Return of the Outlaw Read online

  “Hot one,” agreed the tall man.

  “You’re from out here, ain’t you?” said Vine.

  The tall man nodded, “How’d you know?”

  “I can tell. Westerners are different, ‘specially desert people. People from other places marvel at the heat, like they knew it was goin’ to be hot but they just can’t believe any place short of hell could get this hot.”

  “They’re probably right about that,” the tall man said.

  They stood in silence for a moment, watching a dust devil whirl itself across the terrain—a miniature hurricane whose life cycle lasted less than a minute and made no appreciable impression on the impassive desert. Vine broke a long splinter from a corral post and began picking his teeth with it. “Comin’ back from the war?”

  The tall man turned to face the old driver. It was for this very reason he had discarded his uniform in favor of a suit of civilian clothes. Having fellow travelers constantly ask him about the war and his wounds had made him uncomfortable. Now the driver was doing it. But for some reason he didn’t mind. He liked the westerner’s easy openness.

  “What else you figured out about me?”

  “Got yourself shot in the knee.”

  Jeff Havens shook his head, “Bayonet.”

  Vine’s response to this was a furrowing of the brow. “What else?”

  “Head wound.”

  “Thought so. Notice you rub it a lot.”

  Almost unconsciously Jeff moved his hand to his head, rubbed the small, still-tender scar and realized for the thousandth time he was lucky to be alive. He thought back to the military hospital where he had lain for so many weeks. Mercifully, he had been comatose for the first few of them, but slowly, by degrees, consciousness had returned to him. During most of that time he was one of the numerous unidentified soldiers who were stretched out on the bare floors of makeshift hospitals without even a blanket to lie on. During all this time there had been no word from Anne. Still, he did not doubt her. Besides, if her feelings had changed or she had found someone else she would have written to tell him. To break off without informing him would be cruel, and Anne was incapable of cruelty. It had to be something else—probably the slow and inefficient military mail service.

  Vine had now turned his back to the corral and stood leaning against it with one boot heel hooked on the bottom pole. “Guess it makes a man feel mighty proud to fight for his country and make the kind of sacrifice you made.”

  Jeff looked away. He had a momentary vision of the battlefield: tens of thousands of young men lying dead, his friends, Bob Webb and Ham Keyes among them, their bodies torn and dismembered trampled underfoot by fresh waves of men surging forward to be killed or maimed themselves.

  He just nodded.

  It was almost dusk when the stage pulled in to town, on schedule after an uneventful trip. Vine pulled the coach to a stop in the middle of town. The leather throughbraces creaked one final complaining sigh, Vine tasted the last of the dust he would swallow that day and savored, for a brief moment, the silence and the motionlessness. “You’re here,” he croaked to the passengers below, through dust-caked vocal cords.

  Jeff waited for the other passengers to disembark so he could take his time stretching out his right leg. The knee would be stiff from the long hours of cramped immobility. It had been a long and arduous trip for him. It was a long and arduous trip under the best of circumstances, but Jeff had not completely recuperated from his wounds. It could be worse, he considered, as he endured the acid pain in his knee on taking his first few tentative steps outside the stage, at least now he could walk without a crutch, and the headaches were almost gone.

  The small group of people who had gathered to greet the incoming stage was dispersing. Jeff’s eyes searched and found no familiar face there to greet him. “Must not have gotten my letter,“ he thought. He forced himself to keep the excitement that had been growing within him through the entire journey, from turning to disappointment. The warm homecoming he had anticipated would have to wait a little longer, that was all.

  Suddenly he felt light-headed and weak. He stepped back over to the stage and steadied himself against the wheel.

  “This one’s yours.”

  It was Vine, holding the small carpetbag in which Jeff carried his few belongings. The bag could have stayed on the stage for all he cared; it contained little that mattered to him now, its main bulk consisting of his blue Union Army uniform which had been replaced by the now travel-stained civilian clothes.

  “Thanks,” he said as he accepted the bag.

  “You got a place to stay? You don’t look too good.”

