Tiff's Game (Perry County Frontier Series) Page 13

  Tiff heard his voice croak. "Well, that is, I mean I don't . . ."

  Carter's tone was pitying. "My God, Chip, he's gone and had another stroke."

  Tiff Shatto, stunned by his own visions, wondered if the captain might be right.

  Saul Shade chose Duncannon to detrain and begin his final search for Tiff Shatto. He chose Duncannon because it seemed as central to the county as any town touched by the railroad. Strangely enough, his map showed the county seat at Bloomfield, unconnected to a rail line. Shade wondered why a village as small as Bloomfield controlled county government. Duncannon, with two rivers, a canal junction, and a railroad all close-by appeared a more likely choice. At any rate, Shade would begin there. Tiff Shatto could even be in town—but Saul hoped not.

  Shade could scarcely accept it. He was sick—dog-puking, sweat-soaking, winter-chilling sick. He was weak kneed and barely able to manage the three steps from railroad car to station platform. His bags were too much. Shade leaned weakly against a station post, an old and ill traveler, obviously in need of immediate assistance.

  There had been fever in Pittsburgh. His blacksmith had talked of it. Some victims died, but most simply collapsed until the thing ran its course. If a sufferer did not catch pneumonia, he would probably recover. The smith believed keeping on a good load of corn whiskey helped see a man through, but he was most adamant that doctors' bleedings and poultices did not a lick of good and were to be avoided.

  Saul Shade had hardly listened. It was none of his concern. Killing Tiff Shatto while surviving to walk away was his only interest. Then he would railroad out of the sickly land, where a man was hemmed in so tight he couldn't hardly swing a rope. Now, with his goal almost within reach, Shade was stricken as he had never been before.

  Illness was for lesser men. Fevers passed through the ranch country, but not one like this sickness. Out there, men were lost through blizzards, cattle stampedes, or horse tossings. Men were shot, stabbed, or snake bitten. Only in the mines did fever exact a regular toll, and ranchers like Saul Shade paid no mind to the packs of sickly Irishmen, Chinese, or Polish pick wielders that grubbed away their lives digging in the ground.

  The Duncannon station master was solicitous. He seated Mister Black on a long bench and wrapped him warmly in a thick railroad blanket. Mister Black desired lodging until his fever ran its course. The traveler assured the station keeper that his illness was tropical and not contagious, just something that reappeared now and then.

  A pair of handymen assisted the elderly western gentleman to a nearby rooming house. A first floor room was taken for a week, and Mister Black was installed. The same helpers struggled with the traveler's carpetbags which were unbelievably heavy. They felt for shapes, but could not identify the contents. Honest men, they investigated no further. The traveler requested whiskey in bottles and provided money. Mister Black paid them well for their services, and the workers left him to sweat and shiver through his fever, which he insisted was an old enemy that showed up almost on schedule and would leave in due time.

  Saul Shade swilled enough whiskey to dull his senses and crawled beneath deep covers. His joints ached as if broken, his skull boomed with headache, and fever and chill alternated with predictable regularity. When his mind could function, Shade worked on his hatred of Tiff Shatto. All of this was because of Shatto. Two sons lost to a crooked, cheating cardsharp. Shade visualized for a millionth time how his buck and ball charges would rip Tiff Shatto into bloody rags.

  The anticipation helped only a little. Shade knew he was deadly sick and bitter suffering lay ahead. He could only groan and shift his aching body for comfort, comfort which lasted barely an instant.

  The lunch had gone well. Tinker had placed Tiff and Lily side by side. Tiff was so aware of Lily close beside him that he suspected he could hear her heartbeat. His heightened senses began to do tricks, and without effort he saw and knew many little things.

  Tiff did not doubt for an instant that Lily possessed some of the same special abilities. Once he thought Salt. The girl passed him the salt dip before he could ask. Uncanny! Tiff could barely wait to speak to her about it, but he preferred that they be alone so the talk could be open and uninterrupted by others' doubts or misunderstanding. The thought of being together stirred him, and Tiff glanced over—to meet Lily's smiling head turn—as if she had shared. Remarkable!

