Savage Texas: The Stampeders Page 2
Jude sighed, rolled his eyes, and drew out the pistol he’d brought into the church-house. Clicking the hammer back, he pointed it at the usher’s chest. “I’ll have what’s in all them plates, friend, and no more lip about it. And the rest of you, start cleaning out your pockets. I’ll take coin, bank notes, jewelry, even good folding knives and watches, if you got such.”
It took several moments for the congregation as a whole, and Preacher Fulton, to take in what was going on. They were being robbed. Robbed in church. Fulton, who had ceased to keep a loaded pistol hidden in the pulpit once the church elders had come up with the no-guns-in-church rule, felt helpless, along with the rest of his congregation.
Except one. One of the offering plates had just reached the beautiful chestnut-haired visitor. With it clutched in her hands, she watched the drama being played out on the other side of the aisle. For once she was not the center of attention, so nobody noticed the peculiar intensity with which she stared at the tattered man with the gun. Quietly she moved out of her pew and across the back of the church toward Jude, who was eyeing the door, planning his flight. He found himself face-to-face with the lady.
“Good God a’mighty!” Judas said. “You! ”
“Preacher,” she shouted toward the front of the church, “I have a verse to share, too! Book of First Pepperday, third chapter, fifth verse: ‘And lo, he who desecrated the house of the Lord verily beshat his own teeth on the following morn! ’” Then, with a sudden full swing, she pounded the rim of the heavy wooden collection plate very hard against the mouth of the thief, knocking out teeth and ragged pieces of gum, and driving most of the pink-and-crimson mess back into his throat. Jude reflexively swallowed teeth, flesh, and blood as he collapsed to the floor. His pistol fell from a hand gone as limp as the rest of him. Some of the men of the church, once past the shock of the sudden violence from so unexpected a source as a lovely young woman, surrounded the fallen man and commandeered his dropped pistol.
Behind his podium, Preacher Fulton lifted his hands and said, “Brethren, I’ve seen much in my days as a sinner, and even more in my days as a follower of the Lord, but I have never, never seen the like of that! We stand dismissed. And for God’s sake, somebody go fetch the law and let’s get this scoundrel out of here. Oh, a doctor, too . . . or dentist. Whichever you can find first. Amen and God bless us all.”
The pretty woman who had demolished one worship service and one human mouth stood over the crumpled outlaw, from whom blood flowed like a river. “Oh my,” she said. “Look what a mess I’ve made! Oh my!”
CHAPTER TWO
Johnny Cross had chanced to be across the street from the stagecoach stop the day Julia Pepperday Canton had arrived in Hangtree. That had been four days before she and her offering plate punished the intruder at the church service. Cross had been one of about a dozen men lucky enough to witness her emergence from the coach. The vision of an angel placing a delicate foot into a town that had far more in common with hell than heaven had literally stopped him in his tracks and taken his mind off the raw, burning whiskey he’d been on his way to imbibe down at the Dog Star Saloon at that time. The moment he’d seen her he’d removed his hat and tucked his long dark hair more neatly behind his ears, a habit when he spotted lovely women. He wanted to look his best in case she glanced his way. She did, just as he replaced his hat and noticed he’d planted his left boot in a steaming heap left by a passing horse. So much for appearing dignified and dashing before the prettiest visitor ever to grace Hangtree, Texas.
Cross had watched her make her way from the stage stop to the hotel, her luggage carried by a couple of youths she’d recruited with a few bats of her perfectly lashed eyes. Johnny vowed to himself that he’d find his chance to get to know this young woman. He’d make sure it happened.
As it turned out, the chance to meet Julia Canton found him with no effort on his part.
She sat before him now in the small back room at the Hangtree Church where Preacher Fuller had set up a humble library and study for himself. Church offices for preachers were a rarity in frontier outposts such as Hangtree—the notion of a clergyman keeping an office just like a banker or a mayor seemed overly uppity and citified—but Fulton found it easier to prepare his sermons within the walls of a consecrated building, and the privacy of the room made it good for talking with those who came for counsel. He’d been glad to let Cross borrow his study to interview Julia Canton in representation of the meager law enforcement personnel, formal and informal, of Hangtree.
