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Short Stories & Tall Tales
The Double Z
By John Kelly
The skin of the canteen was leaking and he figured he had four swallows before he ran out. He tipped the canteen vertical and swallowed. Four times. And was out. He looked down as sweat dropped onto the horn of his saddle, smiling wryly. He stuffed the canteen into a rear pouch and shifted in the saddle, titling his hat back. A grove of trees was in the distance. But there was just scrub brush and dirt between here and there.
The man unsaddled from the paint, who turned to his rider with a questioning glance.
“Just stretching my flanks. Hold tight for a minute.”
As if answering, the horse snorted and bent down, inspecting an errant Indian paintbrush.
The man, dressed in copper chaps and beige linen shirt, was young in looks but older in years, almost to the barrier of forty. He face was thin, his eyes dark, his mouth expressive. He was slightly built but there was grace in his movement.
He adjusted his gun belt, scratching the small of his back in a thoughtful manner.
“What do you think, Zeph? Can we make it to those trees before sunset?”
The horse pulled on the dry red flower as if that was answer enough.
“Yeah. Let’s give it a try…”
The man slid up back into the saddle in one, smooth movement and with only a slight shift of weight, the deep brown and white companion immediately took his rider across the land toward a distant patch of green.
He was being followed. Had been for a day-and-a-half. When he left Shreveport, heading west for Texas, he was hoping for two weeks of soulless encounter. As he crossed into Lonestar sky, he thought he might actually get his way. But outside of Carthage, he’d seen a Rider in the distance. The next night there been a light in the distance. And the following day he’d caught sight of the same distant Rider looking out the scrub from a piney knoll.
Thinking of the Rider and his trek from Shreveport made thoughts of Isadora push into his mind. His stomach dropped a little as he thought he’d successfully removed her from his heart. But he knew better.
“Damn,” he whispered to himself, sitting astride Zephyr. He pushed back his hat, breathing out, images of their goodbye playing over. For the hundredth time…
He’d found her backstage of The Strand Theatre in the heart of the bayou city. She’d been cast as the lead in a traveling melodrama which Zach had already seen twice. He wasn’t much for the acting scene but he’d always enjoyed seeing Dora on stage. But going backstage, he confirmed a broken-hearted suspicion.
“I like to talk to you,” he said, moving past the ropes and pulleys and finding Dora talking closely with two other gentlemen. One was Deeks Miner, the stage manger of the production. The other was Lance. He didn’t really want to think about Lance. Or what might be.
Dora looked up, seeing him, her mouth turning into a thin line. She walked over to him.
“We’re rehearsing. What is it?”
Her formality and utter lack of sensitivity made him want to scream. Instead, he took in a slow breath.
“Can you find yourself free to have dinner this evening?”
She thought a moment, eyeing him but not really seeing him.
“We won’t get out until eight.”
“I can wait.”
“I’m beat as all get out already”
“A meal might help that.”
“Well, let me think on it.”
Zack tried to steady himself, his heart racing, his mind trying to fathom how in the world their life together had come to this.
“It’s a hard thing to see how a man has to tap-dance to ask his wife to dinner.”
Dora didn’t say anything, simply looked at him with a mixture of pity and condescension.
Zach took her in, trying desperately to find some ounce of love that might come off her. He didn’t see a thing.
He stepped back, adjusting his hat.
“Well,” he said suddenly looking to the floor because it was too painful to look anywhere else. “I guess that it’s then.”
“Maybe tomorrow night would be best,” She offered, looking back at Lance, who now stood alone in his dapper three-piece suit, salt and pepper hair and thick moustache.
Zack let the moments pass by. Finally he looked up at Dora, forcing himself to meet her hard eyes.
“Nope,” he said. “I’ll be heading out this afternoon.”
She blinked, shifting her weight.
“What does that mean? Where you going?”
“West. Texas probably.”
“Why?” she said, genuineness entering her voice for the first time.
Her question only hurt him deeper. The hole in his chest, gapping.
“Because, Mrs. Tremaine, you seem a helluva lot more interested in spending time with this actor than with your husband.”
“Zach, keep you voice down---“
“I’m out of words, Isadora. I’ve told you how I felt and you seem not to care. In fact, I’d say your caring for me stopped some time ago.”
“That’s not true, I just need some time---“
“You’re about to get it,” he said, and turned sharply, throwing open the side stage door, entering the street.
