Chapter 6

CY drove over the cattle-gap, and let the car meander on past the house and into the garage. When he mounted to the back porch, whip coiled in hand, he heard voices at the front. He walked out on to the veranda and was confronted by a shocking tableau.

Flooded by the porch lights, on the bottom step stood Sheriff Jake Jonas, resplendent in fawn-colored pants and tight-fitting shirt. In his big red hands he mauled a Stetson.

"You'd better come on in with me, boy," Jonas was saying to Buck.

Buck Farrell backed to the wall. Steven Scott, in dark trousers, light summer jacket and the inevitable blue bow tie, stood blocking the sheriff.

"If Mr. Scott tells me to, I'll go," said Buck calmly. "Otherwise, I won't."

"I," stated Steven, "have already had my say. You're here on a fool's errand, Jake. If you try to climb these steps, you'll be sorry."

"You can't stand in the way of the law," Jake Jonas blustered heavily. "I come to get Buck Farrell."

"What's the charge?" asked Cy, stepping in front of his father.

"He took a bull-whip to a couple of Les Corey's men," Jonas said. "They've been cut up something fierce. And for nothing at all-"

"That's a goddamn lie."

Cy's remark came out so viciously that the sheriff gasped. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. Anyway, I'm the man you want," Cy said, his eyes sparking fire. He gripped his weapon. "Ever feel a wet whip, Jake?"

Jonas backed away. "A wet whip. I cut those shoats because they had been bothering one of Lady Bergstrom's girls."

"Lady did come to me with some cock-and-bull story about-"

"Sure. Only it wasn't bull," Cy said. "You going to try to take me in, Jake?"

"Well, I guess I should, seein' that-"

The whip snaked out and crashed into the grass at the sheriff's feet. "You had a bona fide complaint from a tax-paying, voting citizen and you refused to investigate. I think the county has a right to know about that. I'll see to it that Wade Harbison gets the full details. He would just love to publish them in his paper." .

The sheriff's purple face paled. "Now look here, Cy. I don't want no write-ups. Wade don't like me nohow and-"

"You came to get the man who cut up Corey's torpedoes, didn't you? Well, here I am."

The sheriff licked his lips and his eyes shifted. "You say those crackers tried to take it from that gal?"

"Well, you must know it. You got a complaint from them, didn't you? And you got Lady's complaint. Don't tell me you couldn't add them up. And how come you ignore her charge, but jump like a puppet on a string when the likes of Dan Williams makes a beef? I tell you, I'm spilling the whole story to Harbison in the morning."

"Now look, Cy," said Jonas desperately, "maybe I did come out here half-cocked. That ain't no reason to get all fired up and try to cause a lot of trouble."

"I think the public should know its servants. If folks hereabouts knew a little more about what's going on, they might want to pick themselves a new sheriff. And I think they would be right."

The blood came boiling back to Jonas' face. "Yeah? I heard some of that talk about trying to bump me out. Let me tell you something, boy. Tangle with me and you'll be sorry."

"Is that a fact?" asked Cy. And flicking a wrist, he wrapped his whip about the fat sheriff's neck. Jake Jonas clawed for his gun, but Cy, closing in, imprisoned the sheriff's reaching hand. Then, muscles heaving, Cy slammed him against the concrete abutment of the veranda. "Pull that gun and I'll cut you to ribbons," Cy grated.

When Jake gave the stock a nudge, Cy's whip snaked out and licked the sheriff's highly polished boots.

"Now you're in for it, sonny," Jonas coughed. "I'll see you in jail for this."

"How?" asked Steven Scott with a smile. "We have two witnesses eager to state that Cy never laid a finger on you. Coir charge of false arrest would make mighty juicy reading, Jake."

Jonas huffed and puffed, his face purple as a beet Then he stooped and retrieved his hat and, with a malignant glance, turned and waddled down the path to his car. He started the motor and tore away, his tortured tires sending up a spray of gravel.

"Angry man," said Steven Scott, his blue eyes following the departing automobile. "I thought something like this might come up. Buck told me you and he made hash of a couple of hotheaded pests."

"We did. Good thing Buck came along, too. Otherwise I might not have survived the episode. I'm for a drink, Dad. How about you?"

"I think I'm about ready to hit the hay. Maybe Buck will have one with you."

Buck led the way into the kitchen and made highballs. He joined Cy at the table and the two drank in silence.

"Maybe my arrival was handy," Buck said, "but I guess it was a good thing I left quickly, too."

Cy's eyes flashed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Buck made himself smile. "Oh, nothing. You know, that Maureen is the prettiest thing in the county. I hope you take good care of her."

