Message on the Wind Page 2

  After he finished eating, washing it down with brackish water that was at least better than the warm beer, Clint left the saloon and crossed the street to the office of the sheriff-undertaker. He didn’t say good-bye to Benny, who must have been in the back room when he left. He still had to get his room, so he’d go back right after his conversation with the law.

  He entered the sheriff’s office. It had a lot of the conventions of the office—desk, potbellied stove, gun rack—but it also had some of the look of an undertaker’s office. There were even some coffins stacked over on one side. There was a curtained doorway that could have led to a cell block, or an undertaker’s back room. There could have been bodies back there right at that moment—alive or dead.

  “Hello?” Clint called.

  “Be right out,” someone yelled from the back room.

  Clint noticed the musty smell of the place, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. There was a layer of dust on the desk. Maybe no one had died or been arrested in Miller’s Crossing in a long time.

  Finally, the curtains of the doorway were swept aside and a man walked in.

  “Benny?” Clint asked.

  “Benny the Bull, sheriff and undertaker of Miller’s Crossing, at your service,” the man said, with a smile.

  “You hold these jobs, too?”

  “You bet,” he said. “I pretty much run everything here.”

  “Where’s your badge?”

  “Oh, I keep it here in a drawer. I don’t wear it unless I need it.”

  “And what do the other twenty-one people in town do?”

  “Well, you met Antoine, he owns the livery,” Benny said. “And he has a daughter. The rest of the citizens pretty much do what those fellas over in the saloon are doin’ now. They just sit, and wait.”

  “For what?”

  “Who knows?”

  “And you still don’t know anything about a town called Organ Pipe?”

  “I told you in the saloon, mister . . . Hey, you never told me your name.”

  “My name is Clint Adams.”

  “Clint . . . Adams?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Um, well, I got your room ready, Mr. Adams, if you want to go over there and see it now.”

  Clint had been toting his saddlebags and rifle with him since leaving his horse at the livery.

  “That’s a good idea, Benny,” he said, “or should I call you Sheriff?”

  “Naw, Benny’ll do just fine, Mr. Adams,” the man said, nervously. “This way.”

  FOUR

  The hotel room was a lot like the sheriff’s office—stuffy and dusty. Clint told Benny it was fine, and then when the man left, he opened the window to air it out.

  Miller’s Crossing was two things—a dying town and one man’s kingdom. Obviously folks had left little by little, and probably still were leaving. Clint wondered what Benny would do when the last of the other twenty-one people left town.

  But there were eighteen other people in town who Clint had not asked about Organ Pipe, so he decided to go out and take a walk around.

  There were shops in town. Whenever Clint entered one, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see Benny the Bull behind the counter, but it didn’t happen. Apparently, he confined his time to being sheriff and undertaker, and running the saloon-restaurant-hotel.

  Clint talked to the clerks in a hardware store, a small barely stocked general store, and a barbershop. He asked them about a town called Organ Pipe and they all did the same thing.

  They lied.

  By the time Clint got back to his hotel room, he was convinced of one thing. Organ Pipe was in Arizona, and it was probably somewhere in the area. Otherwise why would everyone in this dying town have some reason to lie about it?

  There were sections of Arizona he knew well, so Organ Pipe had to be in this area, which he did not know well. Or maybe it had been in this area but was gone now. Maybe, like Miller’s Crossing, it had dwindled down until, finally, the last person left and the town just died.

  But the note that had fluttered over his face had been written on a piece of newspaper that had been published two years ago. That meant that, at the very least, the town of Organ Pipe had still been around two years ago.

  Still, riding out and going in circles until he found Organ Pipe was not the way to go. He needed to find somebody who knew something.

  One of these people had to talk to him.

  “Is there some other place to eat besides here?” Clint asked Benny when he came back down from his room.

  “There are some homes where cookin’ is done,” Benny said. “Wives for husbands, daughters for fathers, but for the public? I’m afraid this is the only place.”

  “And all you have is beans?”

  “Yeah,” Benny said, “and no more bacon to put in it.”

  “I guess I should spend the night, then, and move on,” Clint said.

  “That’s what everyone does,” Benny said. “I mean, we don’t get many people here, but when they do come, some don’t even stop; others spend one night and go.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “thanks.”

  As he started to leave, Benny called, “Will you be back to eat?”

  “Probably,” Clint said. “I mean, what other choice do I have?”

  As Clint left, Benny took his shotgun out from beneath the bar and checked it.

  FIVE

  For want of something better to do, Clint went to the livery stable to check on Eclipse. As Clint entered, he heard someone talking in very low tones, almost cooing. Most of the stalls were empty, but when he got to the back, he saw Eclipse. In the stall with him was a girl who was stroking his neck, talking to him softly.

  “Hello,” Clint said.

  The girl’s head swiveled around at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide.

  “Goddamn, you scared me!”

  “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to.”

  “What do you want?”

  She was black, young, and pretty. He assumed she was Antoine’s daughter. While she stared at him, she continued to stroke Eclipse’s neck, and the big black Darley Arabian seemed to be enjoying it.

  “I’ve never seen him take to anyone this quickly before,” he said to her.