The daylight made him squint coming out form the darkened theatre. His temple throbbed and as he turned down the dirt street, he had no idea where he was going.
“Tremaine!”
Zach didn’t recognize the voice at first but he stopped anyway.
“Zach,” the voice came again, this time softer. Almost charismatic. And Zach knew exactly who it was.
He turned to see Lance, the actor, standing outside of the stage door, half-smiling at him.
Zach met his eyes wanting to say everything. And nothing. His head hurt and he wanted to throw-up.
Lance moved away from the stage door with easy grace, still smiling.
“C’mon back here. Let’s chat.”
Zach stood planted, trying to calm his racing heart. He knew if he walked over to the man he’d hurt him. Or worse.
Lance moved off the planked sidewalk stepping onto the street.
“I’ll even buy you a rye.”
That smile.
Zach looked into the dirt, as if it were a friend he desperately needed advice from. But the dirt wasn’t offering any wisdom. He looked back up, let his breath come in and out evenly a few times and moved slowly, but deliberately towards Lance. He had no idea what he’d say when he reached the man. It would just have to come.
“That-a-boy.’ I’ll even buy you two…” Lance’s smile slowly faded as his watched Zach’s stony gaze fix on him.
Zach didn’t change his stride and Lance looked as if he’d though young Zac was going to walk right through him. He leaned back just as Zac drew up close to him. Less than a foot away.
They met eyes, Zach looking up at Lance Hathaway who back down at him from a good four inches and a dozen years.
“I’ll decline the whiskey,” Zac said.
Both men watched the other’s hands. They were now both down at their sides. Lance had two Colt single action pistols with pearl handles that almost matched the man’s ivory vest.
Zach had a single, and rare, Remington 45 caliber riding low on his right hip.
Lance leaned against a support post, smiling sweetly again.
“I know you’re fast, Zachary. Hell, most folks are aware of that. But I also understand you can’t fire at another man.” Lance let that linger. “Or perhaps I should say have chosen not to fire at another man. Isn’t that right?”
Zac blinked once as if that was answer enough.
“Yeah, well, everyman has his reason for why he does and doesn’t do something. But,” he paused looking across the street, “we don’t really want to do this now do we. I’d hate to be the first man where you’ve had a change of heart…”
Zach brought his hands to rest across his chest, and there was the faintest relaxed sigh moving from Lance’s chest. Zach caught it.
“I wouldn’t fret,” Zach said.
“Well, I’m pleased to hear it---”
In a blurry moment of speed, Zach’s hands flashed out, pulling the pearl handles out of Lance’s holster, and holding them down to his side.
“Hey what the hell are you tryin’ to do”
“Bargain,” Zach said, evenly.
“Bargain?” Lance shouted, scarlet coloring his neck.
“Yep.”
“Bargain what?”
Zach took a step back, sizing up Lance for the first time. He was a showboat. Charming, intelligent, well read. And very good looking. That galled Zach but he was equally fond of the fact that the man was a lot of puff. He even felt a little sorry for him. But only a little.
“You can have these pearly shooters back. And I’ll take my wife.”
Lance started to speak, then closed his half-open mouth.
“She’s your wife, Zach. She’s already yours.”
“Maybe legally. But I’m talking about her heart. I’m asking you to leave her be.”
“Well that’s up to her, now isn’t it.”
It took everything not to empty 12 bullets into the man right there. Because the simple truth was Lance was right. Isadora was only his if she really wanted to be. In the end it didn’t matter what Zach wanted. No matter how badly he wanted it.
“You’re right, Lance. You’re right…”
Zac turned and headed back up the street.
“Hey! My guns, please.”
Zac turned and tossed one into the air towards Lance. As he reached for it, Zac raised the other pearly handle in one motion and fired. The airborne gun shattered just out of Lance’s reach.
“Son-of-a bitch!” Lance yelled, ducking.
“I think I’ll keep this one for a while,” Zac said, and continued walking with his back to the actor.
The Rider drew closer and as Zac sat on Zephyr looking out at the distance, he knew who it was. He’d just been hoping he was wrong.
He wasn’t.
“Zeph, this ain’t going to be pretty,” he said, climbing down off his old pal. He loosened the girth and slipped the bit out of the horse’s mouth. He checked his gun, spinning the cylinder and holstered it quickly again.
