Disclaimer:
Characters and situations from Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years belong to Hallmark Entertainment and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This story or the new characters created by the author are not to be published on any ftp site, newsgroup, mailing list, fanzine or elsewhere without the express permission of the author.
Author's Note: The winter solstice takes place on or about December 21 every year, and is the moment when the sun is at its southernmost position. For those in the northern hemisphere, this means that on the winter solstice the sun rises the latest and sets the earliest of the entire year. It hangs low and weak in the sky during the brief daylight hours, and daytime shadows are the longest. Because the day is the year's shortest, the winter solstice is also the time of the longest night.
~~~
"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset." ~ Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator ~
December 13, 1878
Trees, shrubs, and grass, drained of life months before, stood silent and grey, grim sentinels to the power of winter and the cold. All creation, as far as the eye could see, seemed devoid of life and color. As his horse trotted across the frozen ground, avoiding the deeper snowdrifts, the words of the telegram he had received played over and over in Austin's head to the cadence of the beating hooves.
December 6, 1878 -- Emergency -- stop -- Return home immediately -- stop -- F.C. Mosby.
The telegram was almost a week old by the time it had reached him at the mining camp. What could it mean? Why hadn't his family summoned him home? Had something happened to Father? To Hannah? Newt's disappearance and presumed death a few months previous crossed his mind. Surely, Newt hadn't met with another mishap. Sinister possibilities presented themselves in vivid detail, and Austin swallowed past the very real lump in his throat. He shook his dark thoughts away and spurred his mount into a gallop. He was almost home.
Curtis Wells came into view at the bottom of the next rise. As Austin reined him in, the big sorrel danced with impatience, ears pricked, nostrils flaring, eager for his stall and a good feed. Austin's heart pounded, and he fought down a rising panic and the sudden, mad urge to turn around and run, to gallop away from this place as fast as he could, never to face what awaited him below.
Reluctantly, he gave the gelding his head.
As they wound down into town, things seemed quiet and normal, but it only added to Austin's growing unease as he pulled up outside the livery. He dismounted, tossed the reins to Ed, the stable hand, and hurried towards the newspaper office. He glanced at he sheriff's office in passing; there was no sign of Newt.
The Montana Statesman looked closed and deserted. Taking the steps in a single stride, Austin tried the door. To his relief, it was unlocked. He was surprised at how cold it was inside. He could see his breath.
"Father?"
Austin pushed back the curtain that divided the workspace from the Peale living quarters. As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he could see Josiah slumped in his favorite chair in front of a stove gone cold.
Crossing the room quickly, he knelt and took Josiah's half-frozen hand in his. "Father."
Josiah's open eyes stared straight ahead, unseeing. His lips moved silently in his pale face. Austin looked at him with growing concern, noticing that Josiah was dirty and unkempt, his hair uncombed, his normally well-trimmed beard scraggly. "What is it, Father? What's happened?"
Josiah turned vacant eyes on his son. "Austin. It's so cold. There ought to be a fire. But the fire has gone out now. There's nothing left."
Austin pulled a coverlet off the settee and draped it around Josiah's hunched shoulders. Noticing that the wood box was empty, he hurried outside, and returning with some hastily chopped wood and kindling, he set about building a proper fire.
"You'll soon be warm, Father," he reassured Josiah as he placed a last log in the stove. He closed up the door and knelt beside him once more.
"What's happened, Father?" Austin pulled the telegram from his pocket and laid it in Josiah's lap. "Can you tell me? Why did Mr. Mosby send this telegram? What does it mean? Is Hannah all right? Where's Newt?"
Josiah opened his eyes and peered at his son. His hands worked in his lap, and he grew suddenly agitated. Throwing off the blanket, he stood up abruptly, rocking Austin back on his heels. "Where's Hannah? Where's your sister?" he demanded.
Austin got to his feet. "I don't know, Father. I'll go find her for you, all right?" He put his arm around Josiah's thin shoulders and tried to calm him. He had almost succeeded in getting him back in his chair when Josiah became combatant. He flailed his arms and tore away from Austin. Turning to the mantle, he took down Hannah's wedding picture and caressed it gently with his fingertips. "Hannah, Hannah," he whimpered, his eyes filling with tears.
Austin felt his breath catch in his throat.
Josiah allowed Austin to lead him back to his chair and replace the blanket that had fallen off in the struggle. He hugged Hannah's picture to his chest.
"You sit here, Father, it's getting warmer now. I'm going to go get Newt."
Josiah didn't reply.
Austin's feet felt like lead, and he had to catch himself on the doorpost as he stumbled outside. He closed the door and leaned heavily against it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shut his eyes tightly.
"Austin?"
He looked up to see Ida Grayson approaching him from across the street. He rushed down the steps to meet her, grabbing her hands in his. "Ida, where's Hannah? She's out at the ranch, isn't she? I can ride out there and see her right now, can't I? Can't I, Ida? Can't I?" he demanded, searching her face.
