Robert Lautner - The Road to Reckoning

‘I do not.’ Henry Stands turned back to me. ‘You are not hurt, boy?’

‘No, sir. It was not just Heywood. There was four of them.’

‘Where is your mother?’

‘The pock took my mother last year.’

Mister Baker seemed to sink. ‘I did not know that. I am sorry, son.’

Henry bit off more jerky and spoke through his chewing. ‘So you are an orphan now, boy?’

This had not occurred to me. But it was true. An orphan.

‘I cannot say,’ I said, and meant it. ‘I have my house with my aunt.’

‘My, Chet, you have inherited a piece. What’s your name, boy?’

‘Thomas Walker, sir.’

‘Henry Stands.’ And that was his introduction. ‘Thomas Walker.’ He said my name as if he were chewing on it to see if it was something he should swallow or spit. ‘You hold the same name as the man that done this? That is unfortunate. Well, boy, there is no shame in being an orphan. I am an orphan myself. That is because I am old and that is what happens. You may become a smarter man than me as it has come to you so young.’ He rubbed his nose. ‘I am sorry for your loss. I’ll take tea, Chet, and rum if you has it in half bottles or I will take gin.’ He turned away.

‘Henry? You are heading east. Could it not be available that you could take the boy with? He is of New York.’

Henry bit off more jerky. ‘I am not to New York. I am to Philadelphia.’

Although I had not yet formed my views on Henry Stands I saw an opportunity to leave this place, and right soon, for this man was set to leaving and that suited me.

I stood up. ‘I am not to New York. I am for Paterson, New Jersey.’

They both looked at me. ‘Mister Samuel Colt is expecting me there.’ I knew how to catch this old goat. ‘He has monies for me. We have business. I can pay.’

‘What’s he jawing about?’

‘His father was selling guns. I bought half a dozen myself on promise and one for my own.’ He reached below. ‘Now see this here.’ The Paterson came out. Henry took it by the barrel and reversed it into his palm quicker than I could see. He weighed it smartly.

‘Should be brassed. It’ll rust like nails.’ He half cocked it and watched the cylinder click round and the trigger drop. ‘That is pretty.’ But he said this with scorn. He took it all the way and the cylinder finished its trick. It was not loaded but he did not fire; such action can damage the placings for the caps. He let the hammer back. This was an experienced man.

‘It does not load down the barrel? How is it to be done?’ He tugged down on the barrel. ‘Does it snap? I fear I will break it and owe you, Chet.’

I stepped across.

‘I will show you, sir.’ I held out my hand for the gun. Henry Stands grunted and passed it over. I half cocked it again and showed him the key wedge on the barrel. ‘This taps out,’ I said, and did it exactly as my father had shown me using the pocket compass as a hammer. ‘You can pull the barrel right off.’ I did and placed it on the counter. ‘This makes it perfect for cleaning or for buying longer barrels for greater accuracy. Now you can take the cylinder off the arbor and load the chambers. The arbor will double as a ram for the shot in a pinch or you can use your own tool or the one supplied, which fits through this slot in the arbor.’ I assembled the gun again with my father’s hands.

‘You can load all five chambers and keep a cap on four. The hammer will rest on an empty nipple for safety if you so choose but the chamber will be loaded ready.’ I eased the hammer down and put it back in his hand. ‘With spare cylinders you can load fast and have five shots in moments.’

‘Spare?’

‘For more dollars it comes with a spare and tool, cutter, cartridge maker, nipple picker, and twenty-two-grain loader.’

‘Does it come with pan and brush to pick up the pieces when it chain-fires? I never seen so many screws. Who made this toy?’

‘Mister Samuel Colt of the Patent Arms Manufacturing Company, sir,’ I declared straight up.

‘You paid for this, Chet?’

‘And ordered six more, Henry.’ He winked at me.

‘You shoot it yet?’

‘I only had it a day, Henry.’

‘Do you want to buy a unicorn as well, Chet?’

‘I seen a letter from Jackson affirming it.’

‘I have an affidavit for my unicorn from the same hand. Ink still wet.’ He put his first finger on the mouth of the barrel. ‘I have nothing under a musket-bore. Make me a load, Chet, twenty-two-grain like the boy says. We’ll go out back and see what this Indian gun can do. I can get by with one hand if she goes grenado on me.’

Mister Baker set up a plank of pine against the back fence. This was maybe thirty yards from Henry Stands, who stood, feet apart, playing the pistol back and forth in his hands. I would admit that the gun looked weak in his fists.

‘You clear out now, Chet. No telling what this thing will do.’

Mister Baker dodged back and came beside me. I watched Henry Stands take a breath, which also appeared to move something unpleasant in his chest, which he spat out. He puffed his chest again and I failed to notice mister Baker cover his ears, and a blink later I was deaf.

The gun-smoke was pure white. A waft of copper and hot iron and a puff of sawdust from the plank. I thought of the five shots into my father. Two from Heywood. I had not heard their noise.

Once down from the frame the trigger stayed until the shooter put it back. This allowed for rapid fire and Henry Stands picked up on this a breath later and blasted twice more successively.

He was now in a cloud and I wondered how he could see or even think as my hands were clapped to my ears and I was dizzy.

He shifted his footing and, as there is only one tidy way to empty any firearm, he cracked it twice more into the suffering wood.

Five shots like the ticking of a watch. He stepped out of his cloud.

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