“You best go on and have yourself a rest over in the trees.” Zephyr looked back at him as if to see if he’d heard him right and then sauntered over to a group of tall thin pines where the grass was thicker in the shade and began his first course.
Zach looked once more at the Rider. He stepped down off the bank, and moved over to a knoll that sprouted a lone oak where his horse was well out of any line of fire.
And waited.
The Rider wore a long black duster. But it was his bright, white shirt with the ruffles Zach could see even from hundreds of yards away that made him nod to himself. He was on one knee looking out intently from the knoll as the Rider made his way directly at him, obviously knowing right where he was.
As the Rider drew closer, Zac titled his head quickly in a nod. The Rider smiled, noticing Zach, and Zephyr a ways off behind him.
“The Double Z,” the Rider said, his booming voice easily reaching him from a distance.
Zac looked on, unsmiling. But the Rider smiled back. But there was no friendliness in it.
“I’m grateful you decided to wait and find out who was following you”.
Zac stood slowly, taking out a blade of grass he’d been sucking on mindlessly.
“A long way from the bright lights, ain’t ya, Lance.”
Lance Hathaway stopped his horse and breathed deeply, looking around the remote land. As if fearing a fight, the sun eased halfway down behind the horizon.
“Well,” Lance grunted, climbing down off his white stallion, striking Zac as ludicrous, “I believe you still have something of mine that I value dearly.”
“I do,” Zac said.
Lance brushed himself off, twisted the cap off his canteen and took a long gulp. He recapped the container and took a few steps toward Zac. He opened his arms.
“As you can see, I’m not carrying, so you can relax.”
“I’m pretty relaxed. Not the one who traveled nearly 50 miles for a shooter.”
Lance smiled, looking down, then lasered his eyes into Zac. “Expensive shooter. And a family heirloom.”
“Could have wired. I’d of sent it along in time.”
“Methinks the truth belies thee.”
“That Shakespeare?”
“Indeed.”
“Yeah, well…” Zac said, turning back and moving toward Zeph, “I don’t make a habit of skirting the truth.” He pulled out the shiny pistol from a saddle bag and turned back to Lance. “Don’t have the talent for it.”
The two men looked at one another and though there was mistrust, there was also an understanding that neither quite understood.
“Isadora said you two were having troubles and weren’t together.”
Zac remained silent.
“I think I walked into a range fire that had already been sparked.”
“Make you feel better to think so?” Zac asked, pointedly.
“Just telling it like it is.”
“Didn’t bother to ask me if that fire was actually started or not?”
Lance started to speak then pressed his lips together.
“The sad fact is, Lance, it isn’t you at all. If Dora still cared, still…felt that what we had was important to her, you wouldn’t matter at all.”
“You’re being right civil about this.”
Zac nodded to himself, rolling the pistol in his hand.
“Yeah…” he said and tossed the pearl-handled beauty high into the air, arcing to Lance. Lance watched the silver glean turn and tumble in the sky. He only had to move a couple of steps and outstretched a hand, waiting to grasp the falling gun.
Zac watched it, too, his body relaxed, his hands at his side.
The gun came down, handle-end first, into Lance’s waiting hand. It slapped his palm, his fingers curled around it and---
---the gun exploded, pearl shards rocketing into the twilight.
“Good God ALMIGHTY!!”
Blue smoke rose from the pistol in Zac’s hand. The motion to draw, fire, and hear Lance’s exclamation was less than three seconds. Zac holstered his gun, resting his hands on his gun belt.
“Why in the hell did you do that??” Lance cried out, holding his hand, his eyes bulging.
Zac thought a moment. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”
“You’re a high-steppin’ son-of-a-bitch, that’s for damn sure.”
“Probably so,” Zac said, and walked two steps toward Lance, who suddenly drew up straight, eyeing Zac’s gun hand.
“But it takes a cowardly son-of-a-bitch to court another man’s wife. ‘Sides, an actor has little use for a side arm. Methinks.”
Lance turned around, rubbing his hand. He climbed back onto his horse and pulled the reins, turning back to the darkening land.
“There’s an escarpment about an hour southeast of here.” Zach motioned. “Should make for a decent bed-down.”
“Obliged,” Lance said, just above a whisper and moved his horse along, growing smaller as Zac watched him go.
A small smile still managed to make its way across Zach’s lips. He tipped his hat.
“You’re welcome.”
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