Ida looked down at Austin's hands clutching her own. Her warm brown eyes filled with tears.
Austin's face blanched, and he released Ida suddenly. He staggered back against the hitching rail, covering his face with his hands. "Oh, God! No!"
Ida placed her hand on his arm. "Oh, Austin, I thought you knew. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Dry sobs wracked Austin's body. "But what . . . how?"
"It was an accident -- an explosion at the general merchandise store. Hannah was inside."
Austin steeled himself. He had to ask the next question. He had to know. He raised his eyes to hers. "And Newt?"
Ida shrugged. "He's not here. No one's seen him since it happened."
"But he's alive?"
"Yes."
"Then why isn't he here? I don't understand. Where is he?"
Ida looked away. "I don't know, Austin."
~~~
The falling snow touched Austin's upturned face, bringing him back to the silent world around him. He had never felt so cold, so utterly empty. In an instant, in the blink of an eye, his life had changed forever.
Hannah was gone.
Austin dropped his gaze to the frozen ground, the enormity of his loss only beginning to wash over him here in this place.
Here Hannah had struggled with her captor, and here she had died trying to protect another life. So like Hannah. So like his loving sister.
But where did that leave him?
Alone in a darkened world with her spark gone out forever. Alone with a father gone old overnight, raving and rambling out of his head. And Newt, his closest friend, gone God knows where.
The wind brushed the snow from the scarred ground in front of him as Austin watched a solitary raven land near a pile of burned-out timbers and begin pecking about amidst the debris. With a strangled cry, he grabbed whatever he could find to chuck at the bird. "Get out of here, you bloody scavenger!" he yelled as he fired off a barrage of stones and frozen dirt clods. The raven scolded Austin as it flew off, its raucous voice fading in the distance.
Austin waited, making sure the bird did not return. As he turned to go, hot, silent tears forced themselves from under his lids, blinding him to the ruts in the road, and he stumbled and fell to his knees, cursing. He got numbly to his feet and started down the street, not knowing where he was heading, not caring. He had nowhere to go.
The snow was falling faster now, and it was almost dark. Stopping to look about him, Austin realized that he was standing outside the Ambrosia Club. He wiped his wet face on his sleeve and went inside.
~~~
Colonel Clay Mosby looked at his watch, snapped it shut, and slipped it back into his pocket. He sighed. It was closing time.
"How long's he been here?" he asked his bartender, indicating the lone patron at the table in the far corner of the darkened saloon.
Carson shrugged. "Came in right about sundown. Been drinkin' steady. He's put away quite a lot. I told him he'd had enough, but he ordered another bottle."
Clay nodded. "Best send him on home. Josiah shouldn't be alone tonight."
Clay shook his head as he watched Carson rouse the young Peale and send him on his way, locking the door behind him. His heart went out to Austin. It wasn't easy losing someone you loved so suddenly, so violently. The young man had a long road in front of him. Clay Mosby knew that better than anyone. He sighed again, the memory of Hannah's bright smile fading into darkness as he climbed the steps to his solitary bedchamber.
Outside, the cold revived Austin somewhat. He stood looking up into the swirling snow. He stuck out his tongue, tasting the fresh flakes.
"You missed me, Austin; you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."
"Oh yeah? Come over here and say that."
Whump! A snowball hit him squarely in the jaw, followed by Hannah's tinkling laughter.
"Why, you little minx! I'll get you!"
Austin blew on his cold, bare hands and then grabbed up a handful of snow and fired off another shot at his sister. Her startled gasp told him that he had hit his mark.
"Race you home, Hannah, come on!"
Austin shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and stamping his feet to keep warm. Realizing how late it was, he turned towards home. The wind made little, swirling eddies around his feet as he trudged down the boardwalk alone.
~~~
December 14, 1878
"Austin . . . Bet you can't find me!"
"Where are you, Hannah?"
"Here I am, Austin, over here. Can't you see me? You're not looking hard enough."
"I am looking, Hannah. I can't see you. Where are you?"
Austin awoke in a cold sweat. He sat up and threw off the bedclothes. He swung one leg out of bed and sat looking around him in confusion. He could feel Hannah's presence in the room. Her voice -- so real -- lingered in the early morning stillness.
Realization dawned slowly, and Austin sank back holding his head in his hands, the pounding at his temples a painful reminder of his excesses the night before. He groaned and pulled the bedcovers over his head.
The pounding increased in volume, and Austin finally realized that someone was at the door. He cursed under his breath. Who came around bothering folks at this hour of the morning? He pulled the sheet from his bed, wrapping it around himself as he went out into the kitchen. He opened the door a crack, and was surprised when Ida pushed past him with a large, covered tray in her hands.
"Pardon the intrusion, Austin, but I've gotten in the habit of bringing your father his breakfast. Just making sure he eats, you know." She set the tray down on the table. "I've brought enough for two this morning." She glanced at Austin and then busied herself uncovering the tray. "From the looks of you, I'd say you could use a hot meal."