“First off, miss, let me assure you that you are in no trouble,” Cross said to the doe-eyed beauty. “What you did in the church Sunday morning, as I understand it, was no assault on your part. It was a defensive act. That bastard . . . pardon me . . . that scoundrel was in the midst of robbing the church and its congregation. Blatant crime. And he was armed and a danger to everyone around him, especially since the elders there decided not to allow guns into the church-house anymore. You were the only person there to have the presence of mind to use something right at hand to stop what the son of a bi . . . uh, gun was doing. I commend you for it.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said. Her voice made Johnny think of fresh cream. “Where is the man now?”
“Once the doc got his bleeding stopped and stitched up his gums, they locked him up. Yesterday the sheriff hauled him off to the custody of the U.S. Marshal. Winds up he was lying about who he is, all that Judas nonsense. He’s a man named Josiah Enoch, known criminal wanted in just about every place a man can be wanted. All kinds of crimes, ranging from murder through bank robbery, highwayman crimes, attempted murder . . . and some I couldn’t decently talk about to a lady.”
She closed her eyes and gave a little shudder. “To think I was so close to such a bad man!”
“Not the sort you’re used to, huh?”
“Oh no. I grew up around good people, and in a good family.”
“That’s a blessing not to be took for granted, miss.”
“Please, call me Julia.”
“Call me Johnny.” With a fat stub of pencil pulled from a vest pocket, he scrawled her name down on a small paper tablet. She watched him closely. “Why are you taking down notes, Johnny? You said I am not in trouble.”
“I’m just trying to go by the book, Julia. Good records make for good law. Got a middle name?”
“Pepperday. My mother’s maiden name. She and Papa used to call me Pepper when I was small. I grew up some and decided I liked my first name better. I’ve gone by Julia ever since.”
“Where’d you grow up, Julia?”
“Georgia. Southern to the core. My papa taught me to follow his ways and be true to the South. I have been, all along.”
“I carried arms for the South back in the late conflict.” He skipped over telling her that the arms he’d carried had been in company with extra-military rebel insurgents, not gray-clad official soldiers. “Which sometimes ain’t as ‘late’ as folks like to imagine it is. Was your father a fighting man?”
“No. A chaplain. Father was an ordained minister before the war, a chaplain throughout, and then a church minister again afterward. He died two years ago. Bad heart.”
“I’m sorry. What was his name?”
“George.”
Cross faithfully scrawled “George Canton, reverend” on his tablet, though he couldn’t have given a sensible reason why. The truth was, he had no good grounds for this interrogation at all. The incident at the church had merely provided a half-believable pretext for spending some time with this pretty young lady, and finding out more about her. He suspected that Julia knew what he was up to. No lady of such loveliness could go through even such a young life as hers without becoming aware of the effect she had on men.
He managed to look serious as he asked her, “Did your late father ever preach from the Book of Pepperday?”
Her eyes twinkled and she grinned. “Heard about me saying that, did you?”
“I was told it by two or three of the
folks there in the congregation. They thought it was right funny.”
“By the way, it’s not just ‘Pepperday.’ It’s ‘First Pepperday.’”
“I ain’t no Sunday school superintendent, but I don’t recall ever seeing a Bible with such a book in it.”
She laughed. It sounded like harpsichord music to Johnny Cross. “You’d be hard-pressed indeed to find a copy in any Bible,” she said. “I don’t know what possessed me to make such a silly joke at a time like that. I just opened my mouth and out it came.”
“I heard about the rest of it, too. The part about the wicked man and his teeth, or whatever it was.”
She found reason to stare at the top of Preacher Fulton’s desk. She was seated in front of the desk, Johnny Cross behind it, in Fulton’s chair.
