Reuben Cole Westerns

Chapter 2

THERE was never much to do on a Sunday morning, except maybe to sit on a rocking chair, under the shade, and watch. Not that there was much to see either. The main street of ‘Bethlehem’ was empty, save for an old mule tied up outside Cecil Bowers’ haberdashery store. The owner was nowhere to be seen. The ‘Ruby Glow’ saloon was closed, as were the adjacent shops. A horse whinnied from the yard of Hedgefield’s livery and coral. Not much else though.

Reuben Cole leaned forward, chomping on his tobacco, and let loose a long brown stream of spittle into the street. Sitting back, he groaned, repositioned his hat and did his best to drift off to sleep. Ryan Stone, the young sheriff, newly appointed and as keen as anything, was out visiting the Gower sisters who had reported seeing a ‘large black man’ poking around in their apple orchard. Amelie, the younger of the two, brought in the news, nervous about leaving Claudette, her sister, out there on her own. Cole recalled the exchange. “Well, there is Joshua, of course, but Joshua is old now. Not sure what use he’d be in a fight.”

“A fight?” Stone was busily writing the report down in a large ledger. That’s the way things were done now, he had told Cole, everything had to be recorded.

“You said ‘fight’. What sort of fight?” put in Cole.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Amelie, all flustered. She wore a pretty sky-blue dress with white shawl and matching bonnet. A handsome woman, Cole estimated her age at around fifty and he didn’t know of many much younger women who looked as fine as she. Except Maddie, of course. Amelie played with her folded parasol, rolling it in her palms, growing a little more nervous as she continued. “Gunfights and such.”

Cole and Stone exchanged a look. “You think this intruder had a g*n?” asked the young sheriff.

“Not sure,” she said. “But he was black, so he must have.”

Cole pulled a face. “Not sure I get your meaning there, ma’am.”

“They all carry guns, don’t they? Violent. Thieves and rapists the lot of them. Isn’t that so?”

all Suddenly Miss Amelie seemed a whole lot less attractive than before. Blowing out a long breath, Cole shot a glance towards Stone. “I’ll be outside.”

Later, with Amelie prancing off to the teahouse, Stone stepped out into the daylight, adjusting his g*n belt. He checked his Colt Frontier. “She’s worried,” he said without lifting his head.

“Take the scatter-g*n,” Cole had suggested, already well ensconced in the rocking chair.

“No need for that Mr Cole, it’s probably just some—”

“Humour an over-cautious old man,” said Cole without shifting from his position. “Since that business of the break-in at the house, I’m kinda nervous about strangers rooting around.” At this point, he tipped his hat back and settled a hard stare upon young Stone. “Take the scatter-gun.”

Blowing out a sigh, but chuckling nonetheless, Stone did as asked. He went into the jailhouse and returned moments later with the g*n, breaking it open to feed in the load. “You will look after the store whilst I’m gone?”

“Already am,” said Cole, easing down the hat over his face, “already am.”

That was almost three hours ago. A tiny tingling of something unsettling was becoming more noticeable at the nape of his neck. He didn’t like the feeling and thought such things were way behind him. Farther than his neck anyway. Sniggering at his little private joke, he decided to give the young sheriff one more hour before he’d go take a look. Better safe than sorry.

From somewhere far off, the tiny clink of the church bell reminded himself that it was already noon and the padre had ended his service. Soon the faithful and the good would be traipsing back to their homes, and Myron would be opening the bar at the saloon. It was something to look forward to. Snuggling down, arms crossed, he tried again to sleep.

A loud, sharp retort caused him to spring upright, hat falling back. Instinctively, he reached for his g*n, which was, as usual, adjusted for a cross-belly draw, the way it always had been since Cole’s army days. Almost thirty years had slipped by since he stopped scouting for the United States Cavalry, but old habits do indeed die hard. If they didn’t, it might be Cole who would be dying.