Austin shook his head. "I'm not hungry, Ida."
"Austin, you have to take care of yourself. We can't have you getting sick; your father needs you." But Austin had already retreated. Ida sighed and let herself out.
Later that morning, Austin answered another knock at the door.
"I trust I've not come at an inopportune time, Austin," Clay Mosby said, removing his hat as he stepped inside.
Josiah looked up from the Bible in his lap.
Clay shook his head when Austin offered him a seat in the parlor. He cleared his throat and began. "I've been meanin' to pay you a call." He stood turning his hat in his hands. "I just wanted to tell you both how very sorry I am for your loss."
Josiah looked away, returning his attention to his New Testament.
Clay turned to the younger man. "Is there anythin' you need, Austin, anythin' I can do for you?"
Austin shook his head and murmured his thanks.
An awkward silence fell, the mantle clock's strident ticking the only sound in the room.
Clay cleared his throat again nervously. "I'm sorry; I know this is painful for you, but now that you've returned, Austin, it may be time to start thinkin' about Hannah's memorial service."
Austin grimaced. How could they even think about burying Hannah before Newt came back? He started to look to his father, wondering how Josiah would cope with the suggestion.
"No! I won't let you do it! I won't let you put her in the ground!" Josiah had risen to his feet, and stood regarding them in fury. "Get out! Get out of my house! We don't need you here!"
Austin crossed the room, stooping to retrieve the Bible lying forgotten at his father's feet. He placed a restraining hand on Josiah's shoulder.
"It's all right, Father; it'll be all right. Just calm down now."
Josiah's eyes opened wide as if seeing them for the first time. He hesitated for a moment and then sank back into his chair, reaching for his picture of Hannah. He rocked silently as he hugged it to his chest, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Austin laid the Bible in his father's lap and looked at Clay helplessly.
Clay replaced his hat, motioning for Austin to follow him outside.
Austin pulled the door closed behind them. "I'm sorry about father. He's not himself."
"Josiah's been like this ever since it happened. That's why I suggest we go ahead with the funeral," Clay said. "Sometimes the finality of buryin' a loved one can help a person begin to accept their death."
Austin let his breath out slowly. He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. But what about Newt? Shouldn't we wait till he gets back?"
"I doubt that Newt's plannin' on comin' back, Austin. He would have been here by now if he was."
Austin's lips hardened into a thin line. "It's not right," he said half under his breath.
"Mr. Call should be here for his wife's funeral, that's true. But he isn't here, and there's not much point in postponin' things. That bein' the case, I'd like to offer my services if I might," Clay went on. "Why not let me take care of the arrangements? I can have a preacher here from Cedar Creek in a couple of days."
Austin nodded resignedly. "I guess we best get it over with."
On his way to the Ambrosia that evening, Austin beheld a pall of dark smoke rising thickly over the churchyard, and he shuddered, realizing that the undertaker was preparing a gravesite for Hannah. In his mind he saw another open grave, prepared only a few weeks before. His sister had stood over that grave. She would be in this one.
~~~
December 16, 1878
The funeral morning dawned overcast and gloomy with the promise of more snow. Austin stood at the window gazing out into the cold morning light. Hearing a thump behind him, he turned and looked into his father's haggard face. Josiah was shabbily eloquent in his best suit, his sad eyes ringed in deep shadows from lack of sleep. He reached down to retrieve the boot he had dropped.
"Here, Father, let me help you with that." Austin led Josiah to his chair and knelt beside him to help him pull on his worn boots. Then he helped him to his feet, and together they went out into the frigid morning.
Austin felt as though he was sleepwalking, and he found himself wondering when his nightmare would end. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other, to deal with each duty as it presented itself, each emotion. Austin looked uncertainly at Josiah trudging woodenly beside him, his eyes on the ground. He hadn't spoken since his outburst two days before, and the unnatural silence unnerved Austin. He almost preferred Josiah's wild ranting to the silence. It was as if the father he knew and loved had ceased to exist, and Austin had never felt so alone.
And where was Newt? What was he doing right now? What could be more important than being here with his family where he belonged? It should have been the two of them supporting Josiah supporting each other . . . now and in the weeks and months to come. With each step, Austin's anger towards his brother-in-law grew. He would never forgive him.
It seemed as though the whole town had showed up to pay their respects to Hannah, and the mourners stood in hushed little clumps, pity in their eyes, as they watched Austin lead his father into the churchyard. As the first snowflakes fell, Austin and Josiah stopped at the open grave, the dark hole an obscene disruption in the pristine, white ground.
"Why, Hannah, you're beautiful! How I wish your mother could see you in her wedding dress," Josiah said, taking her hand and twirling her around.
Hannah hugged him before turning to study her reflection in the sideboard mirror. She tweaked a stray curl into place on her forehead. "Do I really look all right, Austin?" she asked, spinning around to face him.
