The Penrock Covenant

By J. Lance Gilmer

It is a hot July day in 1883 when Travis Dabney sits peacefully on his porch watching the sun beat unrelentingly onto a vast stretch of New Mexico Territory. Then the stillness of the parched afternoon is broken by a mysterious stranger who comes into view.

Dabney gets his shotgun to prepare for the unexpected – and this stranger is definitely unexpected. Though the civil war has been over for nearly a generation, it is still unusual to see a black man riding with such confidence through these parts, only an hour’s ride outside Penrock, the town where Dabney was once a marshal and had to face down many men.

However, Dabney decides that this stranger, who calls himself Cassius Klay, means him no harm. The rider appears to have wandered onto the ranch as he is passing thru. Dabney discovers that Klay, who was a runaway slave before the war, is educated, quick with a smile and – like the former marshal – quick with a gun.

Though Klay sometimes has a coolness about him, the two men develop an unlikely friendship. They discover that they share a strong dislike for men who mistreat others, men like Rex Peacock who uses his money and power to buy the current law keepers of Penrock and who orders them to run the town the way he wants.

When Dabney and Klay find themselves in the middle of Penrock’s lawlessness, they team up to restore order and protect the townspeople, especially the women for whom they have developed special feelings. With an unspoken honor code between the two of them, their friendship appears to strengthen . . . yet an underlying mystery continues as to why Klay, a past gun-for-hire, chose to visit this town.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Lance Gilmer
• Release date: Jan 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370702190

J. Lance Gilmer

Former sportswriter, columnist and investigative reporter (San Francisco Examiner) and managing editor for the Reporter Publishing Company. Has had four novels published ("Hell Is Forever", "Hell Has No Exit", "The Last Touchdown", and "Kabalyfach") along with having four plays produced ("The Wake", "Dreams Deferred", "The Death Of Bubba Louis" and "Nous Aurons Toujour Paris". Additionally he wrote and appeared in the nine-episode TV pilot "Paul and Paula". Presently working on the novel "Bumfoggled", which is a sequel to "Kabalyfach". Has also performed in numerous plays ("Raisin In The Sun", "Westside Story", "Crystal Palace", "Room Full of Fleas", "Bent", and "Our Lan"," Streets" and "Toujour Aurons Paris", to name a few.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

NO ONE IN town much cared for Billy Craig. He was mean. Sullen. And a bully, particularly towards children, animals, women, Mexicans and Blacks. In the reverse order. Folks feared the twenty-three-year-old man-child for another reason: He was fast with the gun. Accurate, too. Billy had built quite a reputation by rumored to have killed ten men and that wasn’t counting the two Blacks, one Mexican and no telling how many Indians.

He held a sick pride about the slaves and former slaves he had dispatched to hell. Billy blamed them for the death of his daddy. According to Billy, his Pa was killed in the War Between the States, two years before the Union Army marched into Georgia. Now Billy never knew his daddy, who had slept with Billy’s mom one night in a drunken stupor and the next day got himself shot in a barroom fight when he was caught trying to pick the pocket of a local gambler.

But to hide the fact that Billy was a bastard, his momma told him that she had married his daddy and Billy was conceived the first night the couple coupled in the matrimonial bed, which was a rafter of the local stable. She said his pa was a good man who believed God made the Negroes slaves because they were inferior. If Billy had taken the time to calculate, he might have figured out that story was all bullshit. Or maybe he had and that was just another reason the young man was so damned unpleasant. Well, actually, despicable would have been a better word.

So with all that back story in mind, it was no wonder that on Friday, the 13th day of July in 1883, when Billy looked up and saw a black man riding into town, wearing a gray duster, a big hat and a solemn look, he felt the need to kill. Again.

Hey, boy, said Billy as the man pulled his horse up to the livery stable and slid off, whatcha doing riding into my town?

After tying up the horse’s rein to the hitching post, the man looked up, pushed his hat back on his head and smiled.

Well, sir, he said, nice and easy, his voice dripped with friendliness, seems this horse is a might tired and I was hoping to get him watered, a little feed and some rest for the night before we move on.

Did you steal it?

No sir. Bought him, if you want to know. Long story which don’t need telling.

Goddammit, I want to know where you got that critter and that’s why I’m asking. Then as an afterthought, added, and don’tcha go sassing me.

