Chapter 7
THURSDAY'S Clarion carried a two-column story that set tongues wagging. The headline was black and tall. It blared: SHERIFF DARES QUALIFIED CITIZEN TO OPPOSE HIM IN RACE.
The first paragraph was short and to the point.
Sheriff Jake Jonas, after an abortive attempt to arrest a colored man for assault and battery, challenged Cyrus Scott, the colored man's champion, to the candidacy. Scott, the great grandson of General Sulloway Scott, has thrown his hat into the ring.
The article went on to delineate Jonas' record and the attack on Maureen Hale. Harbison's editorial was scathing.
Mrs. Ladybird Bergstrom, mistress of Hilltop, had warned the sheriff twenty-four hours in advance that attempts had been made on the girl and that another was imminent. In the presence of three witnesses, Sheriff Jonas described Mrs. Bergstrom's information as 'a cock-and-bull story.' This newspaper believes that the time has come for a change!
The effects of Harbison's publicity were tremendous. Soon the name Scott was on the lips of every man, woman and child in the county. Fables that had their beginnings in fact began to snowball. Fiction in the high heat of conversation was accepted as absolute truth.
The first action was taken by Les Corey. As soon as he had finished reading Harbison's article, he summoned Sailor Shaw and Kip Malone to his office.
The left side of Malone's face was bandaged. Shaw walked as if someone had taped a ramrod to his back.
Corey eyed them steadily as they stood nervously before his desk.
"I hate liars," he said in a flat, toneless voice.
"We told you what happened," said Malone, his cheek jerking spasmodically.
"You two brainless asses got just what you deserve. Imagine running to the sheriff with some story about Farrell. Witnesses could prove he wasn't anywhere in the vicinity."
"That's not so," said Shaw hoarsely. "I trained my gun on Scott because he had slashed Kip. Then that Farrell came from behind and cut me in two with his whip."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Corey savagely. "Scott has three witnesses plus Farrell. They would be able to laugh you out of court. Why did you have to go and cry on Jake Jonas' shoulder, anyway? That paranoid monkey nearly got himself killed. He's damn lucky that the Scott bunch didn't whip holes in him.
You had a hell of a nerve using my influence to get Jonas to go out there."
"Take it easy," whined the heavy-bodied Shaw. "I feel lousy enough-"
Corey dropped his meaty fists on the desk, then stood up. "Scram out of here as fast as you can get your stuff together, you poor, dumb bastard. As for you, Kip, I want a few more words with you...."
"What about my money?" blustered the heavy man.
"I don't run a bank," said Corey softly, "so I haven't been keeping track of it. If you're still in this county by sundown, you'll never leave. Get me?"
Shaw's face went the color of whey. He turned and stumbled from the room.
"Now, you...." Corey stared at Malone. The other could not meet his eyes. "Do you have any idea how hard I work to keep this hick county in the palm of my hand? Any idea at all?"
"I think so."
"Then what the hell are you trying to do? Ruin me? Get us all run out?"
"We got the sheriff, ain't we?"
"Yes, but for how long? Just one more slip and Jonas wouldn't be able to run for dog-catcher. Maybe the machine can shove him down the people's throat once again, but I'm not so sure. If Jonas doesn't get elected, do you know what will happen to us?"
"Oh, Jake will make it again."
"I'm glad you think so. If you weren't the prime minister of stupidity, I might feel happier. Now get out of here."
"Am I fired, too?"
"You're too good a blackjack dealer. But just one more chance, Kip, that's all you get. And if you help sink me, believe me, man, it will be your final act on this earth. Now get out of my sight. And do nothing on your own. Wait until you hear from me."
"I could kill Scott for you," said Malone slyly.
Corey sighed tiredly. "I doubt it. He's too smart for that and Buck Farrell always backs him up. What was the result of your last battle? Both of your brains are scarred for life, but Scott came off with maybe a little heartburn from losing his temper. Get out of here, Kip."