Austin felt his throat constrict. In truth, he'd never seen anything more lovely than his sister looked on her wedding day, framed in ivory lace, a bouquet of field flowers clutched tightly in her hand. But he couldn't resist a little teasing. He frowned at her. "You look all right, I guess . . . for a sister."
Hannah groaned. "Austin Peale! You're awful!"
Austin giggled and ran out the door.
"This tragic loss is a disturbing reminder that death comes to all of us." The minister's words brought Austin back to the present with a sickening jolt. He glanced at his father. Josiah's eyes were closed, and Austin wondered if he was aware of the proceedings, or if he had retreated to some safe place inside himself.
He caught sight of Mosby standing alone and a little apart from the other mourners, and his thoughts went back to that morning at the ranch. Mosby had loved his sister. Austin could see it then, and he could see it now. It was there, naked in his eyes as he stared at the grave. Had Hannah known it? Had Newt? Austin rubbed his hand across his eyes. No. He would waste no more thoughts on Newt. A man who ran rather than face up to his responsibilities was nothing but a coward. As far as Austin was concerned, his brother-in-law no longer existed, any more than Hannah did.
Josiah stood transfixed, his eyes on the open grave, as the pure notes of Ida's solo echoed in the surrounding stillness. He joined the others in saying 'amen' when she had finished.
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want," the minister began, and the mourners joined in with him. "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul."
"Where does a person's soul go when they die, Father?"
"To God, Hannah; it goes back to God in heaven."
"Is that where Mother is?"
"Yes, she's there now. And someday we'll all be there with her."
Hannah smiled contentedly. "Isn't it wonderful, Austin? Mother's in heaven."
"No. I wish she had stayed here with us. I need her."
His sister stole to his side and placed her hand in his. "So do I, Austin, but we still have each other."
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil . . ."
Had Hannah been afraid? When that scum Tavish held the knife to her throat, dragging her back into the Mercantile, had she been afraid? Had she known that she was going to die?
" . . . Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
Austin looked up at the church his sister had so loved.
No, Hannah. I'm not ready to lose you. I should have been here to protect you. I'm sorry, Hannah. Can you ever forgive me?
"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the minister intoned, and suddenly, it was all over. Each of the mourners took a bit of dirty snow from the mound beside the grave and dropped it onto the coffin before turning away.
Josiah stood forlornly at the edge of the grave. Austin took his father's hand and placed a frozen clump in it, but Josiah let it fall to the ground unheeded. Tears streamed down his face, and he sank to his knees. "No! No! I won't leave her here in the cold and dark! My little girl. Hannah, Hannah!" Josiah hid his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Clay Mosby watched in silence as Austin and Ida helped Josiah to his feet and led him from the grave.
~~~
"Father, come inside. Why are you out here without a coat?"
Josiah stood looking up into the night sky as the snow filtered down on him; his hair was already white with it.
"She's here; I can feel it, Austin. I feel her presence all around us."
Austin looked around in confusion. "What're you talking about, Father? There's no one here but us. Come on back inside now; it's freezing out here." Austin took Josiah by the arm, but he pulled away, reaching out to touch the flakes of snow that drifted down all around him.
"Father, what are you doing?"
"Indian John says that snowfall is the spirits of the dead coming back to earth to comfort the ones they left behind." Josiah turned to look at his son. "It's Hannah. She's returned to us, Austin, I know it."
"No!" Austin reached down and grabbed a handful of snow, holding it up to Josiah's face. "Look at it, Father. It's snow; that's all it is. Don't talk crazy. Hannah's not here; she's gone."
"I see her everywhere, Austin."
"So do I." Austin took his father gently by the shoulders. Looking into his hollow eyes, Austin thought he'd never seen his father look so old. He hated himself for what he was about to say.
"I miss her too. But Hannah's not coming back." Austin gave his father a little shake. "Do you hear me? She's not coming back."
Josiah shook his head sadly. "I don't know if I can go on without her, Austin. I don't know if I want to try." Tears formed in his eyes, welling up and coursing down his weathered cheeks.
Austin bit back his own tears. "You still have me, Father." Taking his father gently by the shoulders, he led him into the house and closed the door.
~~~
December 17, 1878
Austin rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the newspaper office. Removing his denim apron from the peg on the wall, he tied it on and looked around him in disgust. His father had really let the place go. The office had never looked this way when Hannah . . . Austin squeezed his lips together in firm resolve. It wouldn't do to keep having thoughts like that. It was up to him now.
"Austin, you're up early."
Austin turned to find a bleary-eyed Josiah standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Father."
"What're you doing?"
"It's time to get the press going again. We have a paper to get out." Austin wiped the dust from the printing press. "Soon as I get this place cleaned up a little."
"Austin, just leave it be."
"We can't do business in this mess."
"I'm not interested in doing business."
"What do you mean?"
Josiah sighed, running his hand through his hair. "It's no use; I'm giving up the paper for good."
"You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do. How can I put out a newspaper? I have nothing to say."
"You have nothing to say? Since when?"