  Tiff did not choose to speak about special skills, but everyone wished to discuss them. He was able to astonish the Roth boys by describing their new tree house. Tiff marveled himself. It seemed as if having Lily close-by enhanced his peculiar ability to conjure insights. A vision of himself at cards with Lily standing almost at his back, a hand resting on his shoulder, appeared unrequested. Tiff sensed his comfort and his confidence in the game before him. Was it a vision of something to come? Did he hope for such a thing? Tiff Shatto felt his body warm and knew he had serious considering to manage.

  Finally they were alone. They had walked behind the house to see the cave where Chip and Carter struggled to open a thin vein of coal into the great lode they suspected might lie deeper in the bowels of Turkey Ridge.

  They lit a kerosene lantern and walked in until they could examine the work face of the mine. The coal vein was less than a foot high and not a dozen feet wide. To get the coal, the amateur miners had opened a veritable cavern. A mighty work for small reward, Tiff thought.

  Involuntarily, Tiff's senses concentrated. He saw that the narrow vein appeared to continue with little change deep, deep into the hillside. His mouth opened to speak, but Lily was first.

  "There is no coal here, Tiff. The vein stays the same."

  Tiff said, "You saw that?" and already knew she had.

  Lily was matter of fact. "We help each other, Tiff. I felt it at the dock when I first saw you."

  Tiff nodded. "I heard you ask, "Who are you?""

  Lily said, "I knew you heard, but I was so shaken I could not feel your answer. No one ever heard before."

  "I said, 'I'm Tiff Shatto. Who are you?' "

  Lily appeared embarrassed. "I felt you so strongly that it frightened me. I knew you were not leaving, so I went home to think."

  Tiff did not have to ask how Lily Carver knew he would stay. It was going to be that way with them.

  They left the cave and without discussion turned aside on a path that paralleled the hill. Tiff asked, "This leads over to the old Shuler cabin where Tiny lives now, doesn't it?"

  "Did you sense that?"

  Tiff laughed, "Not this time. I've heard about this place since I was a small boy. My mother always read Aunt Tinker's letters to the family. Things look about as I thought they would—only a lot more squished together. There is more elbow room out west. Living here is pretty tight. I like cities and towns all right, and these forests are truly special, but I like to see a horizon once in a while."

  Lily took his arm as if she had done it a thousand times before. In fact, it was a few moments before Tiff noticed. Then his fingertips tingled, and his mouth dried out. Lily knew. She chuckled softly and gripped him tighter.

  Tiff s mind struggled a little. More with a surprised and pleased acceptance than other emotions. How could it be? This lovely girl in her gypsy clothing saw with her mind better than he did.

  Tiff Shatto, who had gamed with the best, who had killed men, was roped and about to be haltered by a girl he still hardly knew.

  Lily Carver knew. She had always known. Her aunt Carrie smiled at her certainty that someone special would appear for her. Her aunt suggested increasingly often that Lily open her eyes to the young men around her. Some who wished to be suitors were likely and would make good husbands. Aunt Carrie had had such a man. His grocery, now managed by another, still provided comfortable living for both her and her orphaned niece.

  Lily could do as well. She had face and figure worthy of modeling in the best mail order catalogs, and except for her peculiar taste in clothing, the niece was circumspect and modest. Well, she did ride her old ho
rse like a man and visited around far more than a young lady should, but all that would stop when she found a proper husband.

  The Widow Carrie supposed she should insist that Lily find work. Sewing or washing was always available, and young ladies were clerking in stores and factories—appropriately proper businesses, of course. Working helped settle the young, and Lily was hardly a girl anymore. She would soon be twenty, and that was birthday to take note of. To some eyes, a woman not spoken for by twenty was almost a spinster. Certainly one would wonder why a beauty like Lily Carver had not been snapped up by a well barbered, polished shoed young swain.

  Lily knew there was someone. At times she could almost see him. When Homer Oates had grabbed her on a dusky evening she had coolly and mercilessly poked a finger in his eye. When he yowled and clutched his injured orb, she had stamped a boot heel on his instep and left him limping for more than a week. After that, men stayed respectful, and that was all Lily wanted from them.