In the county seat, some eleven miles south, another conference was going on. If possible, it was as painful and one-sided as that at the club.
Judge Wesley sat in his chambers. Still draped in his robe of office, he scowled at the cigarette-pocked surface of his desk.
He looked at his clerk. "Tell Jake I want to see him, Ab."
Moments later Jake Jonas walked in. He took a chair across from the eagle-faced old man. "Hiya, Judge. How's tricks?"
The tall, graying jurist did not speak for a moment. Then he lifted his hard eyes to Jonas. Tapping a copy of the Clarion with an extended forefinger, the judge said, "Whatever made you pen this ode to political ignorance?"
"I didn't write that. Wade Harbison did. He's never liked me," Jonas complained.
"I should not have spoken in analogy. Sometimes I forget that you have almost the intelligence of a low-grade moron. I'll try to be more specific. As you know, Jake, I have an interest in local politics." He tapped the paper again. "I very much fear that you, right now, are a political carcass-and I do not care to tie my kite to a dead body. Jake, you have committed an incredibly stupid act. I have no desire to follow you into folly. Are you totally unaware of the temper of the people? Don't try to tell me that you haven't felt alarm since this came out."
"It will all blow over," Jake said. "I can't see why I should be alarmed, or you, either. Judge, you're being hasty-"
"And you're being childish," said the judge. "Immature. Since when does anyone even remotely connected with Corey speak the truth? His men misled you into trying to make a false arrest. In easily understood, basic English, I'll draw you a picture of what you have done. First you brushed off Lady Bergstrom, undisputed social arbiter in the county. That was bad enough. On top of that, you go out to Scottland and try to arrest their Negro hand. After discovering that he wasn't even on the scene, instead of apologizing and getting out, you bluster around and try to play the big man. Hell, no one but a fool would mess with old Steven Scott. The man would kill you and never stop sipping his julep."
"But," Jonas broke in, "I tell you that Buck was guilty-"
"Of what? Defending his employer from the threat of a gun? Defending a girl from rape?"
To this, Jonas had no reply. He gulped and gasped like a hooked catfish.
"I spoke to young Cy two weeks ago," the judge continued. "He not only had no intention of running, but was actively opposed to the idea. Now, due to that impetuous piece of jackassery you pulled, he is going to run."
Jonas paled. "Hell, he's just bluffin'. There ain't a man in the county who could buck me."
"You wouldn't like to place a small wager on that, would you? You'll be opposed, all right. So as of today, you're on your own, Jonas. You're as thickheaded as a billy goat Therefore, you need not look to me for support"
Jonas jumped to his feet. "I don't need you," he bragged. "I got my own ways of winnin' an election."
"I hear rumors about some of them," said the judge. "I never was in favor of peddling influence. As for scaring off the colored vote, Scott would call in federal investigators. He could get you put away."
Jonas sneered. "Yeah? Let him try. And I got this to tell you, Judge. When I win, don't try to jump on my wagon."
The county's reaction to Cy Scott's candidacy was surprising. Cy discovered that even strangers liked him, if only because of his father. It was at once gratifying and annoying.
As Cy ate supper one night, he decided to ride into town and visit Davis Wilde.
"Want company?" asked Buck, as Cy walked toward the car.
"Sure. Just going to ask Davis to be my chief deputy."
Later, as they rode along the winding road, Buck said, "Seen Maureen lately?"
"No. I've been too busy, as you know."
"That's what I told her."
"You saw her?"
"I was over there last night. My mother sent me with a package for Lula-dress goods, I think. Anyway, I felt that Maureen wanted to speak to me in private, so I gave Lula the slip."
"What did she tell you?"
"Nothing much. Naturally, Maureen is anxious about you. Said she would wait in her castle tonight."
A hot spot seemed to settle on Cy. "I'll get this trip over with in a hurry," he said in a low tone.
"That's good. She'll be glad to see you."
At the sheriff's office, Cy found Davis sitting behind the desk. "Davis, mind having a chat?"