  Her face brightened. “Is he yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Eclipse.”

  “Eclipse,” she repeated, then looked at the horse and said, “Hey, Eclipse? How ya doin’, boy?”

  “And what’s your name?” Clint asked.

  “I’m Jada,” she said. “This is the most magnificent horse I’ve ever seen.”

  “You should’ve seen Duke,” Clint said. “A big black gelding, no white on him at all. Just midnight black and huge.”

  “Bigger than Eclipse?”

  “Seventeen hands, if he was an inch.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “What happens to us all,” Clint said. “He got old and I had to put him out to pasture. That’s when I got Eclipse.”

  “That’s amazing,” she said. “How did you come to have two such magnificent horses?”

  “Both were gifts, from men I knew,” Clint said. He didn’t bother to tell her it was Jesse James who made him a gift of Duke, or that P. T. Barnum had given him Eclipse. She might not have believed either story.

  “Who?”

  “Just friends.”

  “You have good friends,” she said. “But you just left him with us today. Why are you back?”

  “Just to check up on him.”

  “Antoine will take good care of him,” she said. “I’ll help.”

  “Antoine,” Clint said, “is he your . . .”

  “Husband,” she said, before Clint could say, “Father.” “He’s very good with horses.”

  Clint thought Antoine had to be thirty years older than she was, but he had seen oddly coupled people before.

  “Well, there’s not much to do in this town,” he said
. “I just thought I’d come and stay with this old boy for a while. Besides, all I’ve got to look forward to back at the saloon is more beans, and without bacon this time.”

  “There is nowhere else to eat around here,” she agreed, “unless, of course, you happen to know somebody who can cook.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone,” he told her.

  “Well,” she said, turning to face him, “you know me, and I can cook.”

  “Antoine—”

  “He wouldn’t mind,” she said. “You’re a customer, and a stranger. He won’t mind that I’ve invited you for supper.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, I have. Will you accept?”

  “Well,” he said, “since you’re taking such good care of Eclipse, how can I refuse?”

  SIX

  On the way to the house Jada asked, “What’s your name, mister?”

  “Clint,” he said, deliberately leaving his last name out of the conversation, for the moment.

  “Well, Clint, I’m makin’ fried chicken and some greens. Does that sound okay?”

  “It sounds fine, but . . . where do you get it?”

  “Ain’t really chicken, it’s these prairie chickens. I go out and catch them.”

  “You hunt them?”

  “Yeah, but not with a gun,” she said. “Ain’t no fun digging lead out of a cooked chicken. Uh-uh, I catch ‘em and wring their necks. I’m fast.”

  Clint believed that Jada was fast. She was whipcord thin, not very tall, with a slim waist and hard breasts, like ripe peaches. Her hair was short and black, and she apparently kept it clean. In fact, he could smell the soap she used when she washed.

  The house wasn’t very far from the livery. When they reached it, Clint saw that it was little more than a shack. Someone had done work on it, though, to make it sturdy. Probably Antoine.

  As Jada opened the door to let them in, Antoine shouted, “Where you been, gal? I’m hungry.”

  “We got company, Antoine,” she said.

  “Company?” He had been facing the fireplace. Now he turned, and when he saw Clint he froze.

  “This is the feller who owns that big black,” she said. “His name’s Clint. I invited him to supper so he don’t have ta eat Benny’s beans.”

  “I know who he is,” Antoine said. “I been takin’ good care of your horse, Boss.”

  “I know you have, Antoine,” Clint said. “If this is a problem, Antoine, I can leave—”

  “Naw, ya ain’t got ta leave, Boss,” Antoine said. “Da gal invited ya, ya gots to stay. You set, I’m gon’ get some more wood for the fire, me.”

  “I’ll get supper goin’,” Jada said.

  They went to do their chores, leaving Clint standing in front of the fireplace alone. He didn’t know what to do, but the thought of fried chicken kept him there.

  Antoine returned with the wood, set it down by the fireplace, and added a few pieces to the fire.

  “Set yerself down,” he said. “We gots two chairs.”

  “But, Jada—”

  “She don’t need ta set,” Antoine said. “She’s young. Besides, she gon’ be cookin’.”

  The chairs were wooden, made by hand, with cushions that also looked homemade. Chairs by Antoine, cushions by Jada, he was sure.

  “You’ve made this place nice and sturdy, Antoine,” Clint said.

  “I’m good wit’ my hands, Boss,” Antoine said. “This ol’ shack was fallin’ down, but I fixed it up, me.”

  Clint turned his head, looked at the table they were going to eat on.

  “Made this chair and that table, too,” Antoine said. “I’s good wit’ wood, and wit’ horses, me.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “if you’re as good with horses as you are around here, I can see I’ve got no reason to worry about Eclipse.”

  “You wan’ a drink, boss? I got some whiskey I picks up when I go to town.”

  “Town?”

  Antoine got up and reached into a wooden chest to pull out a bottle of whiskey. He looked very happy as he went to the kitchen to fetch a couple of mismatched glasses.

  “You take it easy on that whiskey, Pops,” Jada scolded him.