  Word of her occasional ability to predict things caused some to expect Lily could also cure. Her success was limited, but success, whether due to natural healing or her administrations, was trumpeted about, and Lily Carver was increasingly called to use her healing touch or to speak words known to cure.

  Lily also attempted palm reading, but only rarely, too irregularly to matter, did insights appear. She could guess better than most the denomination of playing cards, but ladies did not frequent gambling places, and the ability was useful only as a social diversion.

  Then, on her way home, on a day like a hundred before it, she had paused to look between houses to see what vessels had come to dock. The gambler Haycock's magnificent barge was always a pleasure to behold. Trimmed in walnut, the oaken vessel was highly varnished and handsome bronze ports and cleats shone like polished gold. She had seen inside when walking the docks with her aunt and friends. The barge's galley was handsome with shining copper, and the gambling room with its felt-covered table blazed with light reflected from the many-faceted mirrored ceiling. They all wished to see more, but ladies did not often board a gambling vessel.

  There was another barge pulled along the dock. A workboat fully loaded, Lily's eyes passed over it before being drawn to a figure standing, balanced lightly atop the cabin, looking across the town.

  Morning sun struck directly on him, and Lily's mind churned with a sudden inexplicable awareness. The figure appeared average in size but dressed strangely. His soft leather coat was open-necked, and the collar of a white shirt had been folded over it. The hat was black with a stiff and broad brim. Lily's heart stirred. She too had found such a hat and preferred it to a lady's usual flowery fashion wear.

  She tried to see beneath the hat shadow, but could detect only a firm jaw, tanned and brown like the hands fisted on his hips. The figure moved and the jacket swept open disclosing the white shirt and the butt of a holstered pistol.

  Lily's tongue dampened suddenly dry lips. Her mind touched on fairy tales where noble knights rode to castles with lonely princesses waiting to leap into powerful arms.

  Yet, she could not scoff or turn away. Concentrating, willing herself to see and know more, Lily focused her thought. Instantly, the figure responded. The young man stepped back and crouched a hint, swiveling easily, eyes searching. The jacket was swept clear, and a hand gripped the ready pistol.

  The man's eyes found her and tension punched at Lily like a blow. Her mind responded, "Who are you?"

  The figure stiffened as though actually hearing, and emotion—was it a thought stream, surely it must be visible—rebounded to her. There was a rush, perhaps sound, certainly communication, thundered through her senses. Physically staggered, Lily forced herself away. She turned and placed a building between the dock and herself.

  Nearly numbed by the unexpected impact of a stranger's mind, Lily Carver hurried to the sanctuary of her room. She made herself calm, inwardly aglow with an excitement almost beyond believing.

  He had come. She was sure of it, but nothing in her girlish imagination or half-suspected insights had prepared her for such a shocking penetration, perhaps to her very soul.

  Shaken, Lily decided a little time would be required to discover who her knight was and to be sure that she truly wished to know anyone who could devastate with a single look. Then she realized her prince too had been jolted and stung, perhaps as much as she. He had even reached for his pistol, and he had been moved a pace or two—just by her wish to know?

  How wonderful if it were so. Could persons actually communicate as she and the young man on the dock had seemed to? It had to be so. In all her years, she had not imagined what she had just seen and felt.

  Lily knew she would find him. Not today. Today she would think seriously and plan wisely. But might the young man go on with the barge? She closed her eyes and thought about it. No, he would not. She knew it for certain. Where would he go? She tried, but could not discover.

  Well, he would be met, or he would rent a buggy or a horse. Nothing happened in Millerstown that escaped the eyes of her aunt or her many lady friends. Finding her stranger would be easy.

  Tomorrow then. Lily Carver felt her tensions ease. Tomorrow would be a wonderful day, she knew it. It would be a day she had waited for most of her life.

  She frowned slightly. Why would her man arrive on one of Captain Roth's old cargo barges, and why would he carry a pistol and be so quick to reach for it? Hers, she guessed, was not an ordinary man. Lily's smile replaced the frown. Of course, she never thought he would be ordinary.

