Blood Duel Page 11

Club Caine nodded. “I read the notice.”

  “Good. Then as soon as you each have paid the fee and signed the form our lawyer drew up, I will set a time for the killing to commence.”

  “Hold on,” Paunch said. “What is this fee you keep mentioning? And why in hell do we have to sign something?”

  “The form releases Coffin Varnish of all liability,” Chester explained. “Our lawyer thought it prudent. After all, we do not want you to blame our town if all you do is cripple one another.”

  “You have thought of everything,” Club Caine said.

  “I’ve tried,” Chester said. “Although, the truth be told, it was my wife who insisted we talk to a lawyer and have papers drawn up.”

  “You still haven’t said how much the fee will be,” Paunch noted. “No one mentioned anything about any damn fee.”

  “Surely you did not think you could kill for free?” Chester replied. “Each of you must obtain a permit.”

  The door at the back opened and in came Sally Worth. She had brushed her hair and changed into her best dress. “How do I look now?” she asked Paunch Stevens, but he did not answer.

  “How much do these permits cost?”

  “One hundred dollars.”

  “Each?” Paunch said in amazement.

  “Each,” Chester said. “Then there is the burial cost. Another fifty from each of you, to be used only if you are killed and returned to you if you are not.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Paunch said. “You expect us to give you one hundred and fifty dollars before we can squeeze a trigger?”

  “That is correct,” Chester confirmed.

  “Why, that is nothing but out and out robbery,” Paunch complained, “and I, for one, will not stand for it. I came here to kill this English son of a bitch and that is exactly what I aim to do.” With that, Paunch stabbed a hand for his Smith & Wesson.

  Chapter 14

  Seamus Glickman was the only one in the sheriff’s office when Aces Weaver hurried in. Seamus looked up from the Illustrated Police News and nodded in friendly greeting. He had played cards with Weaver a few times. Then Seamus saw the expression on the gambler’s face. “If it is trouble I do not want to hear about it.”

  “It could be trouble,” Aces Weaver said.

  “I do not want to hear it.” Seamus resumed reading and did his best to ignore the man standing barely three feet from his desk. But he could not ignore Weaver’s feet. They poked into the edge of his vision like unwanted intruders. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

  “I need to talk to someone,” Aces said. “If not you, then Sheriff Hinkle.”

  “He is in court, giving testimony,” Seamus revealed. “He will not be in until later today, if then.”

  “One of the deputies, then?” Aces hopefully asked.

  “All performing official duties,” Seamus said. “I have been left to hold down the fort.”

  “Who is upholding the law?”

  “Very funny,” Seamus said, but he was not amused, not in the least. Irritated, he tried to concentrate on the lurid account of a buxom young woman from Philadelphia who fell into the clutches of opium fiends. The drawings that accompanied the story were enough to make a prostitute blush.

  “I will wait for a deputy, then,” Aces said.

  “Like hell you will. I do not intend to sit here all day being assaulted by your feet.”

  “My what?”

  “I know I will regret asking,” Seamus said, “but what is so all-fired important that it can’t wait?”

  “It is about Coffin Varnish.”

  “Why did I ask?” Seamus spread the newspaper on his desk and leaned on his elbows to read it. “I guess you haven’t heard. There is to be no mention of that wretched excuse for a town in my presence.”

  “What do you have against Coffin Varnish?”

  “What don’t I?” Seamus retorted. “The mayor’s backbone is in his wife’s body. The saloon owner is drinking his own saloon dry. The town whore is old enough to have been around before the Flood. And the entire population consists of two bean-eaters, a family of pope lovers, and a Swede with less brains than my little toe. Shall I go on?”

  “You didn’t mention the notice in the newspaper,” Aces Weaver said. “Inviting folks to go there and kill each other.”

  “You had to remind me of that, didn’t you?”

  “It is why I am here.”

  Resigned to the fact that the gambler was not going to leave unless shooed away, Seamus reluctantly stopped reading about the buxom young woman and sat back. “All right. Since you persist in being a pest, I will listen to what you have to say. Then you will leave and never grace our doorstep again for as long as you live.”