Wilde sprang up. "Sure thing, Cy. Here or outside?"
"Well," Cy h-edged, "I have no desire to meet up with Jake."
Wilde laughed. "You won't. He went on a binge today. But let's go out"
Wilde was a man of moderate height. He had heavy, muscular shoulders, a weather-beaten face and straight black hair. His eyes were a crackling, electric blue.
"Lady Bergstrom been speaking to you?" asked Cy as they neared the car.
"Nope. Nary a word. She's been talkin' to everybody else though ... Howdy, Buck."
"Evenin', Mr. Wilde. You all sit in front. I'll climb in the back or take a walk."
"Sit tight, Buck," said Cy. "This will be among the three of us."
"You sound uncommon serious," said Davis Wilde, as he got into the car.
"I am. Davis, I want you to be my chief deputy."
Wilde was so staggered that he seemed to sway. "You want me?"
"Yes. You know the ropes and I don't. We could clean up this county-between you and me."
"That's gospel," Davis breathed. "Cy, you don't know what this will mean to me."
Cy grinned. "You sound like you think I'm going to win."
Wilde grunted. "Well, I'm hoping it. I'm on thin ice with Jake. I haven't been able to stomach him for a long time. And he refuses to give me a raise. To your question, Cy, the answer is a big yes. I know that you're a good man." They shook hands. "I'm sure we two will get along," Wilde said.
"You can bet on it," responded Cy. "Just remember, the job is yours if you want it."
Wilde laughed. "You don't have to put it in writing. The Scott word is good enough for me. But-well-before you put me on the payroll, I have a small favor to ask."
"Sure, I'd be glad to help. What's the problem?"
"Well, my baby sister's napping in the back office. She brought my supper and was going to take me home, but I can't leave yet. Would you give her a lift? She was up with the colt last night. If you'd be so kind as to take her home, she could catch up on her sleep."
"Be glad to, Davis. I don't think I've met her."
"My half-sister. She came to me when her mother died. Just wait here. I'll go get her."
He bounced out of the car and walked back into the sheriff's office.
"Now," said Buck in a low voice, "you've got a treat coming. I've seen her around once or twice. This girl is something."
"So I've been told," said Cy, anticipation tickling his spine.
Davis and his sister came through the door. The girl's lovely figure, silhouetted in the light, made Cy's adam's apple jump frantically. She wore tight jeans and a man's blue shirt. The front of it, designed to fit a flat chest, was hardly able to contain the bounty of her breasts. Her hair was dark and plaited, Indian-maid style. At the end of each pigtail was a tiny scarlet bow. Cy could see the sparkle and vitality of her face, although she was still rubbing sleep from her eyes. She had a small, pert nose and full, red lips.
"Cy, meet my sister, Grace." Davis turned to the girl. "Cy's gonna take you home, honey. Hit the hay and get some sleep. You'll have to get up good and early tomorrow morning."
"Cy," Grace said, "Davis tells me we'll be solvent for the next four years."
"Davis is optimistic. I haven't won yet and that's a necessary condition."
"Man, you should put your ear to the ground. It's in the bag," Davis insisted. "Jonas has one foot in the grave."
Grace climbed in and turned to her brother. "Better save the paperwork till tomorrow, Davis. You need rest, too."
"I can't, hon. I've got a lot to do. See you in the morning."
As they pulled away, Grace smiled at Buck. "Hi Remember me?"
"Nice to see you again, Miss Gracie."
"You and Buck acquainted?" asked Cy.
"Sure. Not long after I came, Buck helped me round up a couple of calves in the branch bottom. I couldn't have done it by myself."
The girl's infectious good humor penetrated Cy's barriers. He felt invigorated.
"How long have you been here with Davis?"
"Nearly a year. When Mom died, you know, he took me in. I went two years to college, then quit. It had become a bore and a pain. Davis was breaking his back to wring a living from his place. I decided to keep house and cook for him. That was the least I could have done. He paid more than three-quarters of my tuition. I've been awfully happy down here."