Suddenly the starch seemed to flow out of Cy and he slumped. "So you could see it?"

"I said to myself, Cy's match is ready to build that girl's fire. And sure enough, you were gone with her maybe three hours. Did you take her straight home?" Because he loved both Cy and Maureen, the big Negro lad was suffering acutely. But he wanted to know the truth.

"No."

Buck, bitterly satisfied, applied himself to his drink.

Cy looked at him. "Do you think I did wrong?"

Buck scowled. "Boy, don't ask me something I can't answer. It's no mix of mine. But it must have seemed right to both of you, else it wouldn't have happened."

Cy said, "It's the best thing that ever did happen to me, Buck. Of course, sharing my life with Maureen will pose many problems-but what she and I possess is wonderful and rare."

"Already?" Buck queried carefully, as if testing his friend. "You hardly know her. And she just met you a few hours ago."

"I'll make it plain. I know I love her. And I think-I hope-that she loves me."

Buck nodded. "All right, then. I'm happy for both of you." Man, how big a liar can you be, thought Buck. Whatever his feelings at the moment, they were not those of happiness. He poured a shot and drank it straight.

Cy's fist struck the table viciously. "Oh, I know. You're thinking none of this is fair to Maureen. That's the big drawback."

"Betcha she doesn't think so."

"You know, I find it impossible to believe that the girl is so young. She has a very mature viewpoint She is ready to meet life on its own terms. She knows perfectly well what she's doing-"

"You don't have to make excuses," Buck said. "I'm sure she loves you-or she wouldn't have given in to you. And I'm sure you love her-because you say so."

Cy caught the irony in the other's tone.

"You mean you don't think it will last?"

"I didn't say that," Buck answered carefully.

Cy stared at the big Negro. "Now, see here, Buck. I want the best for her."

Buck nodded. "Nothing wrong with that. It so happens, however, that your contributions, because of the people among whom you have to live, will be limited."

"I realize that," Cy said. "What a shame that a girl, by reason of her color, must lead a narrow and restricted life-a social wall between her and the man she loves."

"Want to know who her father is?"

"Yes."

"Your neighbor, Frank Loty."

Cy sank into a vat of soft, strangling liquid. "I never would have thought it," Cy said. "Mr. Loty is a pillar of society, the quintessence of respectability. You mean that he and a colored woman got together?"

"Mr. Loty said that he was permitted to sleep with his wife only ten times in fourteen years of marriage. The fact that he has managed to beget two children amazes him," Buck announced. "Of course, he had to do it outside his home."

"I'm sure Frank felt justified, then, in finding a Negro woman," Cy said suddenly full of doubts. "But I have no such justification. I'm not married to an ogress."

Buck laughed. "Boy, you're determined to bullwhip yourself, aren't you? Maybe you ought to let me do it. I can throw an eight-plait a lot harder than you."

Cy drained his glass. "I think I'll hit the sack," he said. "I've had enough for one day."

Then the telephone rang. Cy winced as the brassy voice of Lady Bergstrom smote his ears.

"You don't need a phone," said Cy into the mouthpiece. "You could just stick your head out the window and-"

"None of your lip, young man, or I'll give you the whip. What happened this afternoon?"

"Party line, Lady," Cy gently reminded the woman. "Someone might be listening in."

"Oh...." She sounded subdued. "Well, since that's the case, get yourself over here on the double. I want a blow-by-blow account of your skirmish."

"But it's nearly midnight!"

"So what? I lost my reputation years ago."

"All right," Cy said. "I'll come."

"Gonna tell her about Maureen?" asked Buck.

Cy shot him a glance. "You got a screw loose somewhere?"

"Lady plays a ouija board," Buck said. "It's probably told her all about your little affair."

"Let's hope not," Cy said. "Make you a bet," Buck offered. "What's that?"

"Five dollars to one she wouldn't think the worse of either of you."

Cy shook his head. "Maybe not. But I'm not taking any chances. I don't want whispers going around about Maureen."

He went upstairs to his room, changed to blue slacks and a white shirt. As he got into his car, he let the beauty of the night flow through him.

The wills-a-widows, wealthy cousins of the whippoorwill, fled from Cy's headlights, their eyes as red as rubies. Cy loved their calls: Chuck ... wills-a widow. Chuck ... wills-a-widow...." The refrain of the birds, in haunting cadence, drifted on the air. A stinging perfume seduced his nostrils, compound of yellow jasmine, wild plum, mayhaw, and pine balsam.