  “You are joshing me, right?”

  “Of course,” Seamus said. “Now out with it. The Arabs have just got their hands on Pearl Trueblood and I am anxious to learn her fate.”

  “Arabs?” Aces said. “Here in Dodge?”

  Seamus tapped the Police News. “Get to the point of your visit. You are sorely trying my patience.”

  “Do you know Club Caine?”

  “He owns a freight line.”

  “And Paunch Stevens?”

  “He owns half of Front Street. Two of our city’s more prominent citizens, I would say.”

  “They won’t be prominent much longer. They left this morning for Coffin Varnish to kill each other.”

  Seamus stiffened in alarm. This was serious business. Caine was a close personal friend of people high in state government, and Stevens had strong political ties to a senator. “Please tell me it is you who is joshing me?”

  “I would like to but I can’t.”

  “What put them at odds?”

  “I believe her name is Harriet Fly. I have not met the lady myself, but I understand she boasts the biggest melons this side of the Mississippi.”

  “Caine and Stevens left earlier, you say?” Seamus asked, rising.

  “I don’t know exactly when. To be honest, I didn’t expect them to go through with it. But Joe Gentile told me he saw Caine ride out a couple of hours ago, heading north.”

  “A couple of hours?” Seamus consulted the clock on the wall. “Damn. They are probably there by now.”

  “Most likely,” Aces agreed. “About all you can do is pick up the pieces.”

  Seamus gave the artistic rendering of Pearl Trueblood a last longing gaze, then made for the door. “At least I will have tried.”

  Ernestine Prescott found it hard to concentrate on the American Revolution when all she could think of was Jeeter Frost. She could still feel his lips on hers even though he had slipped away from the schoolhouse well before dawn so as to avoid being spotted by early risers.

  Ernestine nearly giggled. Her behavior had become downright wicked. If the parents of her charges learned what she was doing, they would dismiss her without hesitation. A schoolmarm was expected to be the living embodiment of moral and ethical virtue. Much to her surprise, and great delight, she had discovered she was, after all, as human as the next woman.

  Ernestine had never met a man like Jeeter. He wasn’t cultured or educated. He wasn’t rich. But there was something about him, some quality she could not define, that made him irresistible. When she was around him, all she wanted to do was touch him. Her, of all people. She had never been with a man in her life, and only ever kissed one once, and here she was, behaving like a hussy and jeopardizing her teaching career.

  Suddenly Ernestine became aware that her charges were staring at her. “Who can tell me why the minutemen were called that?” She scanned the rows and pointed at her brightest student. “How about you, Sarah?”

  Instead of answering, Sarah raised her hand and pointed at the window. That was when it dawned on Ernestine that her class was not staring at her; they were staring at something behind her. She turned, half fearing Jeeter had broken his promise to stay away during school hours, and felt her stomach tighten at the sight of a middle-aged couple, the parents
of Billy Doughty, the class troublemaker. She smiled at them but they did not return the smile. Puzzled, she motioned for them to come around to the front of the schoolhouse.

  “Why are your parents here, Billy?” Ernestine asked as she went past his desk. She had talked to them a month ago when Billy saw fit to bring a garter snake into class to try and scare the girls.

  “I don’t know, Miss Prescott,” the boy dutifully answered, but something in his eyes alerted her that he did in fact know but was not saying.

  Her mouth went dry. “Continue reading your history book, everyone,” Ernestine directed as she opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight.

  The Doughtys were coming around the corner. Mrs. Doughty, always a severe woman, looked more severe than usual. She had her thin hands clasped in front of her and wore a drab gray dress and gray bonnet. “Miss Prescott, we need to have a word with you.”

  “Certainly,” Ernestine said. “But your boy has been behaving himself of late.”

  “It is not William we are here to discuss,” Mrs. Doughty said. “It is you.”

  Panic welled up in Ernestine, but she smiled and said calmly, “Me? In what regard, Mrs. Doughty?”

