Outcast

by Gary D. Svee

  “Yes.”

  “You ever thought about going home?.”

  “Yes.” The word came soft as a lover’s whisper.

  “I would like to buy you and Arch a ticket to Boston.”

  Iona jerked back. “So we won’t see what they do to you?”

  “No.” Standish was shaking his head. “I don’t know the words. I.…” He dropped their hands. “You have given me the greatest of gifts, my life. I lost it those three years running, and.… Anyhow, I want to do something for you. I.…”

  Iona’s words squeezed between clenched teeth. “You don’t want us to see what they will do to you.”

  “No, I.… The sheriff.… I could get through this, but but.… Iona, I can’t throw away what you and Arch have given to me. I can’t go back to being what I was.”

  Arch stepped into the conversation. “What about the chickens?”

  Standish shook his head, trying to clear it. “Chickens?”

  “Who’s going to take care of the chickens? You ain’t much for taking care of chickens.”

  “How about I buy the chickens. I’ll buy the cows, too.” Standish stared across the table at Iona. “You want; I’ll buy your place, too.”

  Arch bristled, “Ain’t no varlet buying our place.”

  Standish tried to smile, but the muscles in his face wouldn’t work.

  Iona was staring at Standish. She nodded. “Arch and I will go home and pack. Not much I want to take with me…that maroon dress.” Her face cracked.