Cy inhaled deeply and let the car creep around tight curves. Despite all, how strangely at peace he was! The sky was a star-spangled canopy that occasionally leaped with lightning. Fireflies flashed back and forth among the bushes lining the red, eroded clay banks. A moth as big as a hummingbird whizzed by like a small rocket and was lost.

Cy followed the winding road, then brought the car to a stop. Across a wide valley and on the crest of another rise sat Hilltop, the home of Lady Bergstrom.

It was an enormous, three-storied mansion. Gigantic columns ran around the veranda. A light, like some fabulous gem, shone through the twin front doors, their colors fusing into one opalescent ray that ballooned into the dark night.

Cy rolled the car down the drive. He pulled up under a tall, spreading magnolia and got out. The huge house made him feel pitifully small.

Abruptly the front doors were flung wide and Lady strode out. She was dressed in riding breeches and dusty boots. "Well," she bellowed, "you coming in or not?"

"Hold your horses," Cy said as he hastened up the brick walk. "Come on in, boy. Your drink is melting." They passed through the living room with its mirrors, heavy furniture and wine-colored drapes, reached a small and cozy den.

Lady handed Cy a scotch and frowned at him across the glass-topped coffee table. "All right, what happened?"

Cy told her carefully. He omitted any mention of the girl's reaction to the attack and counter-attack, of her behavior then and afterward, of his impressions concerning her. He did not so much as mention her name, concentrated instead on Buck's unexpected and fortunate part in the proceedings.

"Fine," Lady said, "I approve of the way you handled things."

"Well, Jake Jonas doesn't approve. He and I have had words," Cy confessed.

"I can see why," Lady snapped.

"He warned me not to try and take his job."

Lady reared back and looked hard at Cy. "Oh, did he?"

"Yes." With a sudden movement, Cy popped his knuckles.

"Stop that!" Lady yelled. "Dammit, that gives me the willies. So Jake as much as dared you to run?"

"That's right"

Lady waited for a full minute. "Well?"

"Harbison should get the story for the Clarion, I figure. The whole story."

"In that case, you're in," Lady trumpeted. "When can I officially start campaigning?"

Cy sighed and drained his glass in two swallows.

"I didn't say I would run, did I?"

"Are you going to let it look as if Jake scared you off? You can't do that. When the story appears in the paper-"

"Oh, all right, you win." Cy shrugged. "You can start campaigning in the morning," he said tightly.

Lady burst into raucous laughter. "That's not soon enough. When you leave, I'll start phoning. Now-what about the Negro vote? Only fifteen hundred and twenty-eight are registered."

"I could probably use them."

"You can't make any overt effort, because the Great White Race down here would probably hold that against you. But Loree and Buck will pass the word. Once our Negro folks learn what you did for Maureen, you'll have their vote in your back pocket I'd stake my biggest diamond on you taking this election by a landslide."

"I don't know how to run a campaign," Cy complained. "I'd feel silly as hell waltzing around all over the county shaking hands with people and telling them what a bastard Jake Jonas is."

"You won't have to tell anyone about Jake Jonas. They already know. Cy, I'm going to be your manager. I'll say that you're the strong, silent type, no politician, therefore will make a hell of a good sheriff. Judge Reamer has been riding the fence. But he's smart enough not to want to be buried with Jake. He'll get off if I have to knock him off. Boy, when I get through making my pitch about what a great guy you are, the office will be in your pocket."

Cy sighed shakily. "I wish I were as confident as you. I'd hate to run and lose."

"You won't lose," Lady barked. "Go on home now, and write out what you want Wade Harbison to print. I promise you that he'll run it. Wade hates Jake maybe even more than I do."

But when Cy stood to go, Lady changed her mind and motioned him to sit.

"Just a minute," she said. "I forgot one thing. Have another drink." Ramming a long Latin cigarette into an ivory holder, Lady went on thoughtfully, "You studiously avoided saying anything about Maureen. Son, she must have stung you, but good-she stings every man. So the fact that you're not talking about her means you must be hiding something. Tell me about it, Cy. I've seen, heard and done more than you can imagine. Speak up!"

Cy stared into the depths of his highball. "What can I say, Lady?"

The woman blew out a cloud of smoke. "When did Maureen leave work?"

"A little after five, I suppose."

"Well, she didn't get home until nine. Loree nearly went out of her mind from worry."

Cy sat back and took a long swallow. "In this part of the country, I guess nothing could be worse than what I've gone and done. Lady, I have fallen in love with a colored girl."