“Oh, dear Lord . . . I’m so ashamed to have been so, so crude!” she said, reddening. “I should never have spoken so in the house of God. It was wrong of me.”
Cross shook his head, stifling his smile. “You weren’t wrong. He did exactly what you said he would.”
“What do you mean?”
“The man you hit with the collection plate. The jailer told me that when he dumped out the overnight slop jars Monday morning, there were that fellow’s teeth glittering amidst his mess. He’d ‘beshat’ his teeth just like you said he would.”
She was red-faced, but couldn’t help but chuckle. Johnny Cross grinned broadly at her and said, “And don’t you worry about being ‘crude,’ Julia. Crude don’t bother me a bit.”
She fired him a chiding look, an obvious put-on. He winked at her and she had to grin.
“I guess that man will be wearing waterloos to chew his supper from now on,” she said.
“I reckon.”
“Why do they call them that, anyway? Waterloos, I mean. What does that have to do with artificial teeth?”
“Well, Julia, you’ve chanced to ask me something I know the answer to. From what I hear, after that Napoleon fellow fought that big fight at Waterloo, there were so many dead men lying about that some enterprising folks pulled teeth from the corpses, and they were turned into false choppers by them who know how to do such things.”
“Oh! What a dreadful thing!”
“That’s the way life is, Julia. Dreadful . . . and dreadful hard. Especially in a town like Hangtree, out here on the rump-end of nowhere. This is a rough place. There’s some good folk, but plenty of bad ones, too. A lot of both kinds coming and going. Them most prone to linger often seem to run to the bad more than the good.”
“I . . . I don’t know what reply there is to make to that, Johnny.”
“No reply needed. Some things are just what they are. Like Hangtree.”
“Why is this place named Hangtree?”
“For an oak here in town where some hangings of bad men were done. It got to be called the ‘hangtree,’ and the town and county wound up with the same name.”
“I see.”
“Tree’s still standing. You’ll see it, if you ain’t already.”
She picked at a cuticle. “A harsh town, it seems.”
“Yep. Which leads me to a question I’m obliged to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“What would draw a fine young woman with good breeding and religious family roots to come to such a place as this? Alone?”
“Are . . . are you sure I’m in no trouble? If what I did was justified . . .”
“You’re not in trouble, Julia. I’m asking that question for personal reasons. You interest me. And seeing someone as, well, unexpected as you in a place like this . . . it’s hard to figure out.”
She sighed and looked sad. “I don’t mind telling you, because you seem quite nice. I came here exactly because it is, as you put it, the ‘rump-end of nowhere.’ It wasn’t so much a manner of running to something, or someplace, as it was running away. I came here because of . . . an affair of the heart. One that went badly. One that hurt me. Left me alone. And where I was back in Georgia, among people who knew my family so well, I felt every eye in town on me at every moment. Being judged, talked about, stared at . . . you understand.”
“Seems to me that long ago you’d have been used to being talked about and stared at. You’re a very pretty young woman, Julia. You’re bound to know that. You’ve probably been stared at all your life.”
“I . . . I . . . yes.”
“But why Hangtree, of all places? There’s a lot of nowhere places a gal from Georgia could hide without ranging out this far.”
“That’s true . . . but if I’d gone to any of those other places, wouldn’t the same question still apply? Why there and not somewhere else? I wanted to get away from Georgia, off in a place nobody has heard of and would never figure me to go. Here I am.”
“Here you are. I’ve got to admit to you, I’m glad of it. And I’ve never been one to beat around the bush. I’d like to ask you if I might call on you some, since you’re here with us. And unattached.”
She stared back at him.
“Am I talking too forthright, Julia?”
“No . . . not really. It’s just that for me, right now, it’s just too soon. My heart is still broken and God only knows how long it will be until it has healed.”
“I understand.”
“Even so, I’m honored by your interest.”
“All I’m asking is to spend a little time with you. Maybe to make this town a little easier to abide for a young woman alone and away from home. I just want to be friendly.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I have nothing against friendliness, so my answer is yes. Now, might you recommend for me a boardinghouse? I am living in a hotel room and would like to find something better for a longer term, with meals provided.”