  Chapter 13

  Chip's hallooing from the house hurried Tiff and Lily's return. They burst from the woods laughing together and wondering at the activity going on.

  Tinker Shatto came from the house carrying thick quilts. Motioning to them, she said, "Hurry along now; half the day is already gone." She disappeared around the porch.

  Following quickly, the hand holders saw the Roth boys hitching a powerful team to a strange looking wagon. George Shatto had mounted Lily's horse and began riding it out the lane.

  The captain sat on a porch rocker taking his ease amidst the bustle. He took in the pair's held hands without comment, then poked his chin toward the hitching operation.

  "We're all going to Newport. Figured you would want to come. George is taking Lily's horse in. He'll explain to Aunt Carrie, and we'll pick him up at the Millerstown square."

  Tinker came back to the porch. "Hannah's gone home to freshen a little. She will be waiting when we go by." Then she called, "Chip, we're ready."

  Chip appeared, again dad in a hunting shirt. He carried his holstered pistol wrapped in a light jacket.

  "It's market night, and Tinker and Hannah want to go in. So Carter and I will try to beard Haycock one more time."

  Chip's grin was open. "I figured you would like another look at Haycock's gambling rig, Tiff, and I'm guessing Miss Lily will go along, too." His eyebrows rose in question.

  Lily did not demur. "Of course I would like to go." She frowned a little at Chip's jacket.

  Tinker understood. "I'll put in a warm sweater for coming back. It will be chilly. Tiff, you go get something for yourself."

  Tinker took Lily away, and Tiff went for a coat. He heard their conversation through his open window.

  "George will tell your Aunt Carrie that you are with us, so she won't worry.

  "This is going to be fun, Lily. With the boys and you and Tiff along, it will be a real family outing."

  Tinker sounded a little nervous. "Tiny doesn't want to go. He is terribly embarrassed by what he has done. I surely hope Chip and Carter don't start fighting those men."

  Lily said, "Tiff will be there."

  Tiff was thrilled by her confidence in him, but Haycock's six ruffians would not again be caught flatfooted. He too hoped Chip and Carter would only talk. They were not going to change Haycock's mind anyway. To be rid of the gambler, Tiny Doyle would probably have to take his lumps.

  If Doyle would cooperate, the physical punishm
ent could be minimal and the box fighting venture quickly ended. All Tiny had to do was to be knocked down early and easily and appear unable to get up. A few of those kinds of bouts would destroy his value as a fighter. But Tiny Doyle would not do that. Doyle would pay his debt the best he could. By fall, Doyle would be flat nosed, with scarred lips and eyes. His hands would be broken and his ears cauliflowered. Perhaps Doyle's mind and spirit would also be pulped. The imagery was not pleasant.

  Chip's peculiar wagon could seat ten people. It was lightly sprung for comfortable riding, and the seats were cushioned with padded backs. The Roth boys removed the rear seats and plumped the wagon box with hay. They spread horse blankets on the hay and were prepared to lounge their way to Newport in comfort.

  Carter complained, "We're getting an awful late start. We'll get there just about in time to drive out again. You should have decided on this trip earlier, Chip."

  Clucking his team along, Chip examined his friend in pretended astonishment. "What are you talking about? I suggested going last night, but you couldn't make up your mind until lunch was over."

  "Well, it's a waste of time anyway. Haycock won't change."

  Chip sounded irritated. "Roth, you're impossible. Ten minutes ago you were raring to go. Now you're whining about wasting time."

  Chip ruminated a moment. "You know, Roth. Tiny's your man. I'm just helping out. But, here we are in my wagon, behind my team, out doing your work for you."

  Carter straightened. "Wait a minute, Shatto," but Chip had him going and was not about to let up.

  "Why, way back when we first met I had to lead you to the bunch that shot your mule, then guide you out of there before they licked you good. Hell, Roth, I've been easing you over the hard spots ever since."

  "That was more than fifteen years ago, and it wasn't that way."