The man, he was maybe in his forties, could have been older, could’ve been younger, but one thing for certain he was one friendly guy.

No sir, I ain’t sassing nobody, just want to take care of this horse.

Billy rubbed a finger along his long nose and grunted.

I don’t like you, boy, so you best take your black ass and your black horse and get the hell outta here.

The man unbuttoned his gray duster, the garment being teased by the slight breeze blowing in from the west, taking his time, not in any hurry. His right hand dropping down to his side.

Sir, I’d like to oblige you, I truly would. But you see me and this horse been traveling for a spell and I want to take care of him. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just untie him and move him inside and let the smithy take a look at him. And his voice trailed off because, well, there was nothing more to say about the matter.

You heeled? asked Billy. That was cowboy talk for someone carrying a pistol.

The man nodded. "Yes sir, that I am as surely as you can see.

For shooting white folk?

The stranger laughed. Sir, I only shoot varmints.

Well, seeing the only varmint I can see here is standing right in front of me, said Billy, So I reckon the best thing you can do is unbuckle that holster and drop it to the ground.

The stranger shook his head but still kept his smile.

Billy, being Billy, didn’t do his fast draw routine because, well, after all this was just another darkie so there wasn’t any real need to showoff. Instead he walked over to the horse, patted it on the neck, stepped back, pulled his pistol from his holster and shot the poor creature in the head. The animal made a snorting sound as it hit the ground, moved its legs a few times, and was still.

The five men standing nearby were surprised, which was a surprise, since they knew how much Billy hated man and beast, especially black men and black beasts. In fact, Lyle Brady shouted, Billy, why did you shoot that boy’s horse? He ain’t done nothing to you.

Kiss my ass, Brady, said Billy. This nig—

Sir, I really wouldn’t call me that name. Calling me that is just downright disrespectful.

Now it was Billy’s turn to laugh, which he did all the while the pistol was still in hand, hanging down by his leg. He glanced around at the other men and said, Now don’t that beat all, I’m being disrespectful to a nig—

Sir, I asked you nicely not to call me that name.

Joe Daniel, who wished with all his might that he had the nerve and ability to kill Billy, said, Billy, leave that boy be. You done shot his horse, ain’t that enough?

He got no right talking to me like he’s my equal. And if you know what’s good for you, Joe, you just best shut your goddamn mouth. Then Billy turned his attention back to the man, who was standing there observing the whole thing, almost detached. Boy, I guess you got no reason to be in my town since your horse is real rested now. And he belched a laugh.

When the black man spoke it was just above a whisper, the smile, though, still made its home on his face. He looked at the horse, then back to Billy. The smile faded. Now, son, that was a real mean thing to do.

Billy blinked twice. He couldn’t believe his ears. What? Did you just call me ‘son’?

That I did, said the man. For a moment I thought you might’ve been one of my offsprings from one of the many whores I bedded. But seeing how ornery and stupid you are, you can’t be mine. Cause if you was and I had had any idea what you might have grown up to be what you are, well, hell, boy, I’d done the right thing and drowned you in a piss hole at birth. Then he chuckled. But I do believe you are the son of a whore and you are what your momma dropped when she squatted to take a shit but instead gave birth to you.

Oh sweet Jesus, said Joe Daniels because he knew this stranger was about to be just as dead as his horse in a very short time."

You black sombitch, said Billy and moved his pistol up. Got it up almost waist high, he did. He was smiling at the thought of shooting this fool’s brains out. But he didn’t. No, sir. Instead the last thing Billy saw in this world was the man slip out his pistol and a flash coming out of the barrel. Billy hit the ground just like that horse did, kicked his legs twice, spat up some blood, then went off to meet his daddy.

Ain’t nice killing defenseless animals, said the man as he returned his pistol to its home almost as fast as it had sprung out. Turning towards those five men and speaking in a gentle tone, he said, I think I’ll be needing to buy another horse. Any of you got one for sale? Then he paused for a couple beats and said, Oh, and by the way, how far is we from Penrock?

CHAPTER TWO

HE SAT STARING at the spot in the distance. His chair balanced on the rear two weather beaten legs, his feet resting on the wooden railing that wrapped itself around the front of the house. It was hot. Very hot that Friday the 27th of July in 1883 and he wondered two things: Why was he sitting on the porch instead of being inside where it was a few degrees cooler and a hell of a lot shadier? And, he thought, what fool would be riding towards my house this time day?