Blinking repeatedly, he climbed to his feet and stared in disbelief at the bizarre looking contraption trundling along the middle of the street. A curious, box-like construction, it appeared too flimsy to support the two adults squashed up inside. Open to the elements, they sat on a raised bench seat, covered in dark blue padding. A large, brightly chequered blanket covered their knees, and both wore hats and scarves. The man was the one steering the thing forward, if such a word could be used to describe the ongoing struggle he was making with the small wheel in front of him. Beside him, a slim, elegant looking woman, turned her smiling face towards Cole an action, which caused a tiny thrill to ripple through his abdomen. She possessed a sultry, breath-taking beauty, the kind men found irresistible.

The driver brought the beast to a halt, jerked on the handbrake, and reached to disengage the engine. Unfortunately, he was not fast enough to prevent another loud explosion and a rush of black smoke erupting from the machine’s rear.

Clamping a gloved hand over her mouth, the woman stepped down, coughing hoarsely. A piece of black chiffon tied under her chin secured the bonnet. She wore a large grey overcoat, which fell to her ankles, encased as they were in laced patent black leather boots. Behind her, the man stepped up, rubbing his gloved hands together. He prised a set of goggles from his face and pushed them above the rim of his deerstalker cap. A two-piece gabardine coat completed his outfit, all designed to keep him warm and dry when he was perched on the machine’s seat.

“Beautiful day,” the man shouted. “We’ve been on the road for quite a while and would dearly love to stretch out legs, find a spot of something to eat. Drink. That sort of thing. Have you anything here?”

Cole couldn’t quite catch the accent. He’d heard many in his time, but this one … It sounded sing-song, like sailors from whaling ships he’d met years before, but a much stranger delivery of the vowels forcing him to strain to catch the meaning.

“If it’s eating you’re after …” Cole paused for confirmation.

“Yes, indeed,” said the woman, whose voice was clearly discernible. Almost melodic, Cole thought.

“Then you could try either the saloon, or Mrs Desmond, who opens her restaurant roundabout now to accommodate those returning from church.”

“That sounds perfect,” she said. Stepping forward, she reached out her hand. “I am Mrs Cartwright, but you can call me Sarah.” She gestured towards the man hovering at her side. “This is my husband Lewis.”

The former scout took her hand and shook it. “I’m Cole.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, releasing her grip. “We’ve purchased the hotel and have made quite a trip from Nebraska, travelling in Lewis’ beautiful horseless carriage here.” She stepped aside to allow Cole an uninterrupted view. Lewis beamed, chest swollen with pride.

“Hotel? I didn’t know it was for sale.”

“Oh yes,” said Lewis enthusiastically. He strode forward, proffering his hand this time. “Yes. The Elegance as it’s called.”

“Ah,” said Cole, shaking his hand. “I know the one you mean, a little out of town, not so very far from the rail station?”

“That’s the one. Perfect spot.”

“It’s a wonder nobody has snapped it up before now,” put in Sarah Cartwright.

“Well, that could be because of the killing, but who knows.”

“Killing?” The couple spoke as one and both looked shocked.

“Some time ago now,” said Cole, “but I’m not too clear about the details, not being from here. I live quite a ways out of town myself, but in the opposite direction.” To give some emphasis, he pointed towards the distant mountains.

“A killing?” Lewis turned away, shaking his head. “Nobody said anything about a killing …” Swinging around again, he did his best to force a smile. “Still, it can’t be haunted … can it?”

“Who knows? Besides, wouldn’t that be something of a selling point?”

“A selling poi—”

“Good Lord,” interjected Sarah, “I think you could have something there,” and they all laughed. The mood broken, they bade their farewells and the couple walked off towards Mrs Desmond’s restaurant. Cole returned to his rocking chair and, despite the welcome distraction of the newcomers, grew uneasy. Stone was now very much overdue, and he knew, if he didn’t know before, that he would have to ride out there and check the situation. He’d promised himself not to get involved in such matters, but here he was once more, doing just that. He offered up a silent prayer that none of it would come to very much.

In that, he was to be proved wrong.