Chapter Text
For years, the people in Fowler would argue and discuss what happened that day in the saloon. Some said McCurdy’s men had turned on each other in a drunken stupor and saved John Henry Clayton the trouble of killing them. Others said the gang confused each other for townsfolk and made fatal mistakes once the shooting started. A few insisted it was the gunslinger McCurdy had hired gone rogue. But one fact was certain: John Henry Clayton stepped through the saloon doors just in time to stumble back out with several local men as gunfire exploded in the building. He had dropped to the ground by the doors, a pistol in each hand. John Henry never fired a shot; after an explosive minute, all fell quiet in the saloon.
John Henry rose, cautiously peering around the wall into the saloon.
“I believe you’ll find it empty.”
John Henry spun, gun cocked and lifted. It was Dave Turner. “Dave,” said John Henry, lowering the gun.
“Well, empty of the living,” said Turner. “Full of bodies. Who knows who shot who in there? But McCurdy has only one man left, which would be myself.”
John Henry blinked, staring at Turner. He surmised that Turner had caused whatever had just happened, but he had no idea why.
“Mr. McCurdy himself is waiting in his room for you,” said Turner, his voice low. He glanced upward, indicating McCurdy’s room in the upper part of the saloon. “I’d dare say he awaits with a gun in hand. Shame if he fired first, and you had to defend yourself.”
John Henry knew what he meant. Turner was leaving McCurdy for him to deal with.
The Southerner sighed, “I would offer my assistance, but it would cost you more than you could afford, and besides, I make it a rule not to double-cross my employers. I would make your decision quickly, though, because I have direct orders to kill you on sight. I suppose I can take a little longer to find you.”
To both men’s surprise, a shot rang out, and someone yelped above them. They dashed out from under the saloon porch roof and looked up. McCurdy looked over the railing at them, pain etched across his face. He seemed unsurprised to see them and lifted a gun, aiming it directly at John Henry. A woman across the street screamed, and somewhere a rifle cocked. McCurdy squeezed the trigger, but John Henry’s bullet caught him first, and McCurdy’s shot went left, hitting the dusty street. John Henry fired again, and the bullet killed McCurdy instantly, straight through the heart. Though shot from the front, his weight against the railing pulled him forward, and he broke through and fell headlong into the street.
For a moment, the town was eerily silent. The faint sound of a rifle decocking sounded across the street. John Henry turned to face Turner.
“My friend, you are no longer employed,” said John Henry.
Turner chuckled and shook his head, “It would appear you are correct.”
John Henry offered his hand, and Turner accepted it. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Dave,” said John Henry. He turned and walked away, glancing up at the rooftops as casually as he could manage. The townsfolk closed in around McCurdy’s body, the men already explaining how John Henry had taken no part in the fight inside and killed McCurdy only in self-defense. They kept muttering about another bullet from somewhere. Maybe one of McCurdy’s men from inside the man’s room above the saloon? Who could know for sure? One thing was certain: John Henry had not fired until fired upon. And he had killed only McCurdy.
***
John Henry mounted his horse and rode back to find the Reverend on the doctor’s office porch, leaning against a post.
“Pa!” he cried, dismounting and jumping onto the porch. “Pa, you shouldn’t be up.”
“What happened!” cried the Reverend, tears in his eyes.
“I’m alright, Pa,” assured John Henry. “And I didn’t kill a single one of ‘em. I don’t know…” he stopped, knowing more or less what must have happened. “Just McCurdy, but he fired first. Come on, let’s get you inside.” He helped the wounded man back into the office and toward the bed at the back. “You promise me you’ll stay still until I can return with the buggy. We’ll get you home and comfortable before you know it.”
“Where’s Evie!” cried the Revered, emotion, exhaustion, and pain overwhelming him. He practically sobbed and clung to his son as John Henry tried to situate the tall man comfortably on the small cot.
“She’s fine, Pa,” assured John Henry, though he had no idea if that were true. His heart beat wildly as he thought of his daughter, and he suddenly needed to be with her. “I’ll find her, and we’ll get the buggy. You stay here. Pa, don’t move!” The doctor stepped in and assured John Henry he would keep the old preacher lying down.
John Henry rushed from the office and ran down the side alley until he was behind the main street. He began to run toward the west side of town and stopped when Eva came out from behind a shed and barreled into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Evie!” he gasped, surprised by her appearance but more relieved than he had felt in a long time. “My girl,” he whispered, pulling her close.
“Pa!” she cried, her face buried in his chest. “Pa, don’t go away! Don’t leave us!”
“Leave you?” questioned John Henry, holding her head tightly to his chest. “Darling, I will never leave you.”
“They’ll come for you!” cried Eva. “Men from far and wide will come looking for you to make a name for themselves!”