The spot, with a gentle cloud of dust trailing behind it giving notice that it was not in a hurry, grew closer. He could make out that it was a man, wearing a dusty gray duster and a large gray hat that shaded his face, riding a black horse. Travis Dabney squinted away the brightness of the early afternoon sun, placed his left hand just above his eyes for shade. Yep, he said, it’s a rider all right. Then he stood, went inside, grabbed his holster and strapped it on. No sense in being naked, now is it? He said to no one.

Another twenty minutes passed until the horse and rider stopped at the porch. Neither man spoke for a moment, then finally: My horse’s thirty. Any chance I can water him? said the rider.

Been traveling long?

Just about all my life.

Dabney nodded in the direction of the trough over to the left of the house.

Much obliged, said the rider and he tipped his hat.

While horse and rider watered, Dabney walked over towards them. There was an uneasiness about Dabney. His right arm relaxed but his hand was never more than a few inches from the pistol in his holster.

Don’t see many folks like you in these parts, said Dabney. Where you heading?

West, said the rider. Heard tell folks like me is more welcomed.

Really? said Dabney.

Really, said the rider. He was not in a hurry and moved with a grace and style that interested Dabney.

Where you from?

All over. Never stayed in one place long enough to declare it home. The rider pulled off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Much obliged for your hospitality, sir. He glanced around taking in everything while appearing to see nothing. Nice spread.

Dabney nodded.

Yours?

Again Dabney nodded.

Well, said the stranger after several moments of silence, guess I’ll be heading on. He stared out towards the northwest and said, Penrock far?

A piece, but not really. You heading there?

Could be. Could not be. He shrugged, then shook his head. Just curious, that’s all.

Man shouldn’t be riding in heat like this, said Dabney. Why don’t you sit a spell ‘til early evening? You can still make Penrock before nightfall.

The stranger smiled. "Why, that is right neighborly of you, sir. Name is Klay. Cassius Klay."

Travis Dabney.

Dabney? He let the name roll around his mind for a beat. "The Travis Dabney."

Travis half turned so that his body was at an angle to Klay’s. Dabney’s right hand now hanging near his holster.

Mr. Dabney, I’m traveling that way, said Klay and nodded to the west. I mean you no harm.

Never said you was.

Well, your words ain’t saying it, but your body is shouting it loud and clear. Klay’s expression was one of pleasure. He smiled again. Look, I’m too damn old to try and make a reputation.

I beg to differ with you.

You may, Mr. Dabney, you surely may. Guess since this is a free country and a person—especially a white person—can differ all he pleases. And he don’t even have to beg, if you get my drift. He sighed. Guess that invite has been retracted.

You heeled?

Be a damn fool if I didn’t, said Klay and chuckled. And dead, too.

Any good?

Still alive.

How many times over the years had gunman wanted to face up to Dabney? Ten? Twenty? Hell, he’d forgotten. Almost. You understand why I’m thinking the way I’m thinking.

Mr. Dabney, I don’t know what you be thinking, but I know what I be thinking and that is I should be riding on. He turned towards his horse, stopped and half turned. I do wish to thank you for letting me and my horse water up. Like I said, it was right neighborly of you. Now he turned back and faced Dabney fully. But think about it. A person wanting to gain a reputation would hardly face up to you with nobody around. Don’t make no sense. It ain’t much of a reason gunning somebody like you down and nobody to enjoy the show.

Possible.

Possible? No sir. That would be plain stupid, if you ask me, which you ain’t. But if you was, I’d be the first to say it would be downright stupid and stupid ain’t me.

CHAPTER THREE

THEY HAD TALKED all of five minutes when Dabney decided to invite Klay to stay a spell. He knew enough about people to see that Klay was not a threat. Travis reckoned there was no reason for this man to try him. What had the stranger to gain? One of two things: Death from a bullet or a long trip on a very short rope. Travis reasoned, as he stared at Klay standing there, smiling, relaxed, seemingly not a care in the world several hours ago, to feel there was no need to worry.

Now the two of them sat on the shaded porch watching the sun make its way across the sky. Each sipping from a cup partially filled with coffee.

