“Amy! Can I talk to you a minute?”
Surprise was in her eyes, but not the disgust that he had seen so often in others. Wirt took her hand and helped her up to the walk.
They found privacy inside the shop. “Amy,” he said awkwardly, “how long has it been since you saw Jeff?”
She dropped her glance. “Yesterday, Mr. Sewell. We went out to Stone Ridge.”
“Yes,” Wirt said heavily. “I heard he had some land out there. Did he—say anything about his aunt?” Sudden color appeared in her cheeks, and Wirt murmured, “Yes, I guess he did.” Then he steeled himself and asked bluntly, “Amy, do you love him?”
She looked up quickly, startled. But when she saw the gray weariness in his face, she felt more at ease.
“I don't know, Mr. Sewell. I used to be so sure of every-thing, but now— My father has forbidden me to see him again.”
Wirt said quietly, “I guess I can't blame Ford for that.” He moved a hand aimlessly over his face, forcing a smile. “Well, thank you for stopping, Amy.”
Wirt turned slightly, gazing emptily at the dust clouds that rose over the cattle pens. “It's a funny thing,” he said, “but I guess Beulah and I didn't know how much the boy meant to us until he went away. Or maybe Beulah did know—because she did that thing for what she thought was his own good. Amy, does he hate us as much as he thinks he does?”
Her silence was her answer.
Wirt sighed. “Well, I guess he has the right to hate. But so did Nathan, long ago, when he was Jeff's age. Jeff's pa wasn't a bad boy at all. Oh, Nathan was a little wild, maybe, but a hard worker and not really bad. He worked in the stables before your own pa came to Plainsville; made his own living and took some hard knocks while doing it. So Nate was bitter on this town, like Jeff is now. He married Beulah's baby sister, but his wife died that first winter. Pneumonia, right after the boy was born. Nate blamed it on the town, because it wouldn't trust him for money to buy medicine and rations.”
Now Wirt turned from the window and faced Amy. “I guess I'm scared,” he said evenly. “I watched Nate's anger grow to a thing of destruction, just the way Jeff's is growing now. I saw the violence mount in Nate until there was no holding him, until he was bound to kill somebody before he was through.” Slowly he shook his head. “Amy, I am scared. I can see it happening all over again in Jeff, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I think Nate saw it in his son, too, and was scared by it.”
Amy stood as straight as a lance, her face pale. “Mr. Sewell, is there anything I can do?”
“No—not if you don't love him.”.
“I didn't say that.”
Wirt smiled faintly and nodded. “I know. But Ford Wintworth can be a strong-willed man when he's riled. I guess he's heard that Jeff threw down on the marshal last night.”
“I can handle my father,” Amy said firmly.
Heat had driven Jeff from his hot, boxlike room above Frank Ludlow's store. For a moment he stood on the plank walk at the foot of the stairs, amazed how alone a person could feel with people swarming all around him. His anger from the night before had subsided, and there was nothing to replace it.
He was sluggish from a sleepless night, and that unreal feeling of hollowness was growing again within him.
As he stood there he caught the sidelong glances thrown in his direction. There was new respect, even fear, in those glances. Here was the man who had made Flee Blasingame back down. Here was a dangerous man, even though he looked like a kid. With elaborate unconcern, grangers, cowhands, and townspeople sidestepped when they approached him, careful not to jostle him.
Jeff smiled faintly and without humor. Without firing a shot he had suddenly acquired a reputation as a dangerous gunman. The name of Blaine had made it so, at one quick impulsive draw on the marshal.
For a long time they had wondered. For a long time they had considered his arrogance, quietly pondering the question of whether Nate Blaine's violent blood actually flowed in his son's veins. Now they knew, or they thought they did.
Only Jeff and Elec Blasingame knew that the show of deadliness had been mostly luck, because Elec had not been prepared for the draw. Ignoring such an obvious truth would be suicide, and Jeff instinctively knew it. What would happen another time, with Elec ready for him, he could not say; he hoped he'd never have to find out.
Only after it was over, in the thoughtful hours of a restless night, had he realized how close he had come to killing a man. This was something that he had not considered until now, and the thought was terrifying.
Ralph Striker was in the Paradise when Jeff came in for breakfast. The lawman threw him a quick, hard glance. Then, with faked good humor, Striker walked down to Jeff's end of the counter. “Morning, Blaine,” he said casually, helping himself to several toothpicks.
Jeff nodded.
“Do me a favor, will you?” the deputy asked, his thin smile a bit forced. “Try to stay out of trouble. I'd like to get in a full day's sleep for a change.”
Jeff frowned as Striker got his hat and went out. Not until later did he learn the meaning behind the deputy's quiet warning.
Out of the Paradise, Jeff fingered the few bills and loose silver in his pocket. Because of that piece of land, he had almost tricked himself into thinking that he was a successful gambler, but those few dollars that made up his bankroll proved otherwise. He did not have the experience to sit in on high stake games, and dollars came slow and hard from the cautious store clerks and farmers. He had been able to hold off the urge to plunge, but now he felt impatience gnawing at him.
