Blood Feud Read online

  Rabon was the biggest. He swaggered a lot and pushed the smaller boys around. Once Rabon held another boy under the water so long that when Rabon finally let the boy up for air, the boy barely made it to land and lay sucking in air and wretching for minutes. Rabon laughed heartily.

  From a thicket near the pool, Chace saw and heard everything. Several times he raised the Spencer and centered the sights on Rabon’s hairy chest and lightly touched the trigger, but didn’t squeeze, and whispered to himself, “Bang, you’re dead.”

  Two other of the boys fit descriptions Ezriah had given Chace of those who were at Harkey Hollow the day Scarlet was raped. One, nicknamed Scooter, was a close cousin to Rabon and Woot. The other was Jimbo, the boy who had tried to stop them and been knocked down.

  The swimmers stayed most of the afternoon. When they tired of the water, they lazed on a large flat rock, soaking up the sun. They talked about girls and their folks and girls and hunting and girls and fishing.

  Chace heard every word. His interest perked along about four when one of the boys mentioned that he’d heard a girl by the name of Mabel would do it with anything in pants. “I aim to have her myself,” the boy bragged. “I hear she is as fine as can be.”

  “You want fine,” Scooter said, and snickered, “you should have had that Shannon girl. Lordy, she had a nice body. Didn’t she, Rabon?”

  Rabon was on his stomach with his arms crossed and his cheek on his arms.

  He grunted.

  Woot laughed and said, “She was a panther, that gal. Fought us tooth and nail. I still got the marks.” He raised an arm to show thin scars.

  “I wish I’d been there,” said the boy who had brought up Mabel.

  “It was wrong,” Jimbo said.

  Rabon raised his head. “Don’t you start. I got into trouble over you. My pa didn’t like that I hit a girl.”

  “Your pa has sense.”

  Rabon pushed onto his elbows and his dark eyes glittered. “I can do it again. I can hit you until you beg me to stop and I’ll keep on hitting you anyway. That what you want?”

  “No good will come of that day,” Jimbo remarked. “My pa is worried it will set off the feud.”

  “Worrywarts, the both of you,” Rabon said. “Has anything happened? Have the Shannons been crying for Harkey blood? No and no. I bet that girl didn’t even tell anyone.”

  “You beat her so bad, it was plain.”

  “That she was beat, yes, but not the other,” Rabon countered. “She’ll keep her mouth shut about that.”

  “Out of shame?” Woot said.

  “That, and secretly I bet she liked it,” Rabon said with a smirk.

  “She was crying,” Jimbo said.

  “So? She could like it and cry, too. You don’t know much about females, do you?”

  “I know they don’t like to be raped.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Rabon snapped. “Better yet, get the hell gone before I come over there and pound your face in. I mean now.”

  The other boys looked at Jimbo. He silently rose and moved to the end of the flat rock and looked back.“There are days,” he said to all of them, “when I’m ashamed to be a Harkey.” Off he walked, his head held high.

  “God, I hate him,” Rabon said. “If he wasn’t kin I’d beat him to death.”

  “I’d help,” Woot said.

  Scooter spat and commented, “His family always has been different. It’s his ma, always on her high horse about being nice to everyone.”

  “Nice, hell,” Rabon said. “You don’t be nice to your enemies, and that girl was a Shannon.”

  “I hope we spot her in Wareagle someday,” Woot said. “We could jump her and do it again.”

  “Not in Wareagle we can’t,” Scooter said. “Old Ezriah would have us caned, or worse.”

  “I ain’t afeared of him,” Rabon said. “I ain’t afeared of anyone.”

  “Never said you were,” Scooter said.

  No more was said about Scarlet. The boys talked about a horse race they had seen and a big corn snake one of them had killed and how they were looking forward to the fair in the fall. Singly and in pairs they drifted away to home until only Rabon and his brother and Scooter were left. They were reluctant to leave.

  The sun was above the trees to the west when Woot sighed and said, “I reckon we better be on our way. Pa will be mad, we get home after dark.”

  “I just don’t want to have to listen to Ma nag us,” Rabon groused. “That’s all she ever does.”