Hope you don’t take offense, Mr. Dabney, but this is the worst coffee I have had in many a day and I’ve had some pretty bad coffee in my day. If your cook brewed it, I suggest you fire him cause he is trying to poison you. Klay chuckled at his own joke. In fact, and I certainly mean no disrespect, this taste like I imagine warmed over coyote piss would taste.

This time Klay laughed with gusto.

Dabney nodded and smiled. Nope. My cook’s one of the best in the territory. At least that’s what he claims. I am the guilty one who created that brew this morning. And Travis pitched the rest of the contents of his cup. I figure if you gonna do something, be the best.

That’s what my daddy said, said Klay. Even if you be the worse, be the best at being the worse.

Your Daddy sounds like a smart man, said Dabney.

No sir, my daddy wasn’t smart at all, said Klay after a long pause. I was told he had a mouth on, he did. Didn’t know when to speak or when to shut up. Got hisself kilt with that mouth of his. Downright uppity, was what they said after they did what they did. Which wasn’t pretty. Umm-mmm, no sir, wasn’t pretty t’all. At least that’s what I was told since I wasn’t there when it happened. Word was that he sassed a coupla cowboys by not stepping outta their way. They took exception and shoved him, to which my poppa, being the kind of man he was, knocked one of ‘em down. He then put a boot to the side of that young fella’s head saying that he would’ve moved if they had asked him politely.

Yep, I can see why some folks would say he was acting downright uppity.

But if truth be known, naw, my daddy was just a very proud man, said Cassius. He nodded and a slight smile graced his face. It quickly faded. Always felt he was as good as any man, black, white, brown, yellow or red.

Dangerous thinking some folks would say, said Dabney after a while.

Cassius nodded ever so slightly. One could say that was true. My daddy was the kind of man that spoke and acted before fully thinking things through. Could even say he was foolish.

I’d say he was a man who knew who he was.

"True, but maybe not what he was: Half Indian, half black. Was sold off right after I was born, they said. Then he bolted from bondage, other said. Probably true, too."

And where was your momma during all this?

Trying to raise me the best she could. Wasn’t easy, but she managed. Strong woman, she was. Hell, still is I guess. Haven’t seen her in…. The words fell to silence. After a moment he said, My daddy wasn’t one who stayed with any one woman long. Seemed, I was told, trouble had a way of finding him and he didn’t try hard to avoid it either. Many thought he was crazy.

You anything like him? asked Dabney.

Cassius laughed. In a way. Except I do try to stay out of trouble’s way. A grin and a nod goes a long way. He was quiet for a moment. That and being able to shoot a sombitch in the head if he ever called me boy. Another pause. But neither trouble nor shooting happens, a beat, often.

Got a feeling that it did happen not long ago.

Possibly.

And that’s why you’re heading west.

Possibly.

Possibly?

Klay thought a moment and chuckled. Well, mostly true but we’ll just let that be for a spell, Mr. Dabney.

You don’t need to call me ‘Mister’.

A laugh that sounded more like a bark escaped from Klay. Well, white folks—and I ain’t being disrespectful to you in any way—they don’t take kindly to folks like me, no matter what our age be, of us not putting a ‘Mister’ or a ‘Yessur, Boss’, in front of they name. Seems it make them downright angry.

Well, I ain’t like them other folks, so you can call me Dabney. Or Travis. Some folks round here still insist on calling me ‘Marshal’, but I ain’t that and ain’t been for a while. So if it’s all the same, I’d prefer you not address me as ‘Mister’. This is my land and I make the law on my land.

"I appreciate you treating me like that, but I like the sound of calling you ‘Mister.’

Then you shall be called Mister Klay.

Must admit it will sound strange having Mister before my name, but I like it. Incidentally, speaking of the law, how come you ain’t doing lawing anymore?

It was a year, no, fourteen months, ago, that Travis Dabney was forced into turning in his badge. He had grown tired of men trying to gain a rep by being the one who may have been a little faster on the draw than he was; the one who put him down for good.

Hell, he told that boy, well, actually that boy was twenty-four years old, but a boy all the same to Travis, fast is good and from what I’ve heard you’re damn fast. Don’t matter none. So why don’t you hand over that pistol or take that fast draw of yours and leave town?

The young man refused to back down saying, Dabney, you done insulted me by demanding I hand over my gun and I hand over my gun to no man born of woman. So, said Simon Nevermore, if you get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness I just might, might mind you, forgive your insult and allow you to live another day."

