Texas Iron Page 8

  “Good.”

  The clerk returned with a large book with a black hard cover.

  “All sales are recorded here.”

  “Thanks,” Evan said. He took the book and reversed it so he could read it.

  “What?” Evan said suddenly.

  “What is it?”

  “Wait.”

  Evan read the book again, and then closed it, shaking his head. He pushed it across to the clerk and said, “Thanks.” He turned to Sam and said, “Let’s go outside, Sam.”

  They walked outside and Sam stopped and put his hand on his brother’s arm.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “The conditions of the sale.”

  “Are you gonna make me drag it out of you?”

  “Sam,” Evan said, “according to the records, the condition of the deal was an even swap.”

  “A swap? Of what?”

  “The ranch for the house they…they died in.”

  Sam started to say something, then stopped and put his hands on his hips. He stared at the sky for a few moments before speaking.

  “Let’s get Jubal,” Sam said. “I think it’s time to take a look at the house.”

  Before leaving the Miller house Sam made sure Dude Miller had a gun by his bed.

  “What about Serena?” Miller asked.

  “She’s gonna show us where the house is,” Sam said, “and the markers.”

  They went to the livery for their horses, rented one for Serena—who insisted she’d rather ride than take a buggy—and rode out to the adobe house where their parents had died.

  “We can go to the markers first,” Serena said after they’d ridden a couple of miles. “They’re not right near the house.”

  “All right?” Evan said to Sam.

  After a moment Sam said, “All right.”

  She lead them to the grave markers, which were about a half mile from the house. They were plain wooden markers on which someone had scrawled their names. Obviously whoever had done it did not know their birth-dates, so only the dates of their deaths were recorded.

  Evan and Jubal dismounted and walked to the markers. Serena remained mounted and stared at Sam, who did the same.

  Sam felt her looking at him, and did not look at her. Instead he stared not at the gravesites, but at his brother’s backs.

  After a few minutes Evan and Jubal turned and remounted. “We’ll have to get them something better,” Evan said.

  “Sure,” Sam said, “but first let’s make sure they’re buried in the right place.”

  A stranger rode into Vengeance Creek while the McCall boys were out of town. He rode directly to the livery and asked the Swede for directions to the Burkett spread, and then immediately left town and headed for the ranch.

  From the gravesites they rode to the house, where they all dismounted. They went into the house together, a small two-room house with a hard-packed dirt floor and flimsy wooden doors and shutters.

  “They lived here?” Evan said in disbelief.

  Sam looked down at the dirt floor. There were stains in some places, which made the floor darker. He knew they were bloodstains.

  “No,” Sam said, “they died here.”

  There was some furniture, but it was all old, dusty and in various stages of disrepair. Evan walked over to the wooden chair, shook it, and then lifted his foot and easily smashed it.

  “They traded the ranch for this?” he said, angrily.

  “What?” Jubal asked. “Traded?”

  “Even up,” Sam said. “The ranch for this.”

  “They didn’t get any money for the ranch?” Serena asked in disbelief.

  “Not a penny.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Jubal said.

  “It’s on file at the courthouse,” Evan said.

  “I mean, why would Pa do that? It doesn’t make any damn sense.”

  “I agree with Jubal,” Serena said. “We all heard that Burkett had bought the ranch. We never suspected…this.”

  “Well,” Evan said, looking around in disgust, “it’s plain that the answers are not going to be found here.”

  “Jubal,” Sam said, “take Serena back to town.”

  “Where are you going?” Jubal demanded.

  “Out to see Lincoln Burkett.”

  “I wanna go with you!”

  “As a matter of fact,” Serena said, “so do I.”

  “Sam,” Evan said, “I have a suggestion.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Since I’m just a little less excitable than you, I think I’d better go and see Mr. Burkett alone.”

  “I don’t like that suggestion,” Sam said.

  “I like it better than yours,” Jubal said, with a smile.