“Shall we take a walk? I can show you just such a place.”
“Yes, thank you. Are you finished with me here, then?”
“For now . . . but let me ask you once more: Are you certain you had never met the man in the church before? And that he could not know you?”
“I did not know him. Whether he has seen me before, how can I know?”
Cross drew in a deep breath. “Air’s a little close in here. Let’s take a walk.”
CHAPTER THREE
The sound of a fast-sweeping broom and a whistled barn dance tune told Johnny Cross who he and Julia would encounter as they rounded the alleyway corner beside Lockhart’s Emporium, the biggest general store in the region. Sure enough, Timothy Holt was there on the front boardwalk, sweeping and whistling mightily. When the simple-minded young man of twenty-two saw Johnny Cross, his face lit with a smile broader than the brim of his flop hat. When he noticed Julia Canton, the smile became a nervous grimace.
Cross had seen Hangtree’s resident simpleton lose his nerve in the presence of the town’s plainest girls. Such a one as the flawless Julia Canton was almost too much for him.
“Hi . . . hi, Johnny.” Timothy’s eyes shifted to Julia and back again, very fast.
“Howdy, Tim. See you’re hard at it again today.”
“Gotta work hard, Johnny. Gotta work hard for Mr. Lockhart.”
“He is still paying you enough to make it worth your while, ain’t he?”
“He pays me every week on Friday, Johnny. Sometimes he gives me a bonus if I do extra good. You know what a bonus is, Johnny?”
“I do. Wish somebody would throw a few my way from time to time.”
“And he lets me and my mama buy things here at a dis . . . dis . . .”
“A discount?”
“That’s right! I forget that word sometimes. A discount.” He mouthed it silently to himself two or three more times.
Julia took a step toward Timothy, small hand extended. “Mr. Holt, was it?”
Timothy stared down at her hand like he was afraid of it. “I’m . . . just Timothy, ma’am. Just plain Timothy. Ain’t never been a mister.”
“Won’t you shake my hand, Timothy? I’m very pleased to meet you. My name is Julia Canton.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Timothy.” He paused, frowning. “But I already told you that . . . oh, dang, I’m so stupid sometimes!” He squeezed her hand too hard, distracted by anger at himself.
Johnny Cross touched Timothy’s shoulder. Timothy opened his eyes. “You don’t need to crush her hand plumb off, Tim. She might need it again one of these days.”
Timothy froze and stared at Julia’s face with eyes gone wide. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be squeezing your hand so hard. I was just . . . just pleased to get to meet you, that’s all. I like nice people. That’s why I like Johnny. He’s nice to me.”
Julia put on a playful frown and flicked her eyes at Johnny Cross. “But not to other people? Is that what you mean, Timothy?”
“Oh, no, no, ma’am! He’s nice to a lot of people. Bad folks, though, mean folks, he ain’t nice to them.”
“Well, that’s how it should be, I suppose,” Julia said. “Timothy, it’s such a pleasure to meet you! You’ve done a good job of sweeping here . . . I’ve never seen so clean a boardwalk!”
“I try hard, ma’am. If I don’t, Mr. Lockhart, he’ll say to me, ‘Tim boy, there’s as much dirt on the boardwalk as there is in the street.’” Timothy paused and laughed at the feeble humor while Johnny Cross threw in a forced-but-believable laugh of his own. Julia caught on and laughed as well for Timothy’s benefit.
Timothy beamed at her. “You’re nice, ma’am. I can tell you are. And pretty, too.”
“That she is, Tim,” Cross said.
“Mr. Lockhart, he has a daughter name of Faye. She’s pretty.” Timothy said. He sidled just a little closer and added, “But you’re prettier. Ain’t she, Johnny?”
“Let me give you some advice, Timothy: You’re best off not comparing women to each other, not out loud, anyway. It’ll come back to bite you every time.”