back to Sadie’s place
crossed her mind. She tried to dismiss it with the sensible notion
that Sadie and Annie had left hours and hours ago. A long time
before Ozzie had been shot.
But then the fear overtook her again, and
she mumbled, “French Jack could have got them first and then come
back here for Ozzie.”
Maggie told herself that she’d better get a
firm grip on herself or she and Jubal Green would both be in deep
trouble. Then she decided she’d better take a detailed survey of
her home to determine just how secure it was and what she could do
to make sure French Jack couldn’t get inside. The back porch was a
worry, since it was only screened in.
Very carefully, she made her way to the
window and peered outside. She could see nothing except what was
supposed to be there: earth and trees and the meadow beyond.
Daylight was barely holding on to the edges of the woods, giving
the piñon branches a deep golden overlay to their dark green
needles. Maggie figured it must be about four o’clock.
“ The time I told Ozzie to
have the wood chopped by.” She had to dab at her moist
eyes.
“ Stop it,” she commanded
herself firmly. She mustn’t allow herself to get weepy again. Her
life and that of Jubal Green might depend on her keeping her
composure in check.
“ I wish to God I could see,”
she said disgustedly.
In truth, Maggie’s eyesight was not the
best. That fact irritated her often. Kenny had gone all moony about
her beautiful blue eyes—back in the days when they really were
pretty, before she got so dragged down. He told her over and over
again how beautiful he thought her eyes were. But Maggie always
figured she’d rather have eyes that she could see out of than eyes
that were good to look at. She was perverse that way.
“ Oh, well,” she told herself
firmly, “it can’t be helped.”
Kenny’s Spencer rifle lay on a rack over the
fireplace in the parlor, and Maggie carefully removed and loaded
it. She made it a habit to clean the rifle once a week, just as
Kenny had taught her to do, whether she used it or not, just to
keep her education up to date. Kenny had taught her to shoot the
gun, too. She wasn’t much of a shot, but she didn’t figure French
Jack had to know that yet.
“ Let him find out for
himself,” she told the rifle, giving it a little pat for
luck.
It made her feel a little better to realize
she wasn’t completely helpless.
She remembered Jubal Green’s guns then, and
tiptoed into the bedroom. The rifle he had knocked at her door with
was lying across a chest against the wall, and Dan Blue Gully had
put Mr. Green’s Colt revolver there, as well, its leather holster
neatly folded. Extra ammunition was contained in a pouch next to
the weapons, and Maggie suspected there was more in Mr. Green’s
saddle bags, which were stacked next to the wall.
His pocket watch and chain also nestled on
the chest, in a tidy little coil. Maggie thought sadly that she
actually would have been able to berate Ozzie for not finishing
chopping the wood on time, after all. She didn’t allow herself to
dwell on that unhappy thought.
She gathered the weapons and ammunition
together and took them into the kitchen. She fetched Kenny’s
gun-cleaning box out of the kitchen cabinet and carefully cleaned
each gun and loaded it.
Then she took a deep, deep breath, backed
herself against the kitchen wall, and edged over to the back porch.
She held Jubal Green’s Colt revolver in her sweaty hand, and
devoutly wished the door had a window so she could peek through it
to see if someone lurked on the porch. She unlatched the door
carefully and peered into the room. No shots rang out, so she
braced herself for her foraging expedition.
Maggie had already made a mental inventory
of her needs, which she repeated over and over to herself in order
not to forget anything. Her plan was to be as efficient as she
could possibly be when she braved the porch. She didn’t fancy being
shot because she lingered
crossed her mind. She tried to dismiss it with the sensible notion
that Sadie and Annie had left hours and hours ago. A long time
before Ozzie had been shot.
But then the fear overtook her again, and
she mumbled, “French Jack could have got them first and then come
back here for Ozzie.”
Maggie told herself that she’d better get a
firm grip on herself or she and Jubal Green would both be in deep
trouble. Then she decided she’d better take a detailed survey of
her home to determine just how secure it was and what she could do
to make sure French Jack couldn’t get inside. The back porch was a
worry, since it was only screened in.
Very carefully, she made her way to the
window and peered outside. She could see nothing except what was
supposed to be there: earth and trees and the meadow beyond.
Daylight was barely holding on to the edges of the woods, giving
the piñon branches a deep golden overlay to their dark green
needles. Maggie figured it must be about four o’clock.
“ The time I told Ozzie to
have the wood chopped by.” She had to dab at her moist
eyes.
“ Stop it,” she commanded
herself firmly. She mustn’t allow herself to get weepy again. Her
life and that of Jubal Green might depend on her keeping her
composure in check.
“ I wish to God I could see,”
she said disgustedly.
In truth, Maggie’s eyesight was not the
best. That fact irritated her often. Kenny had gone all moony about
her beautiful blue eyes—back in the days when they really were
pretty, before she got so dragged down. He told her over and over
again how beautiful he thought her eyes were. But Maggie always
figured she’d rather have eyes that she could see out of than eyes
that were good to look at. She was perverse that way.
“ Oh, well,” she told herself
firmly, “it can’t be helped.”
Kenny’s Spencer rifle lay on a rack over the
fireplace in the parlor, and Maggie carefully removed and loaded
it. She made it a habit to clean the rifle once a week, just as
Kenny had taught her to do, whether she used it or not, just to
keep her education up to date. Kenny had taught her to shoot the
gun, too. She wasn’t much of a shot, but she didn’t figure French
Jack had to know that yet.
“ Let him find out for
himself,” she told the rifle, giving it a little pat for
luck.
It made her feel a little better to realize
she wasn’t completely helpless.
She remembered Jubal Green’s guns then, and
tiptoed into the bedroom. The rifle he had knocked at her door with
was lying across a chest against the wall, and Dan Blue Gully had
put Mr. Green’s Colt revolver there, as well, its leather holster
neatly folded. Extra ammunition was contained in a pouch next to
the weapons, and Maggie suspected there was more in Mr. Green’s
saddle bags, which were stacked next to the wall.
His pocket watch and chain also nestled on
the chest, in a tidy little coil. Maggie thought sadly that she
actually would have been able to berate Ozzie for not finishing
chopping the wood on time, after all. She didn’t allow herself to
dwell on that unhappy thought.
She gathered the weapons and ammunition
together and took them into the kitchen. She fetched Kenny’s
gun-cleaning box out of the kitchen cabinet and carefully cleaned
each gun and loaded it.
Then she took a deep, deep breath, backed
herself against the kitchen wall, and edged over to the back porch.
She held Jubal Green’s Colt revolver in her sweaty hand, and
devoutly wished the door had a window so she could peek through it
to see if someone lurked on the porch. She unlatched the door
carefully and peered into the room. No shots rang out, so she
braced herself for her foraging expedition.
Maggie had already made a mental inventory
of her needs, which she repeated over and over to herself in order
not to forget anything. Her plan was to be as efficient as she
could possibly be when she braved the porch. She didn’t fancy being
shot because she lingered
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