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"Temptation In a Holster"
May. 28th, 2022 10:27 pm"Temptation In a Holster"
10/17/1884
I.
Most of the farm had been gradually sold off to neighbors. When Johnny Packard rode along the hard-packed dirt road, he saw that all which remained for the Hillcrest family was the big house itself on top of the rise. Instead of two hundred acres of wheat and barley, there was only a vegetable garden with rows of pumpkins and beans neatly stretched out and ready to be taken in.
The big black horse Terror snorted as they drew near the house. What was it he sensed, Johnny wondered. The smell of decay and ruin, maybe? The nearness of death? Ever since the curse of the Brimstone Kid had been laid upon him, his horse had become increasingly weird and uncanny. Johnny was sure that the black stallion enjoyed the nights when they transformed and stormed wildly through the darkness.
In his mid-twenties, Johnny Packard remained a lean, hard-muscled young redhead who stood no more than five feet four and barely weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. He was dressed almost entirely in black this day, boots and Levis and denim vest. But his flannel work shirt was dark red, as was his kerchief. Tucked inside the beaded band of his Stetson was the ancient Darthan coin whose malignant influence had changed his life. Now, in the late afternoon, that coin was cold and inert but if he was wearing it over his brow when darkness fell, he would become the Brimstone Kid in fact as well as in name.
In front of the Hillcrest home was a hitching post and a watering trough. Johnny hopped lightly down off Terror and let the black horse refresh itself at the water for a moment before tying the reins to the post. It had been a long ride from Tombstone. As he gazed up at the curtained windows of the house, the Kid let his hands drop down to graze the butts of his matched Colt Peacemakers. The weight of the double holstered gunbelt and of the two big revolvers was so familiar to him that he felt undressed on the rare occasions he took them off.
Had it really been only a year since he had wintered here? Johnny shook his head and tilted his hat far back on his head. The deepset green eyes were narrowed and thoughtful under shaggy red brows. So much had happened since then. Each year felt like a lifetime to him anymore....
The front door opened and an elderly black man emerged. Wearing black slacks, a long-sleeved white dress shirt and small bow tie, the man had only a fringe of silvery hair around his ears and the back of his head. He was wiping his hands on a cloth as he smiled at the visitor. "Mister Johnny! I'm glad you managed to get here on time?"
"On time?" repeated the Kid. "Is the end of the trail that near for Douglas?"
"Oh, I'm afraid so. You know the Good Lord gives us each our allotted years on this Earth, suh. Mister Douglas worked hard and accomplished much during his span, but, well... we're not meant to live forever."
Johnny offered his hand and the old servant shook it firmly. "Good to see you again, Robert," the Kid said. "I've purely missed your stories about local history and Injun customs. More than that, I've missed your cooking!"
That made the man smile. "Why, thank you kindly. I only wish you could be back to see us under happier circumstances."
Removing his Stetson and holding it respectfully in both hands, the Kid glanced up at the second floor windows. "I reckon I'd better speak with your employer straightways then."
Following the old man across the enclosed porch, Johnny said, "Mebbe it's none of my business, but I wonder what's gonna become of you, Robert?"
"Oh, Mister Douglas has provided for me," replied the servant. "His agent in town has arranged for the sale of the remaining estate and this house, and the proceeds have already been set to be placed in my name. Mister Douglas inspected the papers himself before signing to be sure I wasn't cheated none."
To their left was a curving staircase with potted plants flanking the bottom step. Memories came flooding back into the Kid's mind. "I remember those cold mornings when you hauled buckets of hot water up those stairs, Robert. So are you gonna stay round these parts?"
"No, suh. I have family in Louisiana. I do believe I want to spend my own final years watching grandchildren play and dozing in the sun."
As they headed up to the second floor landing, Johnny laughed. "You earned it, I'll tell the world that. Lissen, old pard, is he likely to be awake?"
"I believe so." Robert rapped sharply on the door right at the top of the stairs and immediately a muffled voice answered. "Suh? It's Mister Johnny come to see you."
The bedroom was warm and stuffy, as if the windows had not been opened in years. In the center of the big four-poster bed with its fringed canopy, Douglas Hillcrest seemed shrunken to the size of a child. Johnny was genuinely shocked. Where were those muscular arms that had chopped firewood and built fences? How had such a daunting man be reduced so quickly to a mere shadow of himself?
"I got word you'd like to see me, Douglas," the Kid began hesitantly. "It ain't been but a year since I wintered here and yet...."
Propped up on two pillows, the grey-haired head opened its watery eyes. "Ah! Johnny! Thank God you've come. Here, pull up a seat. I don't expect you to be here long."
"I expect I'll be goin' about my chores, suh," Robert offered.
"No, no, I won't have it," came a weak voice with a tinge still of the authority it once commanded. "Family business is your business by this point, Robert. Please, stay and hear it all. I can see the horror in your face, Johnny. Don't grieve for me. The doc says my ticker is fixin' to give out any day. I can feel it skippin' a few beats, sometimes it stops long enough that I think it's the end."
"Douglas," said the Brimstone Kid, "I'm not clever with words. I cain't think of nothing that would comfort you."
"Let that ride, son. I think you must have a suspicion why I called you here and it's not about me," whispered the dying man.
Johnny Packard bent his head. "I figgered as much. It's Enoch, ain't it?"
"Yes. My nephew Enoch. My brother's only child. We were so proud when you spent three months teaching him how to handle himself with his fists or with a gun. Only now, I admit... I wish that boy had been stillborn."