  Jeff nodded. “I’m fine. I’m home.”

  “Good luck,” said Vine, and he turned toward the saloon, which did double duty as the stage office.

  Jeff turned away and his eyes again swept the boardwalk on both sides of the street, searching for someone he no longer expected to find. Again disappointment welled and again he forced it back. After being gone for over two years and traveling across most of the continent, he could wait a little longer and travel a few more miles to see her. He limped up the street toward the livery stable, scanning the few faces on the street and finding none that were familiar.

  The town had changed little in the time he had been gone except that it seemed a little older, the paint on the buildings—the few that had been painted—more dull and cracked. The place wore an air of listlessness as if idly awaiting some anticipated event. There were no new buildings, and some of the old ones had been boarded up, but Ollie’s Livery was still there and as Jeff rounded the corner and went inside, his nostrils caught familiar, earthy smells that were pleasant to him. Ollie Shepard was pouring grain into a feed bucket. He looked up and his face remained neutral for a few moments, then warm recognition spread over his leathery features. He grabbed Jeff’s hand and pumped it vigorously.

  “Welcome back boy, welcome back. He looked Jeff up and down. “You look a sight. I’d say you’ve lost thirty pounds. Look like you’ve been hard wintered.”

  Jeff nodded. “Doin’ better now.”

  Ollie said, “Didn’t know you were comin’ home yet.”

  “Didn’t John tell you?” asked Jeff, surprised.

  “No; he didn’t know. I saw him yesterday, said he didn’t know when.”

  “I wrote.”

  “You didn’t send the letter to him did you? ‘Cause that would explain it.”

  “No, of course not.” Jeff was well aware that neither his grandfather nor Amado knew how to read. They had agreed before he left, that Jeff would write to Anne, who would relay appropriate messages to his grandfather and Amado.

  “I sent the letter to Anne,” Jeff said, “just like always, but I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

  Ollie dropped his gaze, his expression changing, “Oh well, they’ll be glad to see you anyhow.” Turning toward the stalls he said, “Guess you’ll be wantin’ to get out there.” He lifted a bridle from a peg and walked to the first stall. The bay gelding inside reached his head over the top rail of the gate and nuzzled him fondly. Ollie slipped the bridle on, opened the gate and led the gelding out and saddled him for Jeff.

  “Fine lookin’ animal,” Jeff said.

  “He’s the best I’ve got and that’s what you’re going to ride home. The best.”

  Jeff was unsure of what to do now. He reached tentatively in his pocket and withdrew a small leather coin pouch, but quickly replaced it when Ollie said, “You know better than that.”

  Jeff stepped into the saddle. “Thanks Ollie.”

  Ollie had an odd smile on his face and there was a look in the wise old eyes Jeff was unable to interpret. “Get out of here kid,” he said, and slapped the horse on the rump.

  The desert was cooling off now that the sun was down and the heat of the day was past. It was good to be in the saddle again; it had been a long time since Jeff had ridden a horse. The excitement he had been repressing had returned, dispelling some of the si
ckness and fatigue he felt. It was only two and a half miles to the Hammond farm and he could scarcely wait to see the look on Anne’s face when she saw him. Soon she would be in his arms again and all would be well. The long ordeal would be over.

  In the moonlight the Hammond farm seemed unchanged, and this was reassuring. It helped to quell the small, gnawing fear that sometimes rose up from within and worried him. As he approached the house, the anticipation he had been feeling turned to anxiety. This was normal, he reasoned; he had been away for so long. Still he began thinking of reasons to delay going in. For the first time he thought of his appearance. His ill-fitting and travel-stained clothes were an embarrassment and he was self-conscious about his thinness. Maybe he should go home first. He could clean up, have a good night’s sleep, a good breakfast and a change of clothes and come back in the morning. After two years couldn’t he wait one more night?

  His mind asked the question, and his heart answered it. No, he couldn’t wait one more night or even one more minute. Not now—now that he was this close.

  He dismounted and almost stumbled from the jolt of pain in his knee. He limped up the steps to the porch, and with pounding heart, knocked on the door.

