“No. I didn’t. But I’m going to make it up to you. I’m finally going to do right by you.” His voice choked with genuine emotion. “Did the Johnson boy give you something from me? An envelope?” he whispered.
She looked over her shoulder and noticed the sheriff stared intently at her and Pa. It was obvious he was eavesdropping. He was probably wondering what scheme they were cooking up together—as if she were stupid enough to do something that would have her swinging next to Pa.
Josie lowered her voice. “Yes. Ben gave me an envelope. I hurried to get here, so I haven’t read the letter inside yet.”
“It’s not a letter,” Leroy said.
Curiosity seeped into every bone in her body. “What is it then?”
“Have you got the envelope with you now?” A muscle along his jaw line twitched.
“Yes. It’s here in my saddlebags.” She patted the leather pouch hanging over her shoulder.
“Good. Keep it close to you. Open it after I’m gone. What’s in there is going to give you the freedom to change your life. You’ll be able to get off that God-forsaken farm and live like a real lady. It’s my way of making up for all the times I haven’t been around for you.”
“Oh, Pa,” she began, feeling the breath catch in her throat.
He grew animated, though he continued to keep his voice low. “I finally did it, honey. You won’t ever have to work hard again. You can start your life over. Go anywhere you want. Do anything you please. Maybe you can travel to San Francisco. You’ve always wanted to see the ocean.”
“Pa, I don’t understand. You’re not making sense. What are you talking about?”
“You’ll understand when you open that envelope. Until then, protect it with your life.” He patted her hand through the bars. “You’ve become a lovely young woman, Josephine. I swear, you look so much like your mama, God rest her soul.” A single tear squeezed out from the corner of his eye.
Josie flinched. She’d never seen her father cry, and her ma had been a painful subject between them. There had been no mention of her in years. Why was he bringing her up now? Her chest grew tight, and her lungs began to burn.
Whispering again, he ended by saying, “The trail will be a long one, but don’t give up, no matter what happens. Promise me you won’t give up, Josephine.”
Her shoulders shrugged. “What trail? I don’t understand…”
“Promise!” he barked. His blue eyes grew large while awaiting her promise.
“Alright. I promise.” Confused, she backed away from the bars.
The hard features of her pa’s face relaxed then, as if a peaceful feeling had settled upon him. “Good luck to you, child,” he said quietly, sinking into the shadows of his cell.
The marshal strutted into the cellblock, glaring at Josie and issuing a threat. “I heard you two whispering. Best not be planning to break him out of jail or you’ll stand on the gallows, too.” When she didn’t reply, he gruffly announced, “Visiting hours are over. It’s time for a hanging.” His pulse throbbed in his neck.
“No,” she moaned as he took a step toward her and grabbed her arm. She wriggled out of his hold and shouted, “Pa! Pa!”
Kendall called out to his deputy. “Emmerson! Get this woman out of here. Now!”
Del strode over and put his hand around Josie’s waist and pulled her into the office. As she passed by the marshal, she noticed his eyes were fixed on the saddlebags hanging over her shoulder. She squeezed them tighter to her body. Del unlatched the front door and was about to escort her out of the jailhouse when the preacher swooped through like a giant bird.
“Afternoon, preacher,” Del said, lifting his hat briefly off his head.
“Hello, son.”
Josie jumped at the sound of his voice, which boomed like thunder. He waltzed past her and Del and whirled, his long black duster flapping against his leg. She raked a gaze over him, noting his appearance with a critical eye. He didn’t look like a preacher man to her. He didn’t wear a minister’s frock or a white collar around the neck. Dressed like every other cowboy in town, he sported pants that looked like they needed a good washing, a dirty wide-brimmed hat, and mud-caked boots. She guessed him to be fairly old, in his forties at least. His gray beard was trimmed neatly, but she’d never seen such long hair on a man of the cloth. The white mass hung well below his shoulders.