  “You know very well.”

  Mr. Doughty shot his wife a look of disapproval, but only Ernestine noticed. “I am sure I have no idea.”

  “Very well. I will speak plainly.” Mrs. Doughty paused. “A man was seen leaving your schoolhouse at an hour most folks consider ungodly.”

  Ernestine grew so light-headed she thought she would swoon, but she did not let on. “Who saw this man leave?”

  “I am not at liberty to say.”

  “What hour was it?”

  “Before dawn, I was told,” Mrs. Doughty said, and sniffed. “Heaven knows what he was doing here.”

  Mr. Doughty frowned. “Be civil, Abigail.”

  “I have the children to think of,” Mrs. Doughty said. “A thing like this must be addressed.”

  “What thing?” Ernestine went on the offensive. “For the life of me, I do not see what this has to do with me. In the first place, as you both well know, I seldom stay past dark. In the second place, did this informant of yours actually see this man leave by the door?” She had them there. Jeeter always snuck out by the window.

  “Well, no,” Mrs. Doughty said. “But he was seen very near the schoolhouse.”

  “So he could have just been passing by?” Ernestine pressed her.

  With great reluctance Mrs. Doughty said, “I suppose.”

  “Was this man seen in my company at any time?”

  “Not to my knowledge, no.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?” Ernestine asked. “You know me, Abigail. Are you implying I am a loose woman?”

  Mrs. Doughty became flustered. “No, no, I would never do that. I was merely bringing it to your attention.”

  “For which I thank you. Hopefully, no one has spread this behind my back. A lady has her reputation to think of.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Doughty said. “Come along, Abigail. We have imposed on her enough.”

  “I appreciate your coming to me,” Ernestine said, relieved she had nipped the rumor in the bud.

  “I thought you should know,” Mrs. Doughty said. “Especially with the sheriff involved.”

  Ernestine’s world spun and nearly crashed. “What was that?”

  “The sheriff,” Mrs. Doughty said. “The person who told me also reported it to Sheriff Hinkle. No one from his office has been around?”

  “No,” Ernestine said, struggling to come to grips with the implications of the stunning revelation. “Evidently the sheriff has more faith in my virtue than the person who is spreading loose tales about me.”

  “I told you,” Mr. Doughty said sternly to his wife. “We should not have come here. Now I feel the fool.”

  “It had to be done.”

  They walked off arguing.

  Ernestine gripped the doorjamb to keep from collapsing. Her legs had gone weak and her knees were threatening to buckle. She was deathly afraid, but not for herself. She could deal with the gossip. No, she was afraid for Jeeter. If the sheriff or a deputy caught him leaving the schoolhouse, there would be Hades to pay.

  Ernestine needed to think. She needed to be alone. But the school day was hardly half over. Composing herself, she closed the door and returned to her desk. She picked up a pencil and, without seeing them, stared at a sheath of papers that needed to be graded.

  Another dimension to her dilemma occurred to her. If she told Jeeter, he might take it into his head to make himself scarce. He would not tangle with the law if he could avoid it. He had told her once that one of the reasons he had lasted so long was that he never shot a lawman and in fact went out of his way to avoid them.

  He might leave.

  The thought seared Ernestine like a flaming sword. Her heart hammered in her chest and she had to take deep breaths. That must not happen. Jeeter meant a great deal to her, more than anyone, ever. She did not want to lose him.

  Ernestine wavered. Maybe she should keep it to herself for the time being. Since the sheriff had not been around, odds were, she reasoned, that Jeeter and she could go on as they were doing.

  Her eyes moistened at the injustice of it all. Life was so unfair. Here, she had finally found a man she cared for, and circumstances over which she had no control were conspiring to tear him away from her. She refused to let that happen. She would stand firm and do whatever was necessary to ensure that Jeeter and she enjoyed the happiness to which they were entitled.

  Her decision made, Ernestine busied herself with her duties. But keeping silent did not sit well with her. It was the coward’s way out, and Ernestine was a firm believer in confronting problems head-on.