Boy, Travis had said, knee bending is something I find very difficult even in church, where I seldom go. So I’m telling you to give me your gun or leave town.

Travis half turned so that his body was at an angle to Nevermore’s. Dabney’s right hand hanging near his holster. Either give it up or go, but I promise you will not enjoy the outcome of the wrong choice. Besides, drawing down on a Marshal ain’t a good idea. And seeing that I am the law of the land, I find you downright offensive.

Well, Marshal, seeing that my next stop is Las Vegas, I figure I should get a little practice before meeting up with Hoodoo Brown and Handsome Harry.

You too late for Hoodoo who was run outta town three years ago, said Dabney. As for Harry, hell, he ain’t nothing but a cheap dance hall rustler. But no matter. Way I see it if you leave now you’ll be in Las Vegas in a couple of days. If not, then you’ll be staying here. Permanently. Travis by saying what he was saying knew this man was going to draw down on him. He’d heard of Simon Nevermore and how fast he was. Rumor had it that he could fire off two rounds to anyone else’s one.

Nevermore laughed and went for his pistol, a silver-handled number that he had taken off a half-slick gambler in Texas who he shot during a disagreement several months ago. He cleared leather and got off the first shot. It was wild. Travis’s shot wasn’t. Nevermore was never more to be alive.

Same for Amanda Peacock, the thirteen-year-old daughter of Rex Peacock, one of the territory’s biggest landowners. Amanda had just come out of the store after buying some thread to mend her daddy’s favorite shirt. Simon’s slug greeted the giddy girl, who, bystanders told the judge a week later, was wearing a huge grin because she had found the exact color she was seeking, directly between her budding breasts. She died instantly on that dusty street.

Needless to say, while saying it, Rex Peacock was not pleased with the turn of events. He blamed Travis Dabney for the death of his daughter. Mr. Peacock’s reasoning was that if he hadn’t allowed the town folks to hire a hired gun, who was like stink on shit in attracting vermin and varmints such as the recently departed Simon Nevermore, his lovely and loving daughter would still be alive. Did not matter that it was Peacock who led the campaign to hire Dabney because he felt Penrock had been a magnet to drawing lowlife characters on their way to Las Vegas and not the town in Nevada, which had yet to be found, but Las Vegas of the New Mexico Territory. Peacock wanted the town free of rowdies to pave the way to statehood. Fact and reason were not residents in Peacock’s mind.

Using the strength of his money and the power of owning more land than an individual should ever own, Mr. Peacock convinced the citizenry that it would be better served if a more tame and less known hired gun served the rapidly growing town of Penrock, in the territory that was known as New Mexico. Incidentally, since Peacock owned most of everything, he had decided two years ago that the lawman upholding the law would be called Marshal and not Sheriff. No one protested Peacock’s decision and Marshal Travis was told to hand in his badge and depart.

Travis had already decided that he was tired of being a target and was ready to quit the job when Mr. Peacock, along with three other upstanding members of the community, demanded he cease being the keeper of law and order in the town. Peacock also informed Dabney that some day, he was going to make Travis pay for the death of his darling daughter. Later Peacock blamed Dabney for the rapid decline of his wife Juliette, who had found comfort in the arms of demon rum and laudanum.

Of course Travis said nothing about that piece of history to Cassius Klay. No sense in ruining a perfectly good evening with that kind of talk.

Will you ever go back to lawing? asked Klay in his slow and easy way of speaking, almost like he thought out each word before giving it voice.

Nevermore, said Travis. Then he realized he had slipped. Meant never more will.

Klay chuckled. Yeah, I heard tell of that little incident. Boy was fast, but—

Not accurate. That can be the death of some people.

Which seems to be true in his case. Youth. Always in a hurry to go nowhere, said Klay. Folk said that boy could get two, maybe even three rounds off before a man could get off one. True?

When he went against me, he managed to get off one.

Klay whistled. Really, now? Another silence. I do declare you may be just as good as they say you are.

Better. Now Travis chuckled. He liked Klay. Couldn’t say why because he seldom liked anyone, seldom had company and had never asked anyone to sit a spell. Well, he was a good friend to Edna Cooper, head lady from the local cathouse in town. Used her services once or twice then decided that it wasn’t such a good idea. Him being the law and all. Enjoyed just sitting and chatting with her now. Kind of flirting but