"Leave it be, Austin; it doesn't matter anymore."
"Listen, Father, we can't stop living just because Hannah's gone. We need to make a living. We're newspapermen."
"Were newspapermen, you mean. Or I was. You never were. Let's face it, Austin, this isn't what you want. You were never happy here. It's time you went out on your own -- made a name for yourself."
Austin snorted. "You want me to go and leave you here alone? How can I do that? You don't take care of yourself. You don't sleep. You don't eat. Father, you need me. Let me help you."
"I don't need your help. I'll be fine."
"How do you figure you'll get by without me?"
Josiah smiled. "Newt will be back soon."
A shadow passed over Austin's face. "But father, I'm your son."
"Newt's my son too."
"How can you say that after . . . Why didn't your 'son' protect Hannah from that bastard, Tavish? She's dead, Father. And he did nothing to save her. Why didn't your precious Newt save my sister?"
"You're her big brother, Austin. You should have been here to protect her."
"It's not my fault I wasn't here. How could I have known?"
"No, nothing is ever your fault, Austin. That's the problem."
Austin's eyes narrowed as he advanced on his father. "I bet you wish I'd been the one to die, don't you? You wish it had been me instead of Hannah."
"Austin, stop it. Don't say things like that. You know I love you."
"It's all right, Father . . . as long as I know where I stand." Austin tore off his apron and threw it onto the press. He stalked to the door and went out, slamming it behind him.
~~~
The storm was over, but snowflakes still whirled and danced before the stinging wind. Familiar landmarks had all but disappeared under mounds of white, lending a surreal air to the surrounding countryside. Austin reigned in outside the ranch house and sat motionless, willing himself to dismount and go inside.
Hannah stopped sweeping as a man rode up to the front of the cabin.
"Miz Call, you're lookin' better today. I've brought you a few provisions."
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Mosby but I, I couldn't possibly accept this."
"Oh, don't be silly. It's just a few items Mrs. Hackett and I . . ." Mosby looked up in surprise to see Austin standing behind his sister.
"Mosby."
"Austin. It's good to see you again. I trust you're keepin' well?"
"Well enough," Austin said, eyeing the saloonkeeper. "You're a long way from the saloon. What business you got out here?"
"I'm simply payin' my respects and tryin' to be of some assistance." Mosby set a bag down on the porch.
"Hannah doesn't need your help."
Hannah looked up at him in surprise. "Austin!"
"Go inside, Hannah."
"I will do no such thing. This is my home. And I will receive whatever company I wish."
"It's not right."
"Just what are you accusing me of, Austin Peale?"
Mosby turned to go. "Well, I should be leavin' anyway."
Hannah glowered at her brother. "How dare you?"
"It's just . . ."
"It's just what?"
"It's not proper."
"You get off my property."
Austin stared hard at his sister.
"You heard me! Leave!" Hannah threw down her broom and stalked through the door, slamming it behind her.
Austin walked up to Mosby and looked him in the eye. "He was my best friend."
The paddock was empty. A neighboring rancher had taken Newt's stock to care for until his return. God only knew when that would be.
Austin pushed the drifted snow away from the door with his foot and lifted the latch. He shut the door behind him and stood for a moment, looking around him. Everything was in order, the kitchen neat and tidy just as Hannah had left it. Dishes in their places on the shelf, her apron on the hook by the stove. It seemed as though his sister might come bustling into the room at any moment.
But it was too still.
In that moment, Austin suddenly realized that he had made a terrible mistake. Nothing could have prepared him for the crushing realization that Hannah would never walk through that door -- that he would never see her again -- and he turned and rushed back outside and down off the porch. Hunched over, he gasped for breath as waves of emotion crashed over him.
Hannah, how could you leave me? First Mother and now you.
Finally, a grim resolve took hold of him, and he turned toward the cabin once more. Rounding the corner of the building, he strode to the fence and took hold of the top rung, savagely ripping and kicking at Newt's carefully built corral until piles of splintered wood lay all around him.
Austin knew where Newt kept his tools. Returning with hammer and nails, he grabbed the broken boards and began nailing them haphazardly over the windows and door, driving the nails with unnecessary force, each blow from the hammer an anguished cry.
"No! No! Don't leave me here alone. I can't go on without you. I can't."
Exhausted, he threw the hammer away from him and stumbled to his horse. Grabbing the reins, he pulled himself up into the saddle and spurred towards Sweetwater. He didn't look back.
~~~
December 18, 1878
"You best be goin'." Sally threw her mane of dark curls back over her shoulder and sat up, wrapping the tangled sheet about her as she reached for a smoke.
Austin held out his hand for the cigarette, and she gave it to him and reached for another.
"I mean it, Austin, you have to leave. You only paid for last night. I'm not givin' it away, you know."
Austin took a deep pull and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl lazily up to the ceiling. Sliding closer to Sally, he nuzzled her ear and down her neck till she giggled and swatted him away.
