Through Darkest America

Chapter Twenty-One

Howie tried hard to put the whole business aside, but it wouldn’t go away. He knew he’d handled it badly. He’d had it all over the skinny little stranger and the man had gotten the best of him.

It made him swell up inside just to think about it. If you didn’t take care of yourself in Roundtree, someone else’d sure do it for you. He’d learned his lessons well, and had the scars to prove it. Only—this one had called his bluff and walked clean away.

He knew what had happened. All that talk about Cory had taken the fight out of him and made him act just like a kid again. There wasn’t a day passed that he didn’t think about Cory—he couldn’t forget, and didn’t want to. Long ago, though, he had put that part of himself away in a special place that didn’t hurt so much. It was there, and he could get to it when he wanted to. Only the stranger had come along and found it and brought it right out in the open.

Howie was sure he was going to be sick. The fat, succulent meat he’d eaten earlier was turning heavy in his stomach. He passed a whiskey seller and wondered if a drink would help. Probably just make things worse. He didn’t much like the stuff, anyway.

He tried to think about something else. He thought of Kari Ann and wondered if she was back at the Keep. He thought about the way her eyes looked, gray and smoky and kind of half closed all the time. Like she was just getting out of bed, or thinking about going. He brushed the picture aside. It just made him feel worse, in a different way.

Howie wondered again just who the man was and what he was really after. Maybe he was one of Colonel Monroe’s people, just fishing around, trying to spook anyone who worked for Pardo and pick up whatever he could.. Probably, he hadn’t ever even known Cory. Finding out what had happened out there wouldn’t be any big thing. One of Pardo’s crew could’ve gotten too much corn whiskey in his gut and talked when he should have been listening.

What was he supposed to do—run and tell Pardo all about it and see if that would put some fat in the fire? Make Pardo itchy, so he’d pull something Monroe could hang on him? Or maybe he, Howie, was supposed to keep the meeting to himself and let Monroe slip the word to Pardo that you couldn’t trust Howie on the street. Howie kicked a big rock and sent it rattling down the alleyway. Lordee, there was sure a lot more thinking to the stealing business than he’d ever figured!

Pardo’s keep was a big, sprawling two-story clapboard left over from Roundtree’s early days. At one time or another it had served as a hotel, brothel, town hall, dry goods store, and, finally, a warehouse for stock feed. It still smelled strongly of the latter. Now, it housed Pardo’s immediate band, eight men and assorted females.

Pardo was extra careful about who stayed in the Keep. The riders he hired from time to time weren’t welcome there and unapproved visitors were frowned upon. Pardo didn’t trust the people who lived there, much less those who didn’t.

The Keep was on the far edge of town, with no other houses close at hand. It backed up to the dry river bed with plenty of breathing room all around so you could see who was coming before they got there. Lew Renner lazed on the porch with a rifle on his lap. Howie nodded as he went up the board steps and inside. The big front room took up most of the lower floor. There was a kitchen in back with rough cabinets for foodstuffs and cooking gear. Boxes, crates, and straw mattresses littered both the main room and the kitchen. A few patched chairs and broken stools were scattered about, but there was no real furniture as such. The Keep was a place that kept other people out while you slept, ate, had a woman, or made plans to go somewhere else. No one pretended anyone lived there, or cared to.

Howie tripped over a box of trash, cursed, and kicked it aside. Glass and broken pottery clattered across the board floor; the noise brought Klu stomping halfway down the stairs. The big man glared at him.

“Where the hell you been, boy?”

“None of your godamn business,” Howie told him.

Klu muttered something to himself. “Well jest turn your little ass ’round and get it back where you come from. Pardo wants you to haul out to Kearney’s right quick and fetch Yargo. He’s got a deal goin’ on them mounts.”

Howie didn’t look at him. His foot had gone right through the trash box and left him with grease clear to his ankles. He squatted on a crate and scraped meat tallow from his boot with a stick.

“Listen,” said Klu, “you hear me?”

“I hear you, but I ain’t in no hurry to go horse ridin’ in the hot sun. Reckon you better get someone else.”

Klu seemed to think about that. “He didn’t say no one else. He said you.”

Howie stood and faced him. “It don’t make no difference who runs out to Kearney’s. Ben Yargo’ll be dirt crawlin’ drunk and ain’t going to have no idea who come after him.”

Klu just stood there, looking at him. Howie could hardly see his eyes; they were tiny black points lost under heavy brows. Klu was wearing dirty cotton pants and no shirt. The tangled hair from his beard flowed into the thick mat that covered his powerful chest and shoulders. “Well,” he growled finally, “Pardo said you was to do it.”

“I ain’t going to do it, though,” Howie explained flatly. “So it’ll have to be Lew or Jake or whoever.”

Klu’s face reddened. His big fists tightened and, for a moment, Howie thought he might leap right off the stairs. Instead, he shot Howie a look of open disgust and thundered down the steps and past him. Howie heard his great voice roar at Lew, then the man scrambled off the porch for his mount.

Even a few weeks before it might have been a different story. Klu could still squeeze the life out of Howie— that hadn’t changed. But Howie wasn’t the same anymore and Klu seemed to sense it. He’d seen it long before anyone else, including Pardo and Howie himself. There was more man there now and less boy. He was quick with a knife and better than Pardo with a pistol.

Klu didn’t fear him—there wasn’t anything moving the big man was scared to tackle. But Klu was closer to the earth than most men; he took a lot more stock in things he smelled on the air or felt in his gut than he did in the thoughts that came to his head. And the thing he knew about Howie was that you’d likely be dead about one fine hair before you had any idea Howie meant to put a neat little hole between your eyes. More than that, he’d let Howie have his way this time because he was certain Howie himself had no idea just when he’d decide to kill a man.

Howie checked his boots again and glanced disdainfully about the room. He was dead sure what his mother would’ve said about Pardo’s Keep, and she’d be close to right, too. Anyone who didn’t know better would figure stock lived there instead of people. He hitched his belt and moved up the stairs to his room:

“Well, hey now.”

The voice turned him around. Kari Ann stood against the kitchen door, watching him. She was a tall girl, slim and lean as a sapling, with skin as sun-dark as Howie’s. Her hair, wet from washing, hung in black strands about her shoulders. The man’s shirt she wore near swallowed her up, and she made no effort to keep buttons where they belonged. Howie pretended not to notice there was nothing under the shirt except Kari Ann. Kari saw him and gave him a look of quiet amusement.

“Baby, old Klu is going to jump you good one of these days. You know?”

“He might.”

Kari made a face and laughed to herself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, what?”

“Nothing!”

Howie scowled and muttered to himself. “Anything you say ever mean somethin’?”

“Sometimes.”

“When? I don’t reckon I recall.”

Kari pursed her lips and frowned thoughtfully. “Leeet’s see now…”

Howie shook his head and turned up the stairs. Kari laughed and followed, then passed him, long legs flying. In his room, she dropped down on his straw mattress and crossed her ankles. From her shirt pocket she took a