“Eva, Eva!” said John Henry, pushing her back and grabbing her face in his hands. “Eva, listen to me. I didn’t kill those men! I didn’t kill McCurdy’s men! Darling, do you hear me? I didn’t kill them. And more than a dozen witnesses are on the street right now that know it and are already spreading the story. I killed only McCurdy, and it was after he shot at me. Eva, I don’t have to leave you.”
Eva, still sobbing, tried to process what her father was saying, but she was crying too hard and shaking more than John Henry liked.
“Darling, you are in a bad way,” he said. He didn’t dare ask what had caused such a violent reaction from her. He was reasonably sure he knew the answer to that. “Let’s get you home.”
It took him a few minutes to convince her to let go long enough for him to retrieve his horse and find her own. Eva seemed in a trance the whole ride home and periodically began crying uncontrollably until John Henry pulled up beside her to calm her down. Once home, he pulled her down from the horse and picked her up, carrying her inside and upstairs to her room.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, laying her on the bed. “It’s going to be alright. Hey, darling, look at me; it will be alright.”
“Pa!” she cried, sitting up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Pa, I was so scared!”
“I know, I know,” he nodded. “It’s alright.”
“Pa, what would I have done?” she sobbed. “What would I have done if you didn’t – if I had to…” Eva’s voice slipped again as tears overtook her.
“It’s alright,” soothed John Henry, sliding onto the bed beside his daughter and holding her close. “It’s all over. It’s alright.” He knew now what he had suspected was true. Eva had shot McCurdy in the leg. She must have been on one of the rooftops. If she hadn’t done that, the man would have caught John Henry off guard with a bullet in the head when he stepped into the street. Eva had saved John Henry’s life.
“Pa, I didn’t want to!” cried Eva. “I didn’t want to kill anyone! I had to warn you, though! I was so scared!”
“I know,” he said, kissing her head. “I know. You didn’t have to. It’s all over. It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m safe. Grandpa is –” he stopped and frowned. The Reverend would be waiting for him to return, but he couldn’t leave his shaken child. “I have to go get Grandpa.”
“I want you both home!” whimpered Eva, crushing herself as tightly against her father as she could.
“We will be,” said John Henry. “We’ll all be home for good. I need to take the buggy and get him. Alright?”
“Together,” said Eva. “We’ll get him.” There was no way she was leaving John Henry’s side.
John Henry knew it was no use convincing her to stay. They would get the Reverend together.
“Now,” said Eva, suddenly tumbling out of bed and taking John Henry’s hand. “Let’s get him, Pa.”
“Alright,” nodded John Henry. He stood and followed his daughter downstairs and onto the porch facing the barn. They both stopped and watched as Dave Turner rode into the yard, tipping his hat in greeting.
“John Henry. Eva,” he nodded.
“Thought you’d be long gone, Dave,” said John Henry, pushing Eva behind him. He trusted Turner, but one could never be too careful.
“I plan to be,” said Turner, “but I had a debt to pay first. Miss Clayton.” Turner reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small pouch.
Eva slipped around her father, her emotions pushed down to avoid appearing childish in front of Turner, and stepped to the edge of the porch. “You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Turner,” she said.
Turner pulled his horse close to the porch and smiled, “You’ve been crying. You’re still crying. No need to cry, Miss Clayton. Your father doesn’t have to leave you.” He opened the pouch and smiled, “I promised you a refund if there was less work. You paid me in full for nine, and I only handled six. Here is a dollar fifty for you.” Turner fished some coins from the pouch and handed them to Eva. “And now, John Henry,” Turner smiled at the man, “I am truly no longer employed. God bless you both. You’re a beautiful family. It makes a man truly envious. Hold tight to that.” He nodded and turned his horse, riding off with not so much as a backward glance.
John Henry came up behind Eva, putting his arm around her. “Darling,” he said, “what is this about?”
“I hired him to watch out for you,” said Eva. She felt her sobs rising in her chest again and gripped the coins tightly in her fist, staring after the Southern gunslinger. “He did a mighty pleasing job.”
John Henry stared at Eva, shocked by this new information. “You – you hired a gunslinger?” he asked.
“I hired protection,” corrected Eva. “He would only use his gun if your life was in danger. He did just as I asked, it seems, as he should. Cost me four bits a man.” She pushed the coins into her pocket and looked up at John Henry. “Reckon we should get Grandpa now. He’ll be wondering what keeps us.”
John Henry stared down at her, unsure if he was outraged or awestruck. A little of both, perhaps. “Yeah,” he said, blinking, “reckon we oughta.”
Eva took her father’s hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but a sudden sense of safety filled her chest. The father and daughter started for the barn to hitch up the buggy. It was time to bring the Reverend home. It was time they were a family again.