Stockton had a very different look on a Saturday night from the previous Monday morning when he'd ridden through. It was still light when he rode in, the sun just disappearing over the edge of the horizon, but already cowboys were racing up and down the main street, the sound of gunfire could be heard all about the town as guns were fired into the air. The sidewalks and road were busy with cowboys riding, fighting, drinking and just wandering about. He'd been in railhead towns less rough than this. This must be some of the railroad riff raff Nick had been concerned about. Looking closely, he could see that while many of the men were just cowhands looking to have a good time after a hard week of work, there were plenty of men who didn't look the cowboy part at all.
He tied Gal outside the general store, still open for the cowboy's night off, and walked inside. He looked about the store while the clerk sold a cowboy a box of shells. Seeing the stack of shirts, he waited, not touching any of the merchandise, until the clerk walked over.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, you got a shirt to fit me?"
The clerk pulled three or four shirts from the pile. "I think these would all do you. What color you want?"
It hadn't occurred to him to ask for a color. He didn't think it really mattered and decided on something brown, to match the color his other two shirts were gradually acquiring. He added a bar of soap, an envelope and a stamp. Then he told the clerk to give him enough tobacco to make it fifty cents. The man tied up the shirt in brown paper along with the soap while he filled his tobacco bag from the jar. He took the letter he'd written to Miss Rachel and put the dollar bill inside the paper before inserting it in the envelope. He addressed the letter, put the stamp on and dropped it in the box on the counter for outgoing mail.
He would have sent her more, but he needed to buy a side arm. Even saving back a dollar each week it would be a long time in the doing. He glanced at the used handguns on the back wall. Nothing there he would want any way and the cheapest was $11. He was going to be a while getting himself armed again. Sighing he thanked the clerk and took his bundle outside to where he'd tied Gal.
The new shirt was a beauty with little lines all through the fabric to make small checks. He was tying it to the back of his saddle when he noticed some sort of heightening of activity in the center of the main road not twenty feet from him. Three cowboys were trying to pull someone off a horse.
He might not have paid too much attention had his eye not been caught by the sight of that little whippy thing rising up from the middle of the cowboys. Even then he couldn't really believe it, but walked closer to see if it could possibly be the girl was actually that stupid. Yup, the gnat brained gal was in the middle of the road in Stockton on a Saturday night trying to get herself… well, he knew what she was going to get herself but he doubted she knew. He wondered briefly if she was all right in the head. Sometimes children were born looking normal but weren't.
He came up behind the first cowboy with the man not noticing him and grabbed him by the back of his vest. Keeping one foot behind the man, he gave him a hard pull and tripped him down into the street. He ducked up underneath the neck of her horse and hit the cowboy holding the bridle with a good upper cut to the jaw that laid him out flat. He didn't even bother to go for the third man who had one arm up over his head to ward off the girl's whip while his other hand attempted to pull her from the saddle.
He could already see the first man starting to get up from the road. He wouldn't have time to take out the third man before he would be in a fight with all three. No way he was going to keep three cowboys from laying their hands all over that girl. She was laying it on with the little whip, hitting him, the other cowboy and the horse with equal ferocity now. He put both arms around her waist and pulled hard, nearly fell over backwards when she came out of the saddle in his arms.
She was yelling at him now. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME. LET ME GO." With the sound of the music from the saloon across the way and the yelling and gunfire in the street, he was probably the only one in Stockton who could hear her and he just ignored the noise. Half carrying, half dragging, he moved her across the road and into the general store. He figured it was at least a public place and had a light. He hoped the three men would be somewhat deterred in their ambition by the public nature of the place.
Needless to say, the wildcat girl was madder than a wet hen. "Get away from me! Take your hands off me!" He could hear the edge of panic in her voice and knew she was scared.
He tried to reassure her as he dragged her across the road. "It's okay, you know me …, from the grave."
He deposited her inside the door of the store and turned to see if they were being followed. He didn't see anyone coming. Maybe it was going to be as simple as this?
"Oh." She had the good manners to at least stop trying to kill him with her little whip. "I would have been alright."
He looked at her as well as he could in the gloom, she was a few cards short of a full deck. "Are you crazy?" He couldn't believe her. Where had she been all her life to think the world was watching out for her this way?
He just stood there for a minute, looking at her in amazement. Her shirt was half pulled off her shoulders, the sleeve of the shirt torn and her arm bleeding. Did she really get to do things like this and have them turn out with her all right? What must it be like to be able to ride through life knowing the world would take care of you?
He'd spent too much time trying to figure out how a Barkley thought and not enough time paying attention to how a Thomson needed to think. The three cowboys came through the general store doorway while he was looking at the girl and were on him even as he turned.
"Out boy. This is work for men." The smallest of them outweighed him by forty pounds and in a slugging match, size mattered. Oh, he got in a few good blows. He'd been fighting with his fists pretty much on a weekly, if not a daily, basis since he was six years old. He knew how to throw a pretty good punch, how to duck as well as any man and better then most, and he knew how to take a licking. God knew he'd had plenty of practice taking a licking.
He was no Barkley to think the rules of the world didn't apply to him. He knew he had a beating coming when he turned, caught the first blow on his forearm and threw his first punch into the man's gut. He tried as much as he could to stay on his feet and concentrated on ducking more than hitting. No way he was taking even one of these men out. He just had to try and stay alive and keep them punching until, he hoped, the gnat-brained girl managed to get out of harm's way.
It didn't take them very long, in spite of his best efforts, to get him down. Two good blows to his stomach and he was on the floor, nearly out of it entirely. He'd been shot before. He knew it took a deep wound like his a long time to heal inside. But it still surprised him how much it felt like he'd got shot all over again when that first fist drove into his stomach. The second fist to his stomach and he was down, gasping to breathe, the dark closing in on the sides of his vision. No more strength to him then his Aunt Hannah, just done in by two fists to the stomach. Man should be ashamed of his self.
He curled up on the floor, waiting for the boots to come, trying to protect his head and stomach. The boots always came if you let them get you to the ground. He'd learned that in his first fight. He'd learned then it was important, if you were going to fight, to take the other man out fast before his friends showed up and put you on the ground for the boots. Three to one though, he'd known this was a lost fight when he ran out to the horse. But what could a man do if his little sister was an idiot and looked like a cowboy's dream?
He was surprised, when after two good kicks, the fight ended. Then when he managed to breathe again and looked to see the sheriff and two deputies pushing the assailants away, he decided this must be what it was to be a Barkley. You rode into town trying to get raped and a sheriff and two deputes, not to mention some stupid ditch digger, him in that role, all showed up to rescue you. No wonder the girl had no sense. Her whole life people must be falling all over themselves to rescue her.
One of the deputies grabbed him by his arm and hauled him to his feet. The sheriff was standing over Audra and giving her a stern look. "I'll let you explain to your family, Miss Barkley. They can explain to me." He almost smiled at that. The man thought he was making some impression on the girl. She just smiled at him and told him, "We're fine."
Who's the 'we' that's fine, he wondered? Surely she wasn't including him in that, him bent over almost double, standing upright only by the good graces of the deputy?
She came over to him now. All concerned and Lady Catherine for him. Worried that the loyal family retainer might have been injured defending her honor. He wondered who the idiot was when he told her, "I'm okay." And even gave her a small half smile. She looked worried for him, now that the damage was done. Still, that worried look was nice. Nice that she was worried about her brother.