"How is your social life? I haven't seen you around."
"I spend a lot of time working with the livestock," Grace answered.
"Don't you miss companionship?"
"Oh ... I suppose so." Grace made a sinuous wriggle that brought her knees up on the seat. "But it's been said that I'm too particular. I don't go out of my way to surround myself with duds and bores. In a crowd, nothing but surface things count. You can't really get down to serious conversation."
"You like serious things, then?"
"Sure. I even have a philosophy. Live and let live." She cocked a bright eye at him. "Cy, you like to ask questions."
That should have made him come through with an apology, but the words stuck in his throat. She seemed to be asking, actually, why he was so interested in her.
And that he was interested, very much interested, was a fact he did not try to hide from her or from himself.
"Grace, you intrigue me," he said. "You're something to gladden the eye, but that's not it You-you're refreshing. Invigorating."
"Stimulating, you mean?" She laughed.
"Have it your own way. But it's my excuse for asking questions."
"I don't know you any better than you know me, Cy, so I can think of questions, too."
"Ask anything you like."
Just then they rumbled over the cattle-guard at Scottland. Buck, who had been unwontedly silent spoke up. "Might as well drop me here, Cy."
"All right. Then I'll drive Miss Grace home."
They stopped in front of the house and Buck got out. "Nice seeing you again, Miss Grace."
"Ditto, Buck. I might have to call you again some time."
"Say the word, Miss Grace ... I can outsmart any calf in the country."
The car pulled off and Grace said, "He's so nice, Cy."
Cy laughed. "He's a hell of a lot more than nice. Buck is a great man. He's the greatest I've ever run into-except my own father."
"Did he really lick Corey's men?"
"Sure did. One of them had a gun on me and Buck nearly split him up the middle."
They rode in silence after that. But a strange electricity prevailed between them. Cy thought of Maureen, and wondered how it could be that he was reacting to this woman beside him. Was he that susceptible to female flesh? He thought he had outgrown the folly of his younger days.
Suddenly he heard Grace speak.
"May I ask some of those questions?"
"Fire away."
"Why aren't you married?"
Cy laughed. "Oh, for just one reason."
"What's that?"
"Haven't met the right girl yet." At least, she wasn't the right color, Cy reflected. "Is that all?"
"Well-"
"Just never fell in love," she probed. "That would cover it, huh?"
Cy thought this over for a moment. "I can't answer that. Love is so many things to so many people."
"Are you waiting for her to come ferret you out of your den?"
"Oh, no. I expose myself to beautiful women every chance I get-just as I'm doing now."
Grace laughed low and clear. "Oh, Cy ... You're precious."
"That's what you think. You don't know me."
"I'm not as ignorant about you as I've pretended," Grace assured him. "No?"
"My boy, you're Lady Bergstrom's fair-haired young man. Don't ever forget it." Cy felt his heart sink. So Lady Bergstrom had been bragging him up to Grace, had she? "You two have been talking about me?"
"I'll say we have. I know your record from way back."
"How far?"
"Oh-grammar school. Lady said that every time a pretty girl walks across the room, you get up and follow. It's a compulsion. You can't help yourself." Grace turned a laughing face to him. "Cy, if I walked across a room, would you stand up and follow?"
"Yes, I probably would. Trouble is, so would everyone else who could call themselves male."
Grace giggled. Placing her back against the seat, she slid forward. This move tightened the already close-fitting crotch of her jeans and shot her breasts into high, pointing relief. Was Grace wearing a bra? Cy did not think so, because not a seam could he detect.
"Please don't think me awful, Cy, but I'm proud of my chest," she said.
"What a tragedy it would be if you were unaware of your attributes."
"I realize that," Grace said in a low voice. She faced him again. "Cy, I like to be wanted. That's a pretty bitchy thing to say, but it's true."
He grinned. "You're a woman, aren't you?"
"I always thought so."
"Not for one moment did I doubt it. The question was academic."