"How about something to eat? I worked up quite an appetite." He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his way up her arm.
Sighing, Sally pulled away from him and got out of bed. "All right, I'll see what I can find in the kitchen. But then you have to go. Come see me again when you have more money."
Austin watched her slip into her robe and tie the sash. "You wait and see, Sally, someday I'll have lots of money. And when I do, I might just take you away from all this. How'd you like to go to San Francisco with me?"
Sally laughed as she opened the door. "Talk's cheap, Austin. I wish I had a dollar for every man who's promised me that. I could go to San Francisco without you." The door closed behind her, and Austin lay back on the bed, smoking contentedly.
Later, Austin sopped up the last of the stew Sally brought him with a bite of bread and set the plate on the floor, settling back on the bed with a satisfied belch.
Sally blew out a puff of smoke and frowned. "Aincha got any manners?"
"Now, don't you be gettin' all high and mighty with me, Sally." Austin rose up on his elbows and reached for her cigarette. "You aren't exactly high class yourself."
Sally snatched her smoke away and jumped off the bed. "Get dressed," she told him, scooping his clothes off the floor. "It's time for you to leave."
Austin caught the bundle she flung at his head. He sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his pants. It looked like his only company this evening would be of the liquid variety.
~~~
"Austin Peale! What are you doing? You don't belong here."
Tell me, Hannah, where do I belong? I lost my sister. I lost my best friend. Hell, I've even lost Father. What have I got left?
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Austin. You could be somebody if you gave yourself half a chance."
Who could I be? I've failed at everything I ever tried. I made a fool of myself trying to be a gunfighter. I tried my hand at prospecting, but I didn't find any gold. Father doesn't want me as a newspaperman. Suppose you tell me where to go from here.
"You can do it, Austin, I know you can. Just keep trying; I believe in you."
Leave me alone, Hannah.
Austin pushed the last of his coins across the counter and picked up the half-empty bottle. The night was still young and he was only half drunk, but he figured he had just about enough booze left to finish the job. He rose and began to weave his way unsteadily through the half dozen tables to the door. As he passed by the last one, a ruckus ensued.
"That pot's mine, boys."
"You were cheatin', Hal; now, don't be denyin' it. I saw ya. Pete here saw ya too."
"That's right, I did," Pete chimed in.
"Nobody calls me a cheater ands gets away with it!" The inebriated patron of the Paystreak Saloon lurched to his feet, shoving back his chair. It toppled over directly in front of Austin, and he went down, his bottle smashing against the doorframe as he fell.
Hal replaced his hastily drawn weapon in its holster as his full attention was drawn to the sight of Austin getting slowly to his feet, shaking his head and looking around him at the shards of broken glass littering the floor. "What's the matter, kid? Can't hold yer liquor?" he snickered as some of the other patrons shared a laugh at Austin's expense.
Austin felt his face go red. "You talkin' to me?"
Hal glanced around the room and then back at Austin. "I don't see no other kids in here, 'ceptin' you, boy."
"I'm no kid."
"Sure you ain't. Why, you ain't even dry behind the ears yet. Is he, fellas?"
Austin's jaw tightened in anger.
"Say," Hal smirked, looking him up and down, "you're kinda dandified. Who dresses you, yer mama?"
"You take that back!"
"Sure, kid. Anything you say, kid."
Something snapped inside Austin, and his fist shot out, landing squarely between Hal's startled, bloodshot eyes. The gambler fell backwards, landing on the poker table and bringing it down with a crash, scattering cards, chips, drinks, and the other players. Austin launched himself after the man, landing on top of him and continuing to pummel him. "I said, you take that back!"
Recovering from his initial surprise, Hal's right hook sent Austin sprawling onto his back. He got up tasting blood. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as Hal continued to bait him. "Is that the best you got, sonny? Aw, come on. Who taught you to fight, your kid sister?"
His words cut Austin worse than any blow. All the pain and anguish of the past week welled up in him, overwhelming him, and he fell on Hal again, fists flying. "How dare you, you bastard!" Hal proved unable to defend himself as Austin hit him again and again, pounding his face into a bloody pulp.
"Somebody get the sheriff!" Pete called out finally. "He's gonna kill 'im!"
A couple of bystanders attempted to stop the fight, but Austin shoved them away and continued beating Hal until finally, rough hands grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him off the other man.
"That'll do, son, don't want no killin' in here tonight."
Austin stopped struggling when he saw the badge pinned to the newcomer's chest. He glowered at the moaning man on the floor, his eyes swollen shut in his bloodied face, his jaw jutting out at a grotesque angle.
"He started it."
"And I'm finishin' it. You can cool your heels in jail." He glanced at the man on the floor. "You boys get Doc Crane." He gave Austin a shove towards the door. "Let's go."
The other gamblers bent over Hal as the sheriff hauled Austin off to jail.
The cell door clanged shut, and Austin grabbed the bars. "You can't keep me in here. Like I told you back there, the other fellow started it. Those things he said . . ."