  “Females are good at that,” Scooter said. “My ma is always on me about picking up after myself and not using all the leaves in the outhouse.”

  “Your ma can’t hold a candle to ours when it comes to nagging,” Woot said.

  “Every word out of her mouth is nag.”

  Rabon swore. “What Pa saw in her I’ll never know.” He jabbed a thick finger at his brother and his cousin. “You ever tell anyone I said that and I’ll stomp you.”

  “Hell,” Woot said. “I feel the same as you.”

  “I’ll never tell,” Scooter said.

  Chace followed them on foot. He made no more noise than a cougar. The three took a path that wound through the heavy woods. They walked in single file, Rabon, then Woot, and then Scooter. Chace came up behind them. They didn’t once look back. Rabon and Woot went around a bend. Before Scooter could reach it, Chace was on him. He brought the Spencer’s stock down hard on the back of the boy’s head and Scooter folded like a broken cornstalk and never uttered a peep. Stepping over him, Chace cat-footed to the bend and made sure the brothers were still moving along before he trailed after. They were talking about how hungry they were and Woot was saying as how they were to have possum for supper and he loved possum meat. Woot was bigger than Scooter, so Chace clubbed him twice and Woot collapsed.

  Rabon heard, and turned. “What the hell?”

  Chace didn’t point the Spencer. He didn’t demand Rabon hold up his arms or warn him to be quiet. He sprang, holding the rifle by the barrel, and swung before Rabon could collect his wits. His first blow caught Rabon on the jaw and made him stagger. His second blow split Rabon’s ear, and Rabon’s knees started to buckle. His third blow brought Rabon down, unconscious.

  Chace hit Rabon again to be sure he stayed out, careful not to swing so hard he killed him. He clubbed Woot and Scooter, too, as he went past them and back along the trail to the water hole and beyond into the thicket to where he had tied Enoch. He rode to where the three boys lay, cut strips from their clothes, and bound them, wrists and ankles. One by one he threw each over Enoch and took him to the watering hole and dumped him and went back for the next. Then he hunkered and waited.

  The sun was setting. Shadows crawled from under the trees, and grew. The songbirds stopped warbling and the butterflies sought cover. In the distance a dog howled.

  Rabon came around first. He made a sound like a pig rooting in the dirt and his head jerked up and he looked around in mild confusion. “Where? What?” he said, and saw Chace. “You! You hit me.”

  “How do you do?” Chace said.

  Rabon went to rise and realized he couldn’t move his arms or legs. He glanced over his shoulder at his wrists, and swore. His muscles bulged until he was red in the face and he hissed like a mad cat.

  “I tied you real good.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Rabon snarled. “What’s this about?”

  “Think about it,” Chace said.

  “Think about what? I want to know who you are and I want to know now.” Again Rabon tried to get up and made it as far as his knees. “Answer me, you son of a bitch.” He saw the other two. “My brother and my cousin. What are you fixing to do to us?”

  “Figured it out yet?”

  Rabon uttered a fiery string of oaths. He was so mad, his body shook and spittle dribbled down his chin.

  Chace rose and stepped to the pool. Dipping a hand in, he wet his lips and his neck and his brow. He came back and squatted in the same spot just as Scoote
r groaned and rolled over.

  “Rabon? What’s happening?”

  “Sit up and see for yourself.”

  Struggling, Scooter did. He sucked in a breath when he set eyes on Chace. “A Shannon, by God. Here, of all places.”

  “What?” Rabon said.

  “His hair and his eyes. He’s a Shannon. Let me guess. Her brother or a close cousin or a boyfriend.”

  “Brother,” Chace said.

  “Whose brother?” Rabon demanded, and blinked. “Wait. That bitch from the Hollow? Is that what this is about?”

  “The light dawns.”

  Hate contorted Rabon’s brute face. “Here to get even—is that it? Stupid bastard. Hurt us and you’ll never make it out of Harkey country alive.”

  “The important thing is that this is the last day of your life,” Chace said quietly. “And the next time a Harkey boy comes on a Shannon girl, he’ll think twice about doing something to her.”

