Gentrys of Montana: Gentrys of Montana

by Hildie McQueen

  Drawing up courage, he closed his eyes to fortify himself before looking for his brother’s resting place.

  A few months ago when returning from a cattle drive, robbers attacked both him and his brother Grant along with four ranch hands. The bastards had tied him to a horse and whipped the animal to drag him off.

  By the time he’d gotten his leg loose, he was too weak to do more than lie in the grass and moan in pain. He’d passed out and come back to several times. One time he came to it was dawn, the next it was night.

  Hoping the robbers wouldn’t come to look for him, Linc had flipped to his stomach and forced the bile brought from the pain down as dragged his torn body from the clearing. Somehow he’d managed to crawl and hide under some bushes. Each movement was so painful, he came close to blacking out again.

  His right leg and several ribs were broken, making it hard as hell to breathe. Somehow he’d made it for several days before an old-timer happened upon him and took pity.

  “I’ll splint your leg as best I can, but it’s still gonna hurt you something fierce when I move ya,” the old man explained as he returned to him with two long branches. “Now I’m not sure what will happen if you pass out. I ain’t strong enough to carry ya.”

  Somehow he’d managed to stay alert enough to get up once his leg was splinted and climb onto the back of the man’s wagon. “I can’t breathe that well,” Linc gasped out as the old timer pulled an old dirty blanket over him.

  “Yer in bad shape, young man. If you live, I’ll be surprised.”

  With those encouraging words, the miner walked around to climb on the bench. The ride proved to be just as painful as being dragged by the horse. By the time he lay on a bed inside the old man’s house, Linc was incoherent with pain and fever.

  For days he’d been on the brink of dying, and then two weeks later, one day he woke and for the most part, the pain had subsided enough to eat and drink water without getting sick. The old timer who’d drank too much whiskey that day danced a jig around the room, singing an off-key tune. “Looks like yer gonna make it.” The scraggly face beamed down at him. “Well ain’t that a thing.”

  “Why did you help me?” Linc had asked the old man days later. “I can never repay all you’ve done for me.”

  The old timer’s sullen gaze met his. “I lost a friend once. When I found him, he’d died out there.” He pointed to the door. “All alone under some bushes just like you was. If someone would have found him sooner, maybe he woulda made it.”

  For the next two months, while Linc recovered, the old man spent most of the time fishing, hunting or taking care of him. Other than an occasional Indian who stopped by to visit the old timer, Linc didn’t see another soul in all that time.

  The miner never asked him what happened. Knowing him as Linc had gotten to, he’d figured if he wanted to share it, he would. Otherwise he allowed Linc to keep his story to himself.

  Just before leaving he’d told his new friend the circumstances of both the attack and what awaited him back in town. The miner listened without interrupting.

  “If you didn’t do it, which I believe you don’t have it in ya to do, then you’ll be just fine. I believe in luck and you have that in spades. Just think. Everyone else died, you didn’t. You got loose from that horse draggin’ ya. You got found and now you’re almost good as new.” The old man chuckled. “I’d say you’ll not only be found innocent, but may find that Lady Luck has more good things waitin’ for ya than you’d expect.”

  Through his ordeal, Linc had somehow managed to keep his burlap bag that had been wrapped around his waist, half of the money from the cattle drive. He’d only spent a few dollars on the horse he’d purchased from the old miner, who refused any other payment. He planned to use the rest of the money to start fresh. Build a house and purchase more cattle.

  He owed the man his life. The miner housed and fed him until he was able to travel, without expecting anything in return. Once his ribs healed, he’d helped chop wood for the winter, much to the old man’s glee. When he’d offered to pay him, the old man had took affront. “Just remember, one day I might need your help. When that day comes, then I’ll accept whatever it is I need.”

  “If I’m not hung first,” Linc had replied ensuring the old man understood what he faced.

  “Just come back and let me know all’s okay.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Now he stood in the family graveyard, at a loss as to what to do next. Once he paid his regards to Grant, he’d head to town. Time to find Emerson, his oldest brother and the marshal of Rutgers Ridge—and the only person who could help him prove his innocence.

  The wind held a hint of winter; the chilled air helped his overheated face cool. A fever, great, just what he needed. It may have been too soon to travel after all his injuries, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to talk to his brother. Emerson would know what to do once he told him the truth. Hopefully his brother would not be influenced by the townsfolk and throw him in jail without first giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  Linc took a deep breath and scanned the surrounding ground. Beside his mother’s grave were his grandparents and a brother who’d died just after birth, no new tombstone. He backed a couple steps and once again searched the ground. What the hell? Had they not been notified of what happened? He’d gone back to the scene and everything was gone. The bodies, their belongings. Everything.

  Where was his brother’s body? Linc snatched his hat off and ran shaking fingers through his overly long hair. “Damn it.”

  In the direction of his father’s house, he spotted smoke. Someone was home. Maybe his father had Grant buried closer to the house, it didn’t make sense. But people did strange things when faced with the death of a loved one, He couldn’t imagine his distant father riddled with grief. Kyle Gentry was an austere, distant man, who never showed emotion other than anger, which he had no problem with.