  In a moment the door opened, and Anne’s sister, Alice stood before him, plump as always but with two years growth on her since he had last seen her. A shaft of moonlight stole through the doorway and shone on her straight, dark hair.

  She looked at Jeff expectantly. “Can I do something for you?” He realized she did not recognize him. He must look like some saddle tramp riding the grub line.

  “Hello, Alice.”

  Her eyes narrowed for a moment then widened in recognition and surprise, but there was no welcome in them, and no smile.

  “Jeff, I didn’t recognize you, what a surprise.”

  “You’ve changed too,” he said. “You’ve grown taller. She smiled faintly but said nothing. A moment passed and he began to feel awkward. “Could I come in?”

  “Why yes, of course,” she said, but he sensed her hesitancy. She stepped back, opening the door more widely, and Jeff moved into the room.

  “Mother, Jeff Havens is here,” Alice called out.

  Jeff caught something in her voice, a trace of worry perhaps.

  The house, like the night, was uncomfortably warm, but it was full of the pleasant, homey smells he remembered. His nose told him supper was on the stove, reminding him he had eaten nothing since noon.

  Audrey Hammond, aproned and sweating, stepped into the room from the porch where the stove was located, a look of surprise and pleasure already fixed on her face. The look was insincere, as Jeff had known it would be—there had never been any great love between him and her, but Jeff was hoping to dispense with the old enmity, and for Anne’s sake, build a better relationship with his future mother-in-law.

  Audrey’s false smile dimmed perceptibly at her first sight of Jeff but was quickly retrieved as she rushed forward and hugged him, an act that made the situation seem more awkward. Backing away she said, “Jeffrey it’s so nice to see you again.” She had always called him by the long form of his name, knowing he disliked it.

  “We’ve missed you so much, young man.” She spoke in the same false, mawkish way he remembered.

  “Thank you,” he replied. “You look very well Mrs. Hammond.”

  In an attempt at girlishness that made her look foolish, Audrey primped and smoothed her dress, obviously misunderstanding the compliment. There was an uncomfortable silence, brief but significant.

  “Everett isn’t here,” she said. “He should be back any time.”

  It seemed a strange thing to say but Jeff was too apprehensive to spend any time pondering strange things. He was back. He had survived some of the bloodiest battles of one of the bloodiest conflicts in human history. He had been wounded and had hovered near death for weeks, and he had survived this too. He had endured terrible pain and loneliness, and in his present sick and weak condition, he had crossed most of the breadth of the continent. He had kept his promise: he had returned. And now, here under the roof of Anne’s home, he did not care where Everett was; he had come to see Anne.

  “Is she here?” he asked.

  “Why yes, yes she is,” Audrey paused, and her smile became more forced. “Alice, go get Anne.”

  Alice left the room, and Audrey motioned Jeff to a chair against the far wall. “Sit down, Jeffrey; I need to check the stove.” She turned and disappeared through the doorway to the porch, closing the door behind her.

  Jeff knew Audrey had to tend to her cooking. He also knew the door was used in the summer months to keep the heat of the stove from entering the house; still he felt abandoned and ill at ease. As he crossed the room to sit down he passed a mirror hanging on the wall and saw his reflection for the first time in weeks. Immediately he regretted his impatient decision to come here first rather than going home to clean up and change clothing. His body was thin and slightly stooped from fatigue. His clothes hung formlessly on his gaunt, six-foot-two-inch frame. His face was bearded and haggard, and he knew by his reflection, even more than by the way he felt, that the doctors had been right when they said he was not ready to attempt such a long journey.

  “Well I’m here now,” he thought as he tried to comb his unruly, dark hair with his fingers, “and that’s what really counts.” He knew that any second Anne would burst through the door and rush into his arms, and nothing else could possibly matter after that.

  But it was more than a few seconds, in fact it was ten minutes before he heard a soft rustle in the hallway and Anne appeared.

  He rose and faced her expectantly, holding his hat in his hands.