  “If my hands weren’t tied ...” Rabon said.

  Scooter was studying Chace. “What I want to know is how you found us here.”

  “Ezriah told me.”

  Rabon snorted in amusement. “My grandpa? What do you take us for? He’d never do a thing like that.”

  “He would if the skin on his face was blistered from scalding hot water and the fingers on his left hand had been chopped off one by one and he was about to have his pecker cut off, too.”

  “God,” Scooter said.

  Confusion replaced Rabon’s amusement. “What are you saying? That you did that to my grandpa?”

  “That and more,” Chace said, “before I put him out of his misery. Him, his wife, their dog.”

  “You’re lying,” Rabon said stubbornly. “You’re making it up. Hell, you’re younger than me, from the looks of it. You couldn’t ever get the better of my grandpa. He’s tough, that old goat. Tough and smart.”

  “Not smart enough,” Chace said.

  “It won’t work. You can’t scare us with lies.”

  “All she wanted was blackberries. You could have scared her a little, had fun, and let her go. But no. You took her. You hurt her. You did the worst thing a man can do to a woman and then you thought—what, you would get away with it?” Chace moved to where Woot lay.

  “What are you doing?” Rabon asked. “Get away from my brother! You hear me?”

  Chace set down the Spencer, slid his hands under Woot’s arms, and dragged him to the pool. He sat on Woot’s chest and put his foot against Woot’s cheek and pushed Woot’s face in the water. For several seconds nothing happened. Suddenly Woot exploded into movement, heaving up and coughing and sputtering. Chace let him raise his head out.

  “What? Who?”

  “Leave him be!” Rabon raged.

  Woot looked scared. He spat out water and sneezed and asked, “What are you doing to me? What’s this all about?”

  “Remember the girl from the Hollow?” Chace said. “This is for her.” He jammed his foot against Woot’s chin. Woot tried to jerk his head away but Chace thrust out and down, submerging Woot’s face. Woot sought to lever upward and Chace locked his leg and pressed harder. He kept on pressing as the body under him heaved and twisted. The water roiled and churned. A swarm of bubbles rose to the surface. Rabon swore nonstop. Scooter begged Chace to stop. Then it was over. The bubbles stopped rising. The water stilled. The body went limp.

  Rabon was almost beside himself. “I’ll kill you!” he shrilled. “You hear me, boy? I will by God kill you!”

  Chace rose and roved about, searching. He found a rock about the size of a walnut and moved to Scooter, who was as pale as a bedsheet.

  “What are you fixing to do? Beat me to death?”

  “No,” Chace said, and pushed him onto his side. Scooter cursed and attempted to swing his legs, but Chace slammed him onto his back and dropped, knees first, onto Scooter’s stomach. Scooter cried out, his mouth gaping wide.

  In that instant Chace rammed the rock into Scoother’s mouth, shoving it down as far as he could and yanking his fingers out before he was bit. He clamped one hand over Scooter’s mouth and with the fingers of his other hand pinched Scooter’s nose shut. Scooter’s eyes were white saucers. He coughed and choked and bucked and made sounds no human ear should hear. Tears streamed down his face. He arched his back and stiffened, and died.

  Chace slowly rose. He slowly turned and slowly stepped to Rabon, who was slick with the sweat of raw fear and quaking from head to toe. “Your turn.”

  14

  The cabin was small. In the clearing in which it stood were a dozen stumps from the trees chopped down to build it. No one had bothered to clear the stumps. Just as no one had bothered to fence in the chicken coop or put a roof on the outhouse. Pigs nosed in the dirt. A cat with three legs hobbled about meowing.

  Chace leaned against a maple. He was cradling the Henry that had belonged to his uncle Fox; the Spencer was tied on Enoch. Chace ran his hand over the shiny brass receiver.

  The latch moved and the front door opened and out came a girl barely ten years old. Her dress needed washing and her feet and arms were filthy. She was toting a wooden bucket. Humming to herself, she headed for the creek that flowed past the maple.

  Chace eased back from sight. He heard her footfalls and a splash and peeked out. The girl had dipped the bucket in the creek. Holding the Henry in one hand behind the tree, Chace stood so she could see him, smiled his warmest smile, and said, “It sure is a hot one, ain’t it?”