  If anyone would want to see him hang, his father was probably at the front of the line. It wouldn’t do for the Gentry name to be marred with the injustice of an outlaw in the family. Better that he be hung than to continue to sully the family name. He knew his father well.

  The last place he needed to be was there, on Gentry lands. His Pa would waste no time in tying him up and dragging him through town to face justice. It was all about the name, all about his honor. To hell with the truth.

  All his life, he’d tried to be close to his father. Being so young when his mother died, Linc never knew the comfort of a mother’s arms around him or kisses to make things better. Emerson had been more of a father figure than Kyle ever was. His older brother had cared for him and Grant day and night, ensuring they were fed, taken to school. The one the teacher and other townsfolk would complain to when either he or Grant misbehaved.

  Yet, he’d never stopped trying to gain his father’s love. Before leaving only he remained at his father’s home, splitting his time between there and Grant’s. Smarter to the fact their father would never come around, both of his brothers lived elsewhere. Grant had a nearby ranch of his own, Emerson in town behind the jailhouse.

  Thinking of his brothers brought an ache in his chest. He missed them. Had never been away from them this long. They were always close, shared everything. And now Grant…Linc wiped at his face with the back of his hand. It was not the time for tears. He had to find out what happened. Somehow, first assess the situation within town, approach Emerson without being spotted and finally find out what happened with his brother’s body.

  He mounted and rode a few miles away. After pulling a blanket from the saddlebag, Linc wrapped it around his shoulders and settled beside a tree. Even with a full beard and longer hair, someone would recognize him. It was best to wait for sundown before going to town.

  * * * *

  The familiar road to town hadn’t changed. If anything that night it seemed less traveled. He prodded his horse to a trot, the sooner he got there the better. He felt worse and wanted to find a place to sett
le for the night. His body ached, not used to riding for so long after being sick for months.

  On the outskirts he paused his steed and took in his hometown. Lined in two long rows were wooden buildings. Along the front were raised walkways covered by long overhangs. Handmade shingles with business names swung in the night air. It was quieter than normal for so early in the evening, probably due to the chill in the air. After one last look around, he urged his horse forward. With luck, the area would remain empty until he got to the jailhouse where his brother worked and lived.

  Other than a few men making their way into the saloon, the main street down the middle of town remained bare. Lights from inside dwellings shined out onto the dirt path as people settled into whatever activities kept them occupied after the events of the day. Those that housed shops and businesses were locked up, the interiors dark.

  Linc slowed when he reached the jailhouse and dismounted. After noticing no light from inside, he slipped between the buildings and went to his brother’s small house behind it.

  No lights shown through the window and no one answered his knock. Linc tried the doorknob and found it locked. Dedicated and a man of habit, it was rare for Emerson not to be home. Unless he had to transport a prisoner or went to visit their father, something he rarely did, Emerson could be found in one of three places, eating at the hotel, in the jailhouse or home. The only other place Emerson would go was Grant’s home. He’d not considered that perhaps after Grant’s passing, his older brother would decide to move there and take over the ranch.

  The only person who could tell him where Emerson was would be Rory. The huge Irishman who bartended at the saloon and served as his brother’s deputy. Linc made his way back to the front of the jailhouse and looked over to the saloon. Too many people in there, he couldn’t take a chance. Rory would be inside for at least several more hours and Linc doubted he’d last much longer on his feet. His teeth chattered from a combination of the fever and the cold weather. Once again, he went back to behind Emerson’s house and grabbed a bucket from the small stall beside the dwelling. He let out a sigh and went back to his horse.

  It was best to wait and catch Emerson alone and not take a chance of getting discovered by someone who’d turn him in for the reward money. The entire outlaw standing was wearing thin. Sure he could remain at large, would probably never get caught if he went further west. But he couldn’t allow the murderer to get away with not only killing a man, but also letting him take the blame.

  Now to find a place to hide out until morning. Somewhere he could remain until it was safe to come back and talk to his brother or catch Rory alone.

  Linc stood in the shadows next to the jailhouse doorway and scanned the street. He noticed the old schoolhouse. Since the last teacher had left over a year earlier, the building was abandoned. The town’s mayor had placed many ads for new teachers in newspapers out east, but they’d yet to find one that was willing to chance living in the “untamed” west.

  Both the schoolhouse and the cottage behind it were less than habitable. But they’d provide a good place to hide. From what he remembered, the cottage’s back door was bolted from the inside. The schoolhouse’s door would be easier to gain entry through. He’d try there first.

  Too tired to care where he slept other than needing a roof over his head, he pulled the horse behind him and trudged to the schoolhouse. It was dark inside, he opened the door and peered in. Thankfully, it remained empty.

  “Come on Rebel, let’s get you settled.” The horse nickered as if in agreement. Reins in hand, Linc and the horse rounded the building and he tethered the animal. Once he fed the horse some oats and water from the nearby town well, he lifted the saddlebags off and carried them through the back entrance into the schoolhouse. He shoved the door closed and leaned against it. His body shook uncontrollably and he took a fortifying breath. What he wouldn’t give for a strong cup of hot coffee.