Lady puffed powerful smoke from the brown-paper cigarette. "Half the men in the county," she remarked, "are guilty of this so-called offense, including our good friends Harley Truesdell, and Walter Richardson, James Free ... Want me to go on?"

"You're not through?"

"No, I'll drop you one more. Steven Scott."

Shocked but delighted, Cy massaged the cold, sweaty tumbler. "I always closed my ears to such talk," he said slowly. "What do wives think of it?"

"Some ignore it or pretend that it isn't so. Some few realize that they married he-men and that the stronger a man, the less successfully can he squelch his libido. Take away from a man his rights and what do you have? Pimply excuses like Sam Beach and Hap Lester. You may think that Ed Bergstrom, bless his soul, was one of those weak-spined critters, but I can tell you different. Ed ran around, but he was only being a man. Nature was pulling strings that it had tied onto him a million years ago. I kept my yap shut and Ed always came back. He was smarter than most. He didn't leave the landscape cluttered up with woods colts."

"Your attitude is enlightened, I'm sure," Cy said, "but what about the ethics involved?"

"Son, ethics are flexible. Do no harm to any creature and ethics will take care of themselves. Tragedies are born only when the public is privy to your secrets. That's when the woman begins to take a beating. Bet you a dollar that you tried to reason Maureen out of an affair."

"I did."

"And she would have none of it."

"For an eighteen-year-old, Maureen has a mature, sophisticated approach to sex and everything else. Where did she get her ideas?"

"Do you know that Maureen had a straight-A average in high school? That her I.Q. is superior to mine?"

"I'll be damned. And she paints like ... Oh, hell, how can I describe her work?" Cy asked helplessly.

"You don't have to. I've seen those oils. She can also string words like nobody's business."

"It's a crime, Lady."

"What?"

"Maureen should go to college."

"You want her to?"

Cy stood up. "Yes, even if it means losing her."

"You know, that's an unselfish thing to say." Lady stared into Cy's eyes. "You're just like your father. He's a loving, generous fellow even though-since your mother passed on-he does follow the call of his glands. Sex doesn't necessarily make a louse of a man. Steven thinks in advance of the damage he might do, and if it is great, he leaves the girl alone. That's ethics, my boy."

Cy sighed heavily. "Lady, you've cleared away some mists. What's good enough for my father is good enough for me. I've been letting life pass me by."

"You're up to your eyeballs in it now."

"Jake Jonas would love to have that bit of information. He'd be glad to use it against me."

"Who's going to talk? Me? You? The girl won't...."

"Well, I've gone to bat for her, see? It might start tongues wagging."

"Poppycock. In this county, so many men are involved in clandestine affairs with women of color that an expose of one would cause the downfall of dozens of others. I mean they wouldn't risk retaliation. Besides, I trust that both you and Maureen have enough sense to keep your relationship quiet."

"You amaze me, Lady."

Lady winked. "If I were you, the first thing I'd do is contact Davis Wilde. He despises Jake, but stays on because he needs the job."

"I'm planning to appoint him my first deputy," Cy said, "if and when I win office."

"Great," Lady mooed in a deep contralto. "Ever meet his little sister? She sparkles like a mountain pool in the sun and is as pretty as a speckled puppy hanging out of a red Thunderbird."

Cy frowned. "You wouldn't be trying to complicate my life, would you?"

"If you are your father's son, which I strongly suspect, you can handle more than one woman. That Grace is a wonderful girl."

"Oh, brother," Cy said. "I'm already going out of my mind."

"What's the matter?" Lady asked.

"I met Fleur Manning last night at the club...."

"If I recall correctly, you two used to dash in to the brush as often as time and energy would permit.

Cy flushed hotly. "How did you know?"

"Boy, I could write a history of this county. I'm a nosy bitch. I love to mind other people's business."

Cy laughed. "Fleur has a sister, too-and wants me to meet her."

Lady chuckled. "Fleur is not only frank and honest-she's magnanimous. I'm not sure I can say the same for Kitty. She has a roving, calculating eye."

Cy nodded thoughtfully. "Well, thanks for the liquor. I've got to be going now. I'll talk to Harbison in the morning."

Lady went to the door with him. "Cy, you've made an old woman very happy tonight. I hated to see this county going to pot"

Cy turned and kissed her on the cheek. "What old woman? You get prettier every day."

Lady stamped her dainty foot. "Go long home now, you tease. We'll have a skull session in a few days."

"You're an education, Lady," Cy said. "Your understanding is as deep as the sea."

"That's because I dig people, son. You know it takes all kinds to make the world, and I dig every one."

"Except Sheriff Jonas."

"And some of his friends," she agreed.