Grace said, "Yes-but when men want me, I feel sure of my womanhood. Without the slightest intention of giving myself, I play up to men. That's what's wrong with me."
"You dress to attract, but I'm sure you have a limit to which you wish to attract."
She let her left hand creep up to rest warmly on Cy's shoulder. "I've had battles about that. I always want the fellow to think there's no limit."
"Oh, quit punishing yourself. Your actions are quite normal. You may be outgoing, but there's no harm in that."
She squeezed his shoulder. "Take you, for instance. You're some hunk of man, you know. If you said good night without trying to kiss me, I'd be fearfully put out."
Cy answered solemnly, "Knowing in advance that I will be repulsed and maybe slapped, I'll try."
Grace cocked her pert head to one side, her blue eyes dark in the starlight. "Cy Scott, what raw tactics you employ. If I don't let you kiss me, you can airily say, 'Oh, well, I knew that would happen. I tried only because you wanted me to.' That's terrible of you."
"Ah, our first fight and we've known each other all of one hour."
She switched around and faced forward again. "Ooooh ... an hour-and look at the ground we've covered."
A chill touched Cy's spine. "Yes, we have become-uh-rather intimate."
The girl felt no chill. She was full of warm, trickly sensations. She wriggled, then faced him. "I hate to be...." Her voice caught for a moment. Cy could see her accelerated respiration and knew that some stormy emotion was threatening her. "I hate to be rushed along like this."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was pushing you."
"Oh, shut up," she flared. "It's my own doing. I could have sat still and demure and not said a word. If that had happened, you would have taken me home and said good night. That would have been the end of Cy for Grace. Right?"
"Probably," Cy admitted.
"See? But I had to go and open my big mouth. Now look where we are." She dropped her forehead to his shoulder. "We're on the verge of something. I know it. I'm scared, Cy."
"Why? Surely you're not afraid of me."
"Oh ... Not really. I'm afraid of this spell of golden gladness you've woven around me. The scary part is that you haven't tried. You haven't encouraged me, courted me. You've just been yourself. Maybe that's what has thrown me into a tailspin. Cy, if you kiss me, I'll go to pieces."
It was like an echo of Maureen's voice. Cy could not understand how he could have Maureen, yet be attracted to another girl.
"And if I don't kiss you?" he asked.
She raised her head. Her long, black lashes were damp with tears. "If you don't kiss me, I'll murder you."
She dried her eyes on the back of a hand, and soon was lighthearted and sprightly again.
Cy slowed as they passed over a cattle-gap leading to Davis Wilde's house. "Grace, you said that you've had battles because men want you. Have you ever lost?"
She laughed so gaily that Cy was nettled. "What a way to ask a girl if she's a virgin." Then she sobered. "No, Cy, I've never lost," she said.
"I didn't ask out of mere curiosity, Grace, believe me."
"Oh?"
Cy grinned at her. "I'll tell you why some day." He pulled up under a spreading chinaberry tree.
Grace lifted her hands to her face. "Oh ... Now I am scared, Cy. Please don't be angry at me. But-but-what are you going to do?"
Cy placed a big, gentle hand on her hair, stroked it. "Look, you're all strung up. Suppose we talk about this some other time."
She raised her head. Her deep eyes were fathomless. "No," she whispered. "I'd hate myself for being a coward ... Just one thing, Cy. I know right now that if you made a pass, I'm not strong enough to resist you. Please promise me that if I lose my head, you'll keep yours."
"I can do that," he replied, "but it might be a mistake."
"That's why I'm afraid." She crept slowly into his arms. "Be my master, Cy ... Tell me what to do and make me do it ... Please!"
When their lips touched, a tremendous gong sounded. Their bodies swirled, swelled and seemed rent asunder by a sweetness beyond their power to gain. A chorus of shuddering groans welled from Grace's throat. So frantic was the flogging of her nerves that every muscle in her body twitched.
