He rode off, leaving a cloud of dust and a sense of encroaching doom. Pike was tightening the noose without the creek water. The herd would not survive the summer. The pressure boiled over 3 days later. Clara had gone into town alone to pick up a package from the stage office.
Seeds she had ordered, hoping for a garden. Eli was fixing a fence line, and she had insisted she could handle the trip. She was walking back to the wagon when a hand clamped around her wrist. It was a cowboy smelling of stale beer and sweat. He yanked her into the alleyway between the hotel and the barber shop.
"You're the concaid bride," he slurred. He was big, heavy set. "Pretty thing, too pretty for a dirt farmer like him. " Clara did not scream. She went still. It was the possum response, a survival trick she had learned at 12.
If you scream, they hit you. If you fight, they get angry. If you go still, they get confused. Let go, she said evenly. Just want to see if the rumors are true.
He laughed, pulling her closer. If you know how to treat a man. Clara's free hand moved to her skirt pocket where she kept a small folding knife. She was calculating the angle to his ribs when a shadow fell over them. Let her go.
It wasn't a shout. It was a command spoken with the finality of a closing coffin lid. The cowboy turned. Eli stood at the mouth of the alley. He was not wearing his gun belt.
He stood with his arms loose at his sides, but his whole body was coiled. "This ain't your business, Plowboy. " The cowboy sneered. "She is my wife," Eli said. He took one step forward. "And you are touching her? " The cowboy laughed and shoved Clara back against the wall.
He reached for his hip, but he was drunk and slow. Eli moved with a speed that defied his size. He stepped in, blocked the cowboy's arm, and drove a fist into the man's solar plexus. The sound was a wet thud. The cowboy folded in half, gasping for air.
Eli grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the brick wall. He held him there, feet dangling inches off the ground. Eli's face was inches from the man's nose. Eli was shaking, vibrating with a rage so intense the air around him seemed to crackle. "If you ever," Eli whispered.
"Ever look at her again. I will not stop at your stomach. Do you understand? " The cowboy nodded frantically, his face purple. Eli dropped him. The man scrambled away on hands and knees, wretching in the dirt.
Eli turned to Clara. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving. He looked at her and the rage in his eyes vanished, replaced by a horror that chilled her. He looked at his own hands, then at her. Did he hurt you?
Eli asked. "No," Clara said. She stepped away from the wall. "I," Eli started, then stopped. He turned and walked rapidly toward the wagon.