“I’ve come to speak to the prisoners,” he said. “Give them a final chance to unload their sins. Guilt is a terrible burden to carry into the afterlife.” The man’s milky eyes scanned her up and down slowly, which gave her the shivers. “Afternoon, miss. Would you happen to be Josephine Hart?”
Although shocked that he knew her by name, she didn’t let on. “I would,” she answered. She’d seen the preacher from a distance on the street a few times when she came to town, but never had the opportunity to talk to him or attend his services. He was fairly new to Dry Gulch, having taken over when the former minister succumbed to pneumonia the previous winter. There was something not right about this man. Preacher Smith never looked at her the way this man was now.
He grabbed her hand and pumped it up and down. “I understand your pa is one of the prisoners to be hung.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice came out small, which annoyed her, but it couldn’t be helped. For the first time in a long time, Josie felt unnerved.
“I’m here to give him the opportunity to confess his wrongdoings,” the preacher said. “Perhaps then our Almighty Lord will forgive his sins and let him walk through the pearly gates of Heaven.”
“Yes, sir,” she repeated, still startled by how loud his voice was.
The preacher spun on his boot heel and marched into the cellblock with his long coat tails flying behind him.
As she was pushed by Del through the front door onto the walk, Josie heard her father call out to her. “Daughter, I love you!”
She strode to Traveler and rested her forehead against his thick, comforting neck. It was with a heavy heart when she whispered back, “I love you, too, Pa.”
* * * *
Josie stood quietly off to the side as Leroy and Johnny Williams dangled. It was some time before someone cut them down. The preacher stood beside the bodies with a Bible in his hand, praying for their souls the whole time.
As the crowd began to disperse, Josie’s feet betrayed her. They were stuck to the ground as surely as if they’d been nailed down. From the middle of the muddy street, she watched as her pa and the other man were finally carried from the gallows and stretched out in wooden boxes that lay on the sidewalk. Townsfolk strolled by and gawked at the dead as if they were exotic animals. She wanted to shoo them away. “Have some respect,” she shouted once. But no one paid her any mind.
Finally, she forced herself to move so she could speak to the undertaker about transporting her pa to the cemetery and giving him a proper burial. As she treaded past the gallows, she detected a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. Raising a hand to block the burning sun from her eyes, her gaze lifted to Cemetery Hill, and she spied an unusual sight—a big snow-white stallion and a man all in black sitting in the saddle. The man’s back was ramrod straight, and his gloved hand was locked on the saddle horn. The pair stood perfectly still, as if they were frozen.
When the mysterious rider’s head swung her direction, she gasped. She swore he saw straight through her. Though he was some distance off, she could feel the steely penetration of his dark eyes like an arrow in her head. While returning the gaze, a hot flame seared her veins that moved down her arms and shot out of the tips of her fingers. The breath caught in her throat. She sensed danger in the rider. Danger and something else. Something unexplainable.
She turned and picked up her skirts and tramped through the mud to the boardwalk. Alarmed by the sensations rocketing through her body, her heart thumped deep inside her chest. From up on the hill came the piercing cry of the horse. Josie’s jaw tightened as her neck slowly revolved again. The stallion reared. It snorted, a
nd its hooves pawed the air as the expert horseman hung suspended, perpendicular to the horse’s back. The sight of the magnificent animal and dark stranger sent her senses reeling. Perspiration broke out on her forehead, and she felt it difficult to breathe. Splaying her fingers over her heart, she could feel it racing.
“Excuse me, Miss Hart.”
“Yes?” Josie spun and found herself face to face with a small, bespectacled man in a loose, wrinkled suit. She recognized him as Mr. Bailey, the undertaker and the man she was on her way to see.
“Are you alright, Miss Hart?” His eyes squinted behind the glasses.
“Yes. Just out of breath from walking through this mud. Thank you, sir. I was on my way to speak to you.”
“I anticipated you would require my services. I have a wagon hitched and ready. My men dug two graves early this morning.”
Reaching into her saddlebags, she pulled out some coins and placed them in his outstretched palm. “You anticipated correctly. How long before my father’s service can be held?”