  It was too dark to see clearly, but the place had definitely been cleaned up since he’d left. It could be they were preparing it for a new teacher. Mentally he calculated as to whether school would be in session or not, but could not figure it out. No matter, he’d slip out at dawn. At the moment he was much too tired to attempt to find another place to sleep.

  There were some pieces of furniture and tarps piled in the back corner where he could sleep behind it and not be seen.

  Bedroll stretched along a corner of the room behind a long bench, he finally lay down and pulled his blanket over his quaking body.

  The warmth combined with his fever made it hard to stay awake.

  The last thought he had before falling to sleep was that he was finally home.

  Chapter Two

  Jane Conner sat at her small kitchen table and drank a cup of coffee. Dishes were stacked neatly in the cupboard, the floor swept and every stitch of clothing she owned folded and stored. There was absolutely nothing to do.

  The cottage was too quiet. Nothing new in the last couple of weeks, but she’d still not gotten used to her sister being gone. Maddie, just married to the town’s marshal Emerson Gentry, now lived with her new husband. The fact that they were so in love helped her feel better about dragging her sister so far from home. They’d come from Virginia just a couple months earlier, after she’d accepted the teaching position in Rutgers Ridge.

  Although Maggie would be living behind the jailhouse for the time being, until they built a bigger place, at the moment, she and Emerson Gentry were gone on their honeymoon. They would return in a couple of days, which was not soon enough for Jane.

  She’d expected to start working as soon as arriving in Rutgers Ridge, but there had been one setback after another. Finally the schoolhouse desks and benches were completed, but it was harvest season and most of the children didn’t expect to start school until after that. Being she had no idea when it ended, she’d decided to put the first day of class off until the first day in October. Another three weeks with nothing to do.

  Her lesson plans were complete, she’d spent two weeks organizing the books she’d brought with her. Another trunk of supplies would be arriving soon, thanks to her mother.

  Jane stood and went to the front door. She opened it to allow the fresh breeze in. It was going to be another chilly day. The overcast sky would not let much sunshine past.

  From a hook behind the door, she grabbed her shawl and a ring with keys. If nothing else, she could go to the schoolhouse and start working on the pile of stuff they’d pushed against one corner of the room. In spite of promising Maddie she’d wait for her return, she needed something to do, a project to keep her from going mad from boredom.

  The interior of the schoolroom was dim. Jane made her way to the sidewall, where she’d left a lantern and within moments, the room was lit enough for her to see. She opened the windows to the side street, adding the bit of sunlight to cast more brightness to the space. Jane grabbed a long apron and wrapped it around herself while eyeing the stack of things in the corner. She’d take one by one, decide if it was salvageable and if it was, she’d start the process of cleaning it up or setting it aside to be restored. Her lips curved in satisfaction of finding something that would keep her occupied until Maddie’s return.

  She bent to lift a long rectangular box when a pair of boots caught her attention. Strange, she didn’t remember any shoes being left there, nor did she remember the blanket. Just as she went to tug it, a snore made her jump back. Someone slept behind the pile. Jane considered what to do. A broom lay against the wall. If nothing else, it would be the best weapon at the moment.

  Broom in hand, she tip-toed back to peek behind the stack of furniture and other things. She considered calling for help, but if the person had a legitimate reason for being there, it was best to find out first.

  At the very least, she’d shoo him out and be done with it. “Sir?”

  Another snore sounded followed by lip smacking. Whomever it was, slept quite soundly.

  “Mister. You need to wake up.” J
ane ensured authority in her voice. “It’s time for you to move on.”

  The man attempted to sit, but with the lack of overhead room, he only made it halfway and banged his head on a chair leg. “Owww!” He mumbled curses and Jane took a step back.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine after the birds stop spinning around my head.” He had a gruff deep voice, familiar in a way, but she was sure never to have met this person. “I’ll be out of here in a minute.”

  Poor man. Probably passing through town without enough money for even a room at the hotel. Jane felt pity. “Would you like some coffee? I made some biscuits, I can pack you up for later.”

  His face peered out at her as he crawled out. He was younger than she expected, although it was hard to see his features between the long hair that fell over his face and the beard covering the bottom half. His dark brown gaze met hers and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know the schoolhouse was in use. Planned to be out of here before daybreak.” He scratched his beard. “Overslept.”

  “I’ll be back with that coffee.” Jane backed out of the door and rushed to her cottage. Her heart went out to the young man. Perhaps, it was foolish to not toss him on his ear, but she’d noticed a flush to his cheeks. It was possible he was ill.

  Once she collected a tall tin cup full of coffee and two biscuits with a large piece of ham, she headed back to the schoolhouse.

  The man was in the process of rolling up his blankets, his broad back to her. Jane placed the items on the nearest table and waited for him to finish. “Are you passing through?”

  He hesitated in his movements. “No ma’am. I plan to remain in Rutgers Ridge.”

  “Oh.” She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “I’m Jane Conner, the new school mistress.”

  He turned and his heavily lashed eyes took her in. “So you’re new to town then?”

  “Yes.” Jane waited for him to tell her his name, but he didn’t. Instead he eyed the food she’d brought. “Here you are.” She carried the tray of food to a bench near him. “The coffee is hot.”