  “Besides,” Evan said, “someone has to register us in the hotel. It’s plain that we can’t stay here.”

  “Evan—”

  “Sam,” Evan said, “I’m just going out there to talk.

  That won’t take all three, or even two of us. Come on, see it my way.”

  Sam frowned, obviously not happy. Jubal was smiling because Sam was getting some of his own medicine.

  “I can go with you and introduce you, Evan,” Serena said.

  Evan smiled.

  “Don’t worry, Serena, I know how to introduce myself. You go home with Jubal.” Evan looked at Sam and said, “All right?”

  Sam’s jaw was tight but he nodded and said, “Yeah, all right…but watch your step.”

  “I’ll watch it, brother,” Evan said. “I’ve had a lot of practice doing just that.”

  The stranger rode up to the Burkett house and dismounted. As a ranch hand approached him to ask if he could help him, the stranger tossed him his horse’s reins and said, “See to my horse, boy.”

  The hand tossed the reins right back and said, “I ain’t your boy. Whataya want here?”

  The stranger ignored the reins, which struck his chest and fell to the ground.

  “I have business with Mr. Burkett.”

  “Is that so?” the hand said. “Well, maybe Mr. Burkett doesn’t have business with you.”

  The stranger’s face split into a humorless smile. He was very tall, and clad in black, which made his dark eyes seem black, as well—as black as two small holes which now bore into the hand’s own eyes, chilling him.

  “Why don’t I go and ask him?” he said, and started for the front steps.

  “Hold it—” the hand said, putting his hand on the stranger’s arm. The stranger turned and rammed the heel of his other hand into the man’s jaw. The man’s head snapped back and he fell to the ground, blood from his severely bitten tongue seeping out from between his lips.

  As the stranger turned to approach the steps he heard some more men running up behind him. At that moment the front door opened and a man stepped out.

  “Are you Coffin?” Lincoln Burkett asked.

  “That’s me,” Coffin said. “You Burkett?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to call off your dogs before I have to kill some of them?”

  “Hold up, men!” Burkett said.

  Seven or eight hands had been rushing to the aide of their friend, and Burkett’s voice stopped them in their tracks.

  “This man works for me,” Burkett said. “Gear, have some men pick up Adams and take him to the doctor. Coffin, come inside.”

  “Sure,” Coffin said.

  He climbed the steps without looking back.

  As Evan McCall rode up to the Burkett house—what used to be his father’s house—he saw a man being helpedto his feet by several others. There was blood on the man’s chin and chest. It seemed to be pouring from his mouth.

  He reined in as the men helped the injured party away, and another man turned to face him.

  “Help ya?” Mike Gear asked.

  “I’d like to see Mr. Burkett.”

  “About what?”

  “Tell him Evan McCall is here
. I’d like to talk to him about my father.”

  “McCall?” the man asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “You Sam McCall’s brother?”

  “Right again.”

  “Is Mr. Burkett expecting you?”

  Evan opened his mouth to say no, then thought better of it and said, “I believe he is.”

  He looked at Evan as if he didn’t believe him and said, “Wait here.”

  The man was gone five or six minutes, and during that time Evan looked over the house. Several improvements had been made since the last time he was there. They could have been made by his father, but he suspected that they had been made recently, by Lincoln Burkett. For one thing, the wood of the front steps looked rather new. There also seemed to have been some work done on the roof. Off to one side of the house, on the second floor, a new room was under construction.

  To his left he saw another horse, a gelding as black as night, tied off. From the look of it, it had just recently been ridden in. Evan was not Burkett’s only visitor.

  When the man returned he simply motioned to Evan from the top of the steps.

  Evan tied his horse off on a post in front of the house and followed the man inside. Without saying a word theman led him to a room that was either an office or a library. When he and his brothers had lived there with their parents it had simply been a spare room. Somehow Evan doubted that Lincoln Burkett would have any spare rooms in the house when he was finished.