“The preacher just stepped into the Last Chance Saloon. I’ll fetch him and ask him to meet us up on the hill in thirty minutes, if that suits you.”
“That will be fine. Thank you, Mr. Bailey.”
“My pleasure, miss.” The undertaker tipped his hat. “One more thing. Would you happen to know if Mr. Williams has any people here in town?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t know Mr. Williams.”
“Well, it’s a pauper’s funeral for him then.” Bailey turned on his heel and began to walk away.
“Wait. What’s a pauper’s funeral?”
He faced her. “He’ll go in the hole we dug, but without benefit of the preacher saying words over him. It’s the fate of those who aren’t as lucky as your pa, I’m afraid. The deputy found no money on the unfortunate fellow, and if he has no wife or family… Well, it’s not for you to worry about.” The undertaker waited and searched her face with hope.
When she frowned, his eyebrow lifted.
“I didn’t know my pa’s friend, but everyone deserves a Christian burial. I’d like to pay for Mr. Williams’ funeral,” Josie said, fishing a few more coins out of her saddlebags.
“Thank you, Miss Hart,” the undertaker replied. “That’s kind of you.” A sly smile split his thin lips. “We’ll get his and your pa’s boxes nailed up and loaded onto the wagon. The preacher and I will meet you on Cemetery Hill shortly.”
She nodded, turned full circle, and raised her eyes back to the hill, afraid of meeting the gaze of the man in black once again. But there was no need for apprehension, because the white stallion and dark rider were gone.
Thirty minutes later, Josie stood at her father’s gravesite. Richard and Ben Johnson, Mr. Bailey, and a few ladies from the church attended the brief service. She laid a small bouquet of wildflowers on the casket. The preacher read the 23rd Psalm from the Bible and then tossed a handful of dirt on both Leroy and Johnny Williams’ boxes. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” he said solemnly. The ceremony ended with him singing the first verse of the hymn, Softly and Tenderly, in a robust voice. She winced when he loudly intoned the chorus, in which the sinners are called home.
When the service was over, Ben and Mr. Johnson offered her their condolences. “If you need anything at all, you let us know. Ben and I will be happy to help.” Richard patted her hand like a father would.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Johnson. I’ll see you next time I come to town. Goodbye, Ben.”
“Bye, Josie.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bailey. Thank you, Preacher.” She shook each man’s hand and then ambled over to Traveler, who stood under a cottonwood tree sleeping.
“God be with you, sister,” the preacher said. His milky eyes followed her as she passed with her hand gripped firmly on the saddlebags. When he and the undertaker exchanged a subtle glance, she squeezed the saddlebags even closer to her body.
Josie took the reins in her hand and climbed into the saddle. “Walk on,” she ordered the mule. She swayed from side to side upon his wide back as the sure-footed animal trekked down the steep hill. When they reached the bottom, she sensed the man before she saw him. Her head pivoted. Standing in the distance next to a clump of sagebrush was the rider and his white stallion. There was no doubt about it this time. The man glared directly at her. He was over twenty feet away, but she could feel his hot pupils boring into her like razors. His mouth stretched tight across his tanned face.
The rhythm of her heart stopped beating for a moment. Who is he? What does he want? Why is he looking at me that way?
Having spotted the white stallion, Traveler’s ears pricked forward rigidly. His lip curled up to expose the two rows of his huge yellow teeth. Then he brayed loudly and jerked his head toward the horse. As Josie kicked him, urging him down the street, a cold shiver ran down her spine.
Will that man follow me? What could he be up to? Do I know him?
His hat had shaded his face, making it impossible for her to see his features clearly. Spurring Traveler on, she could still feel his eyes drilling holes into her back. She twisted around in her saddle; scared to find him following her, but also wanting to catch another glimpse of the dark stranger. For some reason, she felt strangely drawn to him. She glanced around, scanning the hill, the sage, and the street behind her. Like phantoms, the enigmatic pair had disappeared again.
Good. He’s gone. He probably thought he knew me, and then realized his mistake when he got a better look at me.