  She was in the middle of the daily spelling lesson when a solution to her crisis hit her with the force of a thunderclap. She had just asked a student to spell the word myopic. He did, but she stood there, too overcome to tell him he had spelled it properly and could sit back down.

  Did she dare? Ernestine wondered. The step was so bold, so brazen, as to dazzle her with her own shamelessness. Or was it shameless if the two people truly cared for one another?

  The question sparked another: Did Jeeter Frost care for her as much as she cared for him?

  Ernestine realized he had never once said how he felt. He had never once given voice to his feelings. For all she knew—she nearly gasped at the notion—she was a mere dalliance, a woman he kept coming to visit because she let him do things women should not let men do.

  “Oh my!” Ernestine blurted.

  “Miss Prescott? Are you all right?”

  With a start, Ernestine saw that every child in the room was staring fixedly at her with concern writ on their youthful faces. “I fear I have a bit of a headache today, Sarah, but thank you for asking. Horace, you did fine. That is how you spell myopic.”

  Myopic, Ernestine thought. How fitting, and how ironic. She must find out how Jeeter felt about her, and if she was a dalliance—if that was all she was to him—she would buy a knife or a straight razor and slit her wrists.

  Chapter 15

  Chester Luce had talked it over with Adolphina and they had decided that all the pistol duels would take place in the street. Safer for Coffin Varnish’s citizens, however few there were. They had also decided the duels would take place one hour after the permits were paid for, to have ample time to notify everyone.

  “If we do this right,” Adolphina had said, “if we take sufficient precautions, the killings will go off without a hitch. The leather slappers will be happy with how smoothly everything goes. We will be happy with the money we are making. All will be well.”

  But all was decidedly not well.

  Chester was appalled when Paunch Stevens tried to jerk his six-shooter. “No, by God!” he bawled, and lunged at Stevens, grabbing his wrist.

  “Not in here!” Win Curry yelled, whipping a shotgun from under the bar. “I will blow you in half
!”

  Sally Worth, incredibly enough, laughed.

  Only Club Caine was calm and silent. He made no attempt to draw his Webley, although when Stevens went for his hardware, Caine swooped his hand to the Webley.

  Paunch Stevens was furious. “Let go of me, damn you! You could have gotten me killed!”

  “You, sir, are in violation of town ordinance,” Chester countered, even though, the truth be told, there was no town ordinance covering a situation like this. Chester was making it up as he went along.

  “To say nothing of being a cheap bastard,” Sally Worth threw in.

  Paunch fixed his glare on her. “How is that again?”

  “You want to have it out with this other gent,” Sally said, “but you don’t want to pay for the permit and the burial. I call that cheap. So will most everyone else who hears about it.”

  To Chester’s immense relief, her comment caused Paunch Stevens to deflate like a punctured water skin.

  Stevens took his hand off the Smith & Wesson. “I suppose I was being a bit rash. But a hundred and fifty dollars seems outrageous.”

  Chester released Stevens’s wrist but was ready to grab it again if need be. “Outrageous? For the privilege of killing a man? Where else in Kansas, where else anywhere, can you do what we are giving you the opportunity to do?”

  “That is true, but—” Paunch Stevens began.

  Now that the scare was over, Chester was mad—good and mad. He poked Stevens in the chest. “No buts about it! If you think we are only in this for the money, you are wrong.” Actually, they were, but Chester had never been one to let the truth stand in the way of a good lie. “If that were the case, we would demand a lot more than a hundred dollars. For the service we are offering, a thousand would be more than fair.”

  Sally Worth cackled. She had poured herself a drink and was nursing it at the end of the bar, her elbows under her. “If you charged that much, no one could afford it.”

  “When I want comments from you I will ask for them.”

  Sally arched an eyebrow. “Don’t take that high and mighty tone with me, mister.”

  “Hush,” Chester said.

  “Like hell I will!” Sally declared. “I know you, Chester. You and that wife of yours, lording it over the rest of us.”