  This room had been lined with bookshelves, which were now only half filled.

  “Mr. McCall,” Burkett said. At least, he assumed the man behind the desk was Burkett. He was a big man in his sixties who, in his youth, might have rivaled Sam McCall in size and girth. Now there seemed to be more belly than the man would have liked. “Evan McCall, I presume.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You can leave, Gear,” Burkett said to the other man. To Evan he said, “Please, sit down.”

  Evan moved to a cushioned chair and sat in it, his hat in his hand.

  “I’m Lincoln Burkett,” Burkett said, somewhat unnecessarily, at this point. “May I offer you a drink?”

  “Some good sherry, if you have it.”

  “Of course I have it,” Burkett said, and Evan thought, I knew you would.

  Burkett poured two snifters of sherry and handed one to Evan over the desk. He then sat in his leather chair with the other glass in his hands.

  “Your brothers are not with you?”

  “No.”

  “You are the spokesman, then?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Well, tell me how I can help you.”

  “You can tell me about the…sale of this house.”

  “What is there to tell?” Burkett said. “I made your father an offer and he took it.”

  “An offer?” Evan said, leaning forward. In spite ofhimself he was growing angry. “That broken-down adobe hut for this ranch?”

  Burkett laughed, which raised Evan’s temperature even higher.

  “I assure you, Mr. McCall, it was not broken down when I made the deal. It was a fine-looking house. Your father expressed an interest in moving to a smaller house. If it is broken down now, well…”

  “Still, I don’t see how anyone could have exchanged this ranch for any house, even-up.”

  Burkett put his glass down on his desk and spread his hands helplessly.

  “What can I tell you, Mr. McCall? That was the deal your father and I made.”

  Evan put his glass down so hard on Burkett’s desk that some of the sherry spilled.

  “Bullshit!”

  “Now look—” Burkett started, but Evan stood and cut the man off.

  “Nobody can tell me my father agreed to a deal like that…not of his own free will!”

  “Are you suggesting that my purchase of this house and this land was not legal, sir?”

  “I’m saying it wasn’t on the up and up,” Evan said. “It couldn’t have been.”

  “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, Mr. McCall, but someone must be giving you bad information—”

  “I suppose it wasn’t you who had some of your men beat up Dude Miller the other night?”

  “Mr. Miller was beaten up?” Burkett said, looking surprised. “I hadn’t heard that. I hope he wasn’t severely injured.”

  “As if you really care.”

  “Now, Mr. McCall,” Burkett said, standing, “if you’regoing to become abusive I’m going to have to ask you to leave my house.”

  “Your house!” Evan said, rising to his feet in disgust. “You stole this house, Burkett, and my brothers and I intend to prove it.”

  Burkett’s hand came up and he was holding a Navy Colt in it that must have come out of his desk. It was a pretty big gun to keep in a desk drawer. Evan assumed that when Burkett produced it he intended to impress someone.

  Evan was impressed, and he was angrier than before, this time at himself for being caught flatfooted like that. Sam wouldn’t have allowed that to happen.…

  “Please,” Burkett said, “leave.”

  “I’m leaving,” Evan said, moving toward the door, “but you haven’t seen the last of me.”

  “Don’t make threats, McCall,” Burkett said, dropping his polite act. “You’re in no position.”

  “I’m not making threats, Burkett, I’m making a promise. If my brothers and I find out you had anything to do with my father’s death—”

  “Oh, so now I’m a murderer?” Burkett demanded, cocking the hammer on the Colt.

  Evan stared at the barrel of the Colt and said, “I don’t know—suppose you tell me.”

  There was a tense moment as the two men stood that way, and then Burkett slowly let the hammer on the Colt down.

  “I haven’t had anyone beaten up, I didn’t have anyone killed, and I bought this house legally. If you want to prove otherwise, be my guest.”

  Evan put his hat on and left, too angry for words.