( the rest of the story )
10/17/1884
I.
Most of the farm had been gradually sold off to neighbors. When Johnny Packard rode along the hard-packed dirt road, he saw that all which remained for the Hillcrest family was the big house itself on top of the rise. Instead of two hundred acres of wheat and barley, there was only a vegetable garden with rows of pumpkins and beans neatly stretched out and ready to be taken in.
The big black horse Terror snorted as they drew near the house. What was it he sensed, Johnny wondered. The smell of decay and ruin, maybe? The nearness of death? Ever since the curse of the Brimstone Kid had been laid upon him, his horse had become increasingly weird and uncanny. Johnny was sure that the black stallion enjoyed the nights when they transformed and stormed wildly through the darkness.
In his mid-twenties, Johnny Packard remained a lean, hard-muscled young redhead who stood no more than five feet four and barely weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. He was dressed almost entirely in black this day, boots and Levis and denim vest. But his flannel work shirt was dark red, as was his kerchief. Tucked inside the beaded band of his Stetson was the ancient Darthan coin whose malignant influence had changed his life. Now, in the late afternoon, that coin was cold and inert but if he was wearing it over his brow when darkness fell, he would become the Brimstone Kid in fact as well as in name.
In front of the Hillcrest home was a hitching post and a watering trough. Johnny hopped lightly down off Terror and let the black horse refresh itself at the water for a moment before tying the reins to the post. It had been a long ride from Tombstone. As he gazed up at the curtained windows of the house, the Kid let his hands drop down to graze the butts of his matched Colt Peacemakers. The weight of the double holstered gunbelt and of the two big revolvers was so familiar to him that he felt undressed on the rare occasions he took them off.
Had it really been only a year since he had wintered here? Johnny shook his head and tilted his hat far back on his head. The deepset green eyes were narrowed and thoughtful under shaggy red brows. So much had happened since then. Each year felt like a lifetime to him anymore....
The front door opened and an elderly black man emerged. Wearing black slacks, a long-sleeved white dress shirt and small bow tie, the man had only a fringe of silvery hair around his ears and the back of his head. He was wiping his hands on a cloth as he smiled at the visitor. "Mister Johnny! I'm glad you managed to get here on time?"
"On time?" repeated the Kid. "Is the end of the trail that near for Douglas?"
"Oh, I'm afraid so. You know the Good Lord gives us each our allotted years on this Earth, suh. Mister Douglas worked hard and accomplished much during his span, but, well... we're not meant to live forever."
Johnny offered his hand and the old servant shook it firmly. "Good to see you again, Robert," the Kid said. "I've purely missed your stories about local history and Injun customs. More than that, I've missed your cooking!"
That made the man smile. "Why, thank you kindly. I only wish you could be back to see us under happier circumstances."
Removing his Stetson and holding it respectfully in both hands, the Kid glanced up at the second floor windows. "I reckon I'd better speak with your employer straightways then."
Following the old man across the enclosed porch, Johnny said, "Mebbe it's none of my business, but I wonder what's gonna become of you, Robert?"
"Oh, Mister Douglas has provided for me," replied the servant. "His agent in town has arranged for the sale of the remaining estate and this house, and the proceeds have already been set to be placed in my name. Mister Douglas inspected the papers himself before signing to be sure I wasn't cheated none."
To their left was a curving staircase with potted plants flanking the bottom step. Memories came flooding back into the Kid's mind. "I remember those cold mornings when you hauled buckets of hot water up those stairs, Robert. So are you gonna stay round these parts?"
"No, suh. I have family in Louisiana. I do believe I want to spend my own final years watching grandchildren play and dozing in the sun."
As they headed up to the second floor landing, Johnny laughed. "You earned it, I'll tell the world that. Lissen, old pard, is he likely to be awake?"
"I believe so." Robert rapped sharply on the door right at the top of the stairs and immediately a muffled voice answered. "Suh? It's Mister Johnny come to see you."
The bedroom was warm and stuffy, as if the windows had not been opened in years. In the center of the big four-poster bed with its fringed canopy, Douglas Hillcrest seemed shrunken to the size of a child. Johnny was genuinely shocked. Where were those muscular arms that had chopped firewood and built fences? How had such a daunting man be reduced so quickly to a mere shadow of himself?
"I got word you'd like to see me, Douglas," the Kid began hesitantly. "It ain't been but a year since I wintered here and yet...."
Propped up on two pillows, the grey-haired head opened its watery eyes. "Ah! Johnny! Thank God you've come. Here, pull up a seat. I don't expect you to be here long."
"I expect I'll be goin' about my chores, suh," Robert offered.
"No, no, I won't have it," came a weak voice with a tinge still of the authority it once commanded. "Family business is your business by this point, Robert. Please, stay and hear it all. I can see the horror in your face, Johnny. Don't grieve for me. The doc says my ticker is fixin' to give out any day. I can feel it skippin' a few beats, sometimes it stops long enough that I think it's the end."
"Douglas," said the Brimstone Kid, "I'm not clever with words. I cain't think of nothing that would comfort you."
"Let that ride, son. I think you must have a suspicion why I called you here and it's not about me," whispered the dying man.
Johnny Packard bent his head. "I figgered as much. It's Enoch, ain't it?"
"Yes. My nephew Enoch. My brother's only child. We were so proud when you spent three months teaching him how to handle himself with his fists or with a gun. Only now, I admit... I wish that boy had been stillborn."
( the rest of the story )