  The girl gave a start and nearly dropped the bucket. Scrambling to her feet, she blurted, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a friend of your brother’s,” Chace said. “Is Chub home by any chance?”

  “He’s inside eating,” the girl said. “Practically all he ever does is eat.”

  “Would you send him out?”

  “I’ll do better.” She turned and cupped a hand to her mouth and bellowed loud enough to be heard in Texas, “Chub! There’s a boy to see you! A friend of yours.” She stopped. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  The latched rasped and the door opened and out stepped a boy of fifteen with a roll of flab for a belly. He was eating a roast chicken leg. “What was that, Myrtle?” he hollered with his mouth full.

  Chace whipped the Henry to his shoulder. He aimed at the center of Chub’s forehead, thumbed back the hammer, and fired. He did it so swiftly, Chub had no chance to react. The slug smashed into Chub’s face and sent him stumbling against the jamb.

  Myrtle threw back her head and screamed.

  “Have a nice day,” Chace said to her. Smiling sweetly, he melted into the greenery.

  Lincoln Harkey lived on a piney ridge with his ma and two brothers. Their cabin was well made. They had grass and a flower garden and not one but two dogs lazing under the overhang with their tongues lolling. Several mules were in a corral made of saplings and half a dozen geese were honking at a squirrel that had sought sanctuary in a tree.

  Flat on his belly next to a briar patch, Chace held the Henry to his shoulder. He already had the hammer thumbed back. He stared at the cabin and only the cabin. Even when a hornet alighted on his arm, he kept watching the cabin. The hornet flew off. Muffled voices told him someone was home.

  The door opened. The boy who came out was tall and lanky and had the Harkey shock of hair. Behind came two others, all enough alike that it was obvious they were brothers, and close in age. They were toting squirrel guns, older single-shot rifles.

  Only one of the three had been at Harkey Hollow that day, according to Ezriah. Lincoln, the oldest, had helped hold Scarlet down and taken his turn after Rabon and Woot. “But which one is him?” Chace said to himself. He couldn’t tell.

  The trio went to the corral and brought out three mules. They were going somewhere. They were bantering, relaxed. Dispensing with saddles, they climbed on and rode off bareback.

  Chace hurried to Enoch, swung up, and used his heels. Chace stayed a good way back but not so far he�
��d lose them. They headed to the southeast. The only thing Chace could think of in that direction was Wareagle.

  Once he was convinced that they were indeed making for town, Chace swung wide and rode at a gallop. After half a mile he reined to a point in front of them and dismounted. “Stay put,” he said to Enoch. He let the reins fall and slipped behind a spruce.

  It wasn’t long before the undergrowth crackled and they were there. The one in the lead hauled on his reins and regarded Enoch with a mix of curiosity and puzzlement. He said something to his brothers, who came up on the other side. Together they climbed down and together they advanced to Enoch.

  “Sure is a fine mule,” said one.

  “Where’s whoever owns it?” wondered the second.

  The third reached for the reins, but Enoch pulled away. “I think I’ll claim it for my own.”

  Chace moved from behind the spruce with the Henry leveled. “Think again.”

  The trio turned, and froze. The barrels of their rifles were pointed at the ground.

  “No need for that,” said the brother who had tried to grab the reins.

  “Which one of you is Lincoln?”

  “Why do you want to know?” the same brother asked.

  “I have something for him.”

  The second brother glanced at the other two. “Don’t say a word. Look at him close. He’s a Shannon, by God.”

  “In Harkey country?” marveled the rein grabber.

  Chace sidled to the right so he had clear shots at all three. “I’m only after Lincoln. The other two can go on home or jump in a lake for all I care.”

  “We’ll never say which one he is,” said the third. “So unless you aim to shoot all three of us, you’d best light a shuck.”

  “Drop your rifles,” Chace commanded.

  “No,” said the first one.

  The second shook his head. “You’re in a pickle, Shannon. You can’t shoot all three of us before one of us brings you down.”

  “Not all three you can’t,” agreed the third.