  “Dat’s what we say when we goes to Yuma,” Antoine explained, as he poured whiskey into the two glasses and handed Clint one. “Town. Dat’s where we pick up most of our supplies.”

  “You and Jada?”

  “All of us, Boss,” Antoine said. “All of us dat lives here in Miller’s Crossing.”

  “So . . . you all go?”

  “No,” Antoine said, “A few of us goes there every month. We draw straws to see who goes, so the same people don’t always do it. It’s about a six-day ride, dere and back.”

  “I love when it’s our turn to go to Yuma,” Jada said, turning from the stove to face them. She had put on a small apron. “I get to dress up, and we eat in a restaurant, stay in a hotel.”

  “Hush up, girl,” Antoine said. “You jes’ keep cookin’.”

  “Don’t you worry, Pops,” she said, laughing. “Your supper’s gonna be good. I caught three nice fat birds this morning and I’m gonna cook ‘em all.”

  To Clint, that sounded just fine.

  SEVEN

  The fried prairie chicken was excellent, the best meal Clint had had in weeks. He and Antoine finished off the whiskey bottle during the meal, and only the fact that they had been eating while drinking kept them from being completely drunk.

  Toward the end of the meal Antoine was drunk enough, though, to let Jada have a couple of nips from the bottle, as well. By the end of the meal they were all full and happy, laughing together until Clint asked a question he’d been saving.

  “Since you travel fairly often,” Clint asked, “I figure one of you must know where this town called Organ Pipe is.”

  Antoine and Jada stared at him, the laughter dying in Antoine’s eyes. Jada wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she knew her husband wasn’t happy anymore.

  “Why you keep on ast dat, Boss?” he asked Clint.

  “Like I said, it’s just a name I’ve heard,” Clint said. “I don’t have anyplace in particular to go, so I thought I’d take a look. You have to admit, it’s an unusual name for a town.”

  “It is kinda unusual, yeah,” Antoine said.

  “So?” Clint asked. “You know where it is then?”

  “No,” Antoine said, “I ain’t got no idea.” He stood up. “I got to go back to the stable and bed down the horses. You stay here, Boss. Jada give you some beau-coup coffee.”

  “That sounds good to me, if Jada doesn’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “I’ll clear up and make it right away.”

  “I be back later,” Antoine said.

  “If I’m not here when you get back,” Clint said, “thank you for the meal.”

  “You thank Jada,” Antoine said. “She da one dat cook you dat meal, Boss.”

  Antoine left, and Clint remained seated while Jada cleaned up and made coffee.

  “I didn’t have time to make no pie,” she apologized.

  “That’s okay,” Clint said. “That was a great meal, and this is really good coffee.”

  “I’m real glad you liked it all.”

  She sat across from him, drinking her coffee while holding the cup in both hands. In watching her move around the kitchen, Clint had realized she was not as thin as he had first thought. She was wearing jeans and filled them out nicely, with a very solid butt to go with her hard breasts. She also had a pouty mouth that she seemed to constantly be wetting with her tongue. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was married to Antoine, Clint would have been trying to have her as his dessert.

  “What you lookin’ at?” she asked him.

  “Hmm? Oh, nothin’—”

  “You was lookin’ at me.”

  “Well, you’re very pretty, Jada.”

  “You think so?”

  “Come on,” he said, “you know so.”

  “How w
ould I know that?” she asked. “Ain’t nobody in this town tells me that.”

  “Well, you’re married to Antoine,” Clint said.

  “Oh, he don’t never tell me.”

  “Other men would probably tell you, but it looks to me like after Benny, it’s Antoine who’s the biggest man in town.”

  “He big and strong, all right,” Jada said, “but he’s no damn good when it comes to treatin’ a woman right.”

  “Then why did you marry him?” Clint asked.

  She bit her lip, which somehow made his mouth water.

  “If I tell you somethin’, you promise not to tell anybody else?”

  “Sure, Jada,” he said, “you can tell me anything.”

  “We ain’t really married.”

  “What?”

  “Antoine bought me from my daddy in New Orleans, and then brought me here to keep house for him and be his wife. Only we ain’t never got married.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing there ain’t no preacher here,” she explained.

  “And what about when you go to Yuma?”

  “Then we’re too busy to do it,” she said.

  “So you just won’t ever do it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “He don’t seem to care, and I sure don’t. In fact, I’d rather not be married to him.”

  “Why not?”

  “ ’Cause then I can leave anytime I want to,” she said. “Or do anythin’ I want to.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like slippin’ off your britches and sexin’ you down,” she said.

  He rocked back in his chair. He’d never quite heard it put like that before.

  EIGHT

  Jada got up and moved around to Clint’s side of the table.

  “You ain’t got to worry about Antoine,” she told him. “He’s gonna be at the stable for a while.”

  “He doesn’t have that many horses,” Clint warned.

  “He’s gonna make sure your horse is well taken care of, and then he’s gonna put out a bottle of whiskey he don’t know I know he hides there. He won’t be back for hours.”

  She got on her knees in front of Clint who, in spite of himself, had turned to face her. Her fingers plucked at his gun belt, and his pants belt, so she could open his pants and stick her hand inside.