. You two decide to go slummin’?”
Jason stepped to the fore. “No, Abby, no. We were just searching for Matt MacDonald, that’s all.”
“Well, the sonofabitch ain’t in here, that’s for sure.” She flipped a glance toward the three men at the poker table.
Politely, Jason muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” grabbed Rafe by his other arm, and exited Abby’s. “C’mon,” he said to Rafe once they were outside. “We’ve gotta find Matt before somebody kills him just for bein’ a jackass.”
“Just on general principle, you mean?”
“You been hangin’ around me too much.”
Rafe grinned. “Mebbe so.”
And then, quite suddenly, the crowd behind them quieted. From clear down at the other end of the street, they saw Matthew MacDonald backing out of the saloon, and yelling, “Bunch’a lily-livered cowards, that’s what you are! I thought Fury had some real men livin’ in her!”
“I think that’ll about do it,” said Jason, and began marching down the center of the street with Rafe following along, aping his speed as well as the disgusted expression on his face. Halfway down the street and mid-stride, Jason called out, “MacDonald! Matt MacDonald! Hold it down!”
Matt stopped, turned, and looked, and hollered up the street, “Well, if it isn’t Marshal Chicken-shit and Deputy Dog Turd!” He hadn’t recognized Rafe, and Jason had the sense to leave well enough alone.
They had kept walking toward Matt during his tirade, and were quite a bit closer now. “You wanna go to jail for disturbin’ the peace, keep on hollerin’,” Jason said, just loud enough to be heard. He stopped walking and so did Rafe.
Matt’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
“Well, then,” Jason began, “now that we’ve got everybody calmed down, what seems to be your problem, Matthew?”
“What’s always my problem?” Matt snarled. “I’ve got trouble out at the ranch and nobody’ll help!”
Jason closed his eyes for a minute, then said, “What trouble? Apache?”
“Yes!” Matt shouted. “I can’t get it through anybody’s head! By now, they’re probably swarmin’ the ranch, killin’ off all my hands, makin’ off with all my livestock, and nobody gives a good goddamn!”
He put his head in his hands, and suddenly both Megan and Jenny, whom Jason hadn’t realized had joined the following crowd, ran past him and to Matt’s side. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but both girls were talking to Matt in whispers, soothing him. Then Jenny looked up and straight at Jason.
“Jason, you go out there,” she said. “Don’t go as the marshal. Go as my brother.”
“But, Jenny . . .” he began.
“Don’t you ‘but, Jenny’ me! Just go! Now!”
He’d been about to tell her that Apache didn’t raid at night, but he could see that right now she wasn’t going to hear anything he had to say. He was stuck. “All right,” he said grudgingly. “But I hope you’ll feel stupid when we don‘t turn up anything!”
“And you’d best save us some dessert!” Rafe added, grinning.
“You’re going?” Jason asked, amazed.
Rafe shrugged. “Gotta work off some’a that good dinner ‘fore I treat myself to any more of these ladies’ vittles.”
Jason shrugged. “Your funeral.”
When he glanced over and saw Salmon Kendall leaning out of the marshal’s office’s front door, he said, “Salmon, you stay here and watch over the town.” He turned back toward the stable. Then he stopped, looked back over his shoulder and said, “Move it, Matt!” when he saw that a stunned MacDonald was just standing there. However, the call woke Matt from his trance, and he dogtrotted to catch up with them.
They got Jason’s palomino and Rafe’s bay tacked up and ready, and set out, with Matt leading, toward the south and the Double M ranch.
Jason felt like a fool. He didn’t know what Rafe was thinking (and told himself he didn’t care), but he considered himself a Class-A Idiot for humoring Matt, especially during the evening, and especially during his dinner!
Women. If it hadn’t been for Jenny and Megan, he would’ve just shot Matt and gone home. No, he wouldn’t. He’d probably be riding out here anyway, if to do nothing but shut Matthew up.
And so here he was, loping south, thinking foul thoughts about MacDonald. He gave his head a shake, and rode on.
7
They came in sight of the ranch, and Matt almost looked disappointed when it sat quietly on its site, with a big new corral filled with livestock, and Curly standing outside against the ranch-house porch railing, smoking a cigarette.
“Quiet sort’a raid, ain’t it?” Jason heard Rafe mutter.
“The kind ol’ Matt usually gets out here.”
“Now, just a minute, Fury!” Matt barked. “They might not be here yet, but they‘re coming! There were signs, I tell you, signs!”
“Think we oughta go down and look, just in case?” Rafe asked around the cigarette he was lighting. “Gotta start coolin’ these horses down, one way or the other.” He was right. The horses were lathered and blowing, a fact abetted by Matt’s having pushed them into an all-out gallop once they got clear of town.
“I suppose,” Jason admitted, and started his horse walking toward the ranch.
“Finally!” Matt muttered, just loudly enough that both Jason and Rafe heard him, and exchanged glances. Apparently, a walk was too slow for Matt, and he kicked his gelding into a canter.
Jason shrugged. He and Rafe held it down to a walk.
Matt reached the porch ahead of them, and immediately started hollering at Curly. He kept it up until Jason and Rafe were within three lengths of them, and then Rafe did the unthinkable.
Quicker than lightning, he pulled his sidearm and fired. It nearly scared Jason to death and he was about to draw on Rafe when he realized that nobody was dead or even injured.
Except for a fat, six-foot sidewinder, thrashing its last in the dust three feet from Matt’s right boot.
“Hate them damn things,” Rafe said by way of explanation. “Sorry if I scared anybody, but by the time I saw it comin’ into the lantern light . . .” He shrugged.
“Thanks, Rafe,” Jason said, and his words were echoed by Curly and a grudging Matt. The snake, in its death throes, lashed Matt’s leg, and he vaulted up on the porch.
While Jason stifled a grin, he heard Rafe say, “You gotta watch them suckers. They’ll keep thrashin’ around for a hour, sometimes, even if you shoot the head clean off.”
Jason leaned forward and squinted through the dim light at the snake. “Believe you shot the head clean off that one, Rafe. Good goin’.”
“Try to do what I can,” Rafe said, and swung down off his horse. Jason followed suit, and hid his chuckle behind his saddle.
“You got somebody to walk these horses out, Matt?” Jason asked. He’d be damned if he’d ridden clear out here on some fool’s errand only to end up with a colicky horse for his trouble. And come to think of it . . . “I think we could all use a drink, too.”
“Best idea I heard all night,” said Rafe. And after he roared, “Get a hot walker up here, now!” down toward the barn, he added, “Y’know, I believe I could use a couple’a whiskeys, too. I’m pretty dadgum parched! Chasin’ ghost Apache wears me out. Don’t it wear you right down to a nub, Matt?”
He handed his reins to Curly, climbed up on the porch, and put his hand on Matt’s arm, like Matt was his new best friend. “I heard rumors in town that you’re purty well-stocked out here, Matt. Hope they were right!” And he proceeded to lead a confused Matt inside the house.