A long breath escaped through her lips.
Originally she had planned on having supper at the hotel and perhaps staying overnight, but seeing her pa hung had turned out to be more of an emotional drain than she’d expected. All the memories of her childhood and growing-up years had flooded back in a heartfelt rush as she’d watched the hangman place the bag over her pa’s head and tighten the cord around his neck. She’d been brave, for her pa’s sake—not crying out when the lever was pulled and the floorboard went out from under him. But now, she felt sad and bone-tired.
Leroy Hart never would have won any father-of-the-year prize, she thought rationally. But he was not the horrible man people had made him out to be. Deep in her heart, she knew he’d had some good qualities. After all, her ma had loved him. She’d been a good woman. Pa must have been a decent fellow at one time, or Mama wouldn’t have married him. That little shred was all Josie had to hold onto at the moment.
She bounced along in her saddle thinking about her pa’s final words. In the jail, he’d begged her forgiveness and rambled on about how her life was about to change. What had he meant? She had no idea.
Feeling melancholy and more alone than ever, she decided it would be best to skip supper at the hotel and go home. It’d be smarter to save what little money she did have, rather than spend it on a fancy meal and room. There’d been little rain so far, and she feared the garden might not produce the quantity of vegetables she normally harvested and sold for cash. Besides, it didn’t sit well for her to line the hotel owner’s pockets, a man she knew to be a cheat at cards. If there was one thing Josie couldn’t stand, it was a cheater. There were fixings back at the little cabin for cornbread and beans that she could cook over the fire, and her cot would suffice—as it did every night.
She reined Traveler down the wide, dusty street. At the exact moment she passed the jailhouse, Marshal Kendall stepped out of the door and stood on the walk with Del close on his heels. It was as if they’d been watching and waiting for her to come by. Del crossed his long arms across his chest. The marshal splayed his legs apart and hooked his fingers into the waist of his trousers. Doing so caused his jacket to flap open, once again displaying the gun at his hip. Unsmiling, they both nodded their heads. Josie hesitantly returned the greeting.
She followed the marshal’s gaze, which fixed on the leather bag draped over her saddle horn.
I’ve had enough of this town for one day, and the people in it. A sour taste filled her mouth. When she reached the
edge of Dry Gulch, she spurred Traveler into a full gallop. Leaning forward in her seat with her heels in his sides, the mule ran all the way home as if his tail were on fire.
Chapter Three
It was close to dark when the pair trotted onto the farm. Josie allowed Traveler a long drink from the water trough, and then walked him into the barn and tied him to a post. She patted his neck and tossed a fleck of hay on the ground, which he began to crunch between his strong jaws.
On the ride home, her thoughts had centered around her pa, of course, but also on the stranger with the white stallion. If he’d wanted to get her attention, he’d done a good job of it. Her heart hitched thinking about him and his piercing dark eyes that had seemed to look straight through her.
Why did she wonder about him? He was sure to be another gambler, or a cowhand who’d stumbled into town looking for ranch work, although that hardly seemed likely. He didn’t look like a ranch hand, duded up all in black the way he was. Could it be he was something completely different? Like an outlaw?
Why had the man been following her? Had he been following her? Or had it been mere coincidence, him looking down on her from Cemetery Hill and then again amongst the sage after the burial? No. His showing up in both places had not been an accident, she was certain. He had watched her as if he knew her, or had some business with her. But she hadn’t recognized him. If his goal had been to meet her, he’d done a poor job of it. What kind of a man was he if he couldn’t introduce himself like a proper gentleman?
She huffed as she got out the grain bucket. The man was probably a hustler hoping to take advantage of a defenseless woman. He’d chosen the wrong woman for that, she thought with the confidence she’d developed through the years. She’d dealt with plenty of his type before. Dry Gulch was full of con artists. There was no use in wasting another minute thinking about this one, no matter how mysterious or handsome he’d looked from a distance. She’d push thoughts of him out of her mind the same way she swept cobwebs from the barn rafters.
Trail of Golden Dreams Page 2