The sheriff ignored him as he turned the key in the lock.
"You can't do this to me."
"Looks like I just did; you best get used to it."
Austin swore and hit the bars angrily with the heels of his hands.
"Son, you made a mistake back there. Gotta learn to pick your fights. What a man like Hal Stedman says when he's sober don't account for much, and it counts for even less when he's all liquored up."
"All the same, you oughta be lockin' him up instead of me. What are you charging me with?"
"Disorderly conduct."
Austin watched the sheriff put the keys back in his desk drawer. "Where's Sheriff Riddle?"
"Dead."
"Jack's dead?"
"Got himself killed a couple months back. Rip-snortin' drunk, got in a fight over somethin' somebody said. Feller gunned him down in the street. You're lucky the same thing didn't happen to you tonight."
Austin grunted. "Maybe." He looked around him at the cramped, dingy cell. "How long do I have to stay in this hell hole anyway?"
"Until you serve your time or pay your fine."
"Fine? How much?"
"Twenty dollars."
"I don't have twenty dollars."
"Thought as much. Well, best settle back and enjoy your stay then. Looks like you'll be here a spell."
"How long?"
"Ten days."
"Ten days? Cooped up in here?"
"Unless Hal dies. If he does, I expect the hanging will take place pretty quick."
Austin looked at him incredulously. "I didn't hit him that hard."
"Son, if I hadn't stopped you, you'd have killed him for sure." The sheriff paused with his hand on the door handle and looked back at Austin. "I'm goin' over to check on him now. You just relax and get settled in. I'll be back later on."
Austin shook his head in disbelief and sank down on the tiny cot in the corner, his head in his hands, missing his liquor bottle more than he had ever thought possible.
"Next time you want to stop in Sweetwater, remind me to hogtie you and drag you home, Austin."
"It wasn't my fault."
"You're right. It was my fault for lettin' you talk me into it in the first place."
"Hey, we came out of it all right, didn't we?"
"You got a way of findin' trouble, Austin. And one day you may not find your way out."
"You worry too much, Newt."
~~~
December 21, 1878
Austin awoke at dawn, cursing the dim light that found its way through the window bars. He shivered under the thin blanket as he lay staring at the ceiling. How long had he been here? Two, three days? With nothing to break the monotony, the days were all running together, and sleep was the only way to pass the time.
Austin rolled over, grimacing at his own odor. He hadn't bathed in days -- not since Sally had soaped him off at the Celestial when he first got into town. That seemed like a long time ago now. Austin ran his hand over his rough beard, wishing someone would bring him a bucket of water and some soap. Apparently, folks in this town didn't think cleanliness was next to godliness -- either that or they didn't care. He could just imagine what Hannah would say if she could see him now: filthy, unkempt, caged up like some kind of animal -- she'd give him a real talking to, that's for certain.
Austin smiled at the memory of his little sister, hands on hips, telling him and anyone else who'd listen just what she thought on a variety of topics. She was never one to keep her opinions to herself. Austin had always admired her spunk. No one had ever gotten the better of Hannah . . . until Tavish . . .
His reverie was interrupted when the jail door banged open, letting in a draft of fiercely cold air. Austin sat up in time to see Sheriff Cobb bustle in, carrying a covered tray. "Brought you some breakfast. You must be hungry," he said, eyeing Austin's untouched supper dishes in the corner of his cell.
"Well, I'm not, so why don't you just go away and leave me alone?"
The sheriff uncovered a bowl of nameless gray liquid and some dry toast and set the tray down on the floor while he unlocked the cell door. "Gotta keep your strength up."
"Why, so you can hang me? Spare me your concern and get me a bottle." Austin got up from the cot and walked over to the bars.
"Sorry, no liquor. We got rules here, you know." The sheriff slid the tray in with his foot before relocking the door and pocketing the keys.
"Rules! This is what I think of your rules." Austin stuck the toe of his boot under the edge of the tray and sent it flying against the far wall. Gruel and bits of broken crockery rained down on the cell floor.
"Tut, tut. You keep being so damn pleasant, Peale, you're gonna make it hard for me to hang you."
Austin sneered at him. "Oh, you'll manage all right."
"It's lookin' more and more like I'm going to have that pleasure too. Stedman's still unconscious. Doc Crane says he don't think he'll recover. You might well be lookin' at a murder charge." The sheriff surveyed the mess on the cell floor and then grinned at Austin. "Well, enjoy your breakfast -- what's left of it. There's biscuits and gravy waitin' for me over at Rosie's."
Austin watched him leave and then sank back down on his bunk. He stared at his hands, curling them into fists, and studied the scabs on his knuckles. He couldn't explain what had made him so angry. He hadn't meant to hit him the man so hard. And now the sonovabitch might be dying. He lay back on the bunk thinking about the last time he'd been in a jam -- all of the last times. There'd been quite a few. And Newt had always been there for him -- closer than a brother. Austin sighed. It wouldn't do any good thinking along those lines. Newt wouldn't be showing up to get him out of this one. He'd really messed things up good this time, and he was all on his own. If they hung him, Newt wouldn't even know about it.