  Riding back he thought maybe he should have let Sam come. Maybe when Burkett went for the Navy Colt, Sam would’ve seen the move and killed him.

  Maybe, if Burkett had been facing Sam McCall instead of Evan, he never would have gone for the gun.

  As the front door closed on Evan McCall, Burkett put the Navy Colt away and left the room. He walked down the hall and opened the first door he came to.

  “Could you hear all that?” he asked Coffin.

  “I heard.”

  “That was Evan McCall.”

  “I said I heard. What do you want me to do?”

  “Eventually, I’ll want you to kill Sam McCall’maybe even all the McCalls.”

  “Eventually?”

  “I don’t want to jeopardize my standing in this community, Burkett said, “not just yet. I want to watch them for a while.”

  “I get paid, whether I kill them or not.”

  “Of course,” Burkett said. “For now take a room at the hotel and keep yourself ready.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s all…for now.”

  Coffin shrugged.

  “It’s your money.”

  “It’s my money,” Burkett said, “my ranch, and my town. Soon everyone will know that.”

  When Evan returned to town he found Sam and Jubal waiting for him at the Miller house.

  “What happened?” Jubal asked as Serena led Evan into the parlor.

  “You don’t look like it went real well,” Sam said.

  “Remember what a good idea I thought it was if I went alone?”

  “Yes?”

  Evan related his conversation with Burkett word for word, then watched his brothers and waited.

  “So?” Sam finally said. “Wa s it good sherry?”

  “Is that all you can say?”

  Sam shrugged.

  “So you made an ass out of yourself. It happens to us all at some time or another. I’m sure this wasn’t your first time?”

  “And it won’t be
your last,” Serena said.

  “I woulda killed him,” Jubal said.

  “You probably would have got yourself killed,” Sam said. “Evan did fine.”

  “I started airing my lungs and got caught flatfooted,” Evan said. “That wouldn’t have happened to you.”

  “I’ve been known to cuss my head off a time or two,” Sam said.

  “He was lying, you know,” Serena said. “About everything.”

  “He probably was,” Sam said, “but we still can’t prove it.”

  “We should just kill him,” Jubal said.

  “That’s real smart thinkin’, kid,” Sam said.

  Jubal stuck his jaw out and said, “Don’t tell me you ain’t never killed anybody.”

  “Sure I did, when they needed killin—and when they were tryin’ to kill me. Now shut up and let the adults think.”

  “I ain’t an adult?” Jubal asked, belligerently.

  “You ain’t actin’ like one.”

  “I’ll show you who ain’t an adult.”

  “Pshh.” Sam made a sound that meant “Don’t bother me,” and Jubal stepped up, swung and hit his older brother right in the jaw.

  Sam’s head jerked a bit, certainly not the reaction Jubal was looking for. On top of that, Jubal had hurt his hand.

  “Ow,” he said, and then his eyes widened as he saw Samswing backhanded. He couldn’t avoid the blow, which struck him on the jaw and knocked him over the sofa.

  “Stop it!” Serena shouted.

  “I’ll stop them,” Evan said.

  He went over to Jubal and hauled him to his feet.

  “That’s enough, kid.”

  “I told you not to call me kid,” Jubal said, and he hit Evan. “Damn!” he said, because he used his already bruised hand.

  “Why, you—” Evan said, and hit Jubal in the stomach. Jubal grabbed himself and fell onto his butt. He sat there, gasping, trying to get his air.

  “Stop it!” Serena said again.

  “It’s stopped,” Sam said, scowling down at Jubal. “You wanna hit anyone else?”

  Jubal looked up, his eyes wide, and shook his head.

  “All right,” Sam said, “so we’ve all let off a little steam and we didn’t break any furniture, or any bones…” He looked down at Jubal and said, “Did we?”

  Jubal was breathing a bit easier, but he wasn’t yet able to speak, so he just shook his head.

  “Serena, why don’t you make some coffee and we’ll sit down and see if we can’t figure out what our next move should be.”