  She looked different. Her face was ashen and drawn, her eyes were red and there was no welcoming in them.

  “Hello Anne,” he said.

  Alice appeared in the doorway behind Anne., The door from the porch opened and Audrey entered the room bringing the tantalizing smells of hot food with her. Jeff’s stomach growled. He was sure he would be invited to stay for supper. Anne smiled weakly, and walked toward him. They embraced in the middle of the room, but she avoided his lips and held to him but briefly, then stepped back. He watched her, but her eyes would not meet his. He was mystified by this change in her.

  “It’s good to see you again,” he said, unable to think of anything else to ease the awkwardness.

  She looked up at him, and her face was lifeless. “It’s good to see you too, Jeff.”

  This time he caught her eyes and tried without success to define what he saw there. He attempted to hold her gaze, but she looked away. The porch door closed again—Audrey had returned to her cooking, but Alice remained in the doorway. Jeff wished she would leave, so he and Anne could speak more freely.

  “Shall we go for a walk?” he asked.

  She moved toward the door. He reached for her hand and held it as they walked. They sat on a wooden bench, under a tree. There was a soft breeze rustling in the branches above them, but otherwise, except for the chirping of crickets, the night was quiet. The moon shining through the leaves laid a gently moving lace of moonlight and shadow on Anne’s oval face, and she looked like the old Anne. The lines of unhappiness were erased by the benevolent light, and the paleness was camouflaged. It was the same face he had seen in a thousand cook-fires, the face that had visited him in his bittersweet dreams, the one he had seen whenever he had closed his eyes and thought of her. He pulled her to him and kissed her. He felt her lips on his, but there was no submissiveness, no warmth in them. After a moment she pulled away.

  “I love you, Anne,” he said, trying desperately to draw out the old passion.

  She took a deep breath. He saw her lips tighten, and she closed her eyes. After a moment she looked up at him and his stomach was gripped by an iron fist of dread greater than any fear he had experienced in battle.

  She said, “I need to talk to you Jeff, there’s something I have to tell you.” There was no hardness in her tone, nor was there gent
leness. Her face and voice were like windblown sand upon which no creature has trodden and there is no story to be read.

  “What is it Anne?” His own voice betrayed none of the turbulence beneath.

  “I’m engaged to marry someone else.”

  Jeff’s world collapsed inside his chest. All of his hopes and plans for the future dissolved into nothing, and a great painful sense of loss enveloped him. He allowed none of this to show on his face. He understood how difficult this must be for Anne. Nor did he wish to make a bigger fool of himself than he already had. All that remained was for him to make the rest of this meeting as short and painless as possible for both of them. He struggled to think of something to say. “Are you happy?” he asked her, immediately regretting the question.

  “Yes.”

  “Good . . . that’s . . .” He broke off then murmured, “the important thing is that you’re happy.”

  She was looking into his eyes now, deeply. Jeff attempted a smile. “Tell me who he is, so I’ll know who to congratulate.” In an effort to mitigate the awkwardness he tried to sound unconcerned. The effect was a sort of false cheerfulness. It was the biggest lie he had ever told, and she believed it.

  She dropped her gaze and said without emotion, “Milt Carr.”

  He tried to think of the next thing to say but was spared the effort when Audrey interrupted.

  “Anne, I think you should come in now.”

  Jeff was grateful for the intervention. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Keeping a few feet of distance between them, they walked to the house. He tried not to limp as they crossed the yard, feeling, for some reason, the need to hide all his wounds. Anne reached the door ahead of him and turned to face him. Her eyes were in shadow.

  “Best of everything to you, Anne.”

  “And to you.” Her voice was almost inaudible. There was something in it and in the lingering look she gave him, but he was through trying to decipher the indecipherable. And if it was sympathy, he wanted none of it.

  “So long,” he said. He turned away and heard her close the door behind him. He walked to his horse, heart-weary, and lifted himself into the saddle. He rode toward the Rafter 8, allowing the horse to choose its own gait—an easy-going walk. There was no hurry now.