~~~
Clay Mosby cursed the Montana winter, not for the first time. The air snapped with cold, and it would be dark by five o'clock. Looping Black Jack's's reins over the hitching post, he surveyed the run down collection of buildings known as Sweetwater, Montana, with distaste. Things hadn't changed much since his last visit. The usual crowd of drunken cowboys and other riffraff paraded in and out of local fixtures like the dilapidated Celestial Palace across the street and the Paystreak Saloon, a hastily erected shack with stained canvas walls and a reputation to match. Clay sighed and straightened his vest. Best get it over with.
The atmosphere inside the Paystreak lived up to its unassuming promise. Several scantily clad serving wenches cozied up to their customers in the dim, smoky interior. A couple of them took in Clay's elegant appearance and started to rise as he passed, but he waved them back to their regulars. Making his way to the makeshift wooden counter in the back, he ordered a drink.
"I'm lookin' for a young fellow, Austin Peale, by name. Tall, a little green. Seen anyone like that in here in the past few days?"
The bartender nodded. "He's over at the jail. Picked a fight with Hal Stedman the other night. Hal lost. Doc says he might not pull through."
Mosby nodded thoughtfully as he slid a coin across the bar and accepted his drink from the man's outstretched hand. "Much obliged."
The jangling of the sheriff's keys sounded far away. Austin couldn't make it out at first. In his dream something was chasing him. Something dark and sinister. He ran from it, but there it was waiting for him just around the corner. He couldn't see its face. What, or who . . .?
The sheriff kicked the corner of the bunk. "Get up, Peale, you got company." He turned and went out as another figure entered the cell. Austin squinted and sat up, somewhat dazed.
"Austin? Well, aren't you a sight?" Clay Mosby took in Austin's drastically altered appearance.
Austin ran his hand through his unkempt hair. "Mr. Mosby, what brings you to Sweetwater?"
"As a matter of fact, you do."
Austin looked at him in some surprise.
"Josiah said I might find you in this blot on the riverbank. And here you are. Though, I do confess I was a bit surprised to find you behind bars. You really beat the other fellow, hmmm?"
Austin ignored the question. He rose and faced Clay. "What can I do for you, Mr. Mosby?"
"I've come to offer you a job."
Austin managed a wry chuckle. "Now, why would you want to do that?"
Mosby cleared his throat. "As it turns out, I am in rather urgent need of a deputy. Sheriff Kearney's dead. I've hired a new man, Pat Walker. He comes very highly recommended."
"Is that so?"
"I have plans for Curtis Wells, Austin. I believe I can make it a better place -- a safer place for our citizens." Clay rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully. "You can be a part of it, if you play your cards right."
Austin snorted and turned away. "Not right now, I can't."
Clay stood with his hands on his hips, a bemused smile twitching the corner of his mustache. "And why is that? You have somethin' better to occupy yourself with here in this charmin' town? Perhaps a special someone waitin' for you over at the Celestial Palace, hmmm?"
"Maybe you haven't heard. I owe a debt to society. I got almost a week left in this stink hole."
Mosby waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, you can forget about that. I've paid your fine. You're free to go."
"And what about the man I beat?"
"What about him?"
"What if he dies? They'll hang me for sure."
"Let's just say the amount of money Sheriff Cobb extracted from me should more than cover it. You're no longer bein' held accountable."
Austin looked at the open cell door.
"Just one thing, Austin, if I were you, I wouldn't go back to the saloon. I can use you as soon as you're ready to start. What I can't use is a man with a propensity for the bottle. Am I makin' myself clear?" Clay put his hand on Austin's arm as he headed out of the cell. "Here." He pulled out a roll of bank notes, peeled off a few, and held them out to Austin. "Go and buy yourself some decent clothes and a bath. We can't have the new deputy of Curtis Wells lookin' like somethin' the cat dragged in, now, can we?"
Austin looked at the money in Clay's hand. "I haven't said yes yet."
"Oh, I trust you will. The way I see it, Austin, you have two choices here. You can either dry yourself out and make somethin' of yourself -- take me up on my generous offer -- or you can stay here in Sweetwater wallowin' in liquor and self pity. The choice is yours. Go on, take the money."
Austin did as he was told, and Clay turned to go. "Oh, I almost forgot." Clay turned back, reaching into his vest. "I had this made up for you." Austin held out his hand for the shiny, new badge and stood gazing at it for some time before sliding it into his pocket.
Later that day, Austin rode his horse slowly down the main street of Sweetwater. He reined in outside Doc Crane's tent and thought about the man he'd beaten senseless. Suppose he really should die? What then? He wavered for a moment, and then turned away. It was no longer his concern. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the badge and pinned it on.
Deputy Peale headed home to Curtis Wells.
The End
7/2003