They had remained in the front seat and she lay across him, but her hunger proved too great for this supine position. With a sudden movement, she straddled him and put such cruel pressure on his mouth that his neck bent backward. He had to use muscle to oppose her. His hands stroked the fine lines of her back, neck and shoulders. She moaned, then squeezed herself down upon him, her legs spreading wide. A serpentine undulation rippled through her. She froze in tense, muscle-cracking tension, then collapsed on his broad chest, her breath coming in scattered sobs, her fingers digging painfully into his back.
For a long time she lay complacent and still, then raised her glassy eyes to him. "It was just too much, Cy."
"I know," he said, fondling her gently.
"You do?"
"Yes."
She took her arms from around his neck and hugged herself. Her hair was softly rich and a faint fragrance came from its depths.
"I'd better take you in now," he said.
"It's not right doing this to you, Cy. I'm really awful."
"You're wonderful," he said. He helped her from the car and with an arm about her, took her to the door. They kissed again, but it was a sweet and gentle kiss now. He thrilled to the warmth of her close-pressed body in its loose shirt and tight pants. Her smooth thighs and the exciting prod of her firm, passion-tipped breasts incited his lust, but he did not attempt to force himself upon her. They drew apart, blood beginning anew to thunder and roar in their ears.
"Cy...?" Grace was caressing him now. "Will you promise not to touch me if I show you something?"
"If you want me to," he said huskily, "I promise." Swiftly she ducked out of her shirt, let it trail from one hand.
"Look, Cy...." She stood before him, nude from the waist up. Her cherry-tipped breasts trembled. Raw, naked worship shone in Cy's eyes-worship of her? Of her beautiful, revealed flesh? Of womanhood?
Remembering Maureen, Maureen's golden breasts, he felt a pang like a dagger thrust. He pulled back.
With a cry of utter abandon, Grace leaped into his arms.
"Don't go, Cy ... Please don't go." She seized him in a painful grip, her nails clawing his biceps. "Oh, God. I just can't stand it. I want you. I want you!"
At that moment, a car rattled over the cattle-gap. Beams of garish light reached toward them.
"Christ," breathed Grace. "I suppose I deserve this."
Cy said soothingly, "We'll meet again, Grace. I want you to feel right about it next time."
"I will, Cy ... Oh, my God, why did Davis have to come home now?"
The car swung behind the house and turned toward the garage. Grace swiftly slipped into her shirt.
"What if he had come the front way? We're lucky he didn't catch us." She whirled and disappeared into the house.
Cy walked to the garage, had a few words with Davis, then drove toward Maureen's castle. With a jerk he pulled up in front of the old place and checked his watch. It was nine-thirty. He strode up the walk and smiled as Maureen opened the door for him. She stood there in regal grace, silhouetted by candlelight, and his heart gave a furious lurch. He went to her. Their embrace was fierce, starved. Maureen was wearing a simple terry robe. He brushed it aside and helped himself to her swelling breasts.
"I'm so glad you could come," the girl said. "I've been aching for you. I can't think of anything but you."
Her hair was loose and delicately fragrant in his nostrils.
He nuzzled her velvety neck and said, "I'm the one who needs the bath tonight."
She joined her body to his, clutching him feverishly. "May I help?"
"Would you, Maureen?"
Up to their chests in water, too heated to know chill, they soaped and scrubbed, and then gave way to an avalanche of emotion. Against Maureen's back was the mossy bank, resilient and slick. Their lovemaking was frenzied. Maureen made the most of Eros, her hands raking trails of fire across Cy's sinews. She sought him blindly, a gasping peal of triumph pouring from her throat.
And Cy, his mouth seeking deeper reaches of sweetness, clutched her to him. As his manhood found the heart of her, the water frothed with their unashamed thrashing and heaving.
Later they made an unsteady ascent up the rude steps leading to the house. With two towels they dried, then clung together for mutual warmth. They made their way to the back room and lay silent upon the old couch. Inactivity did not last long.
Once more the burst of fire. Once more the furiously sweet surging of flesh within flesh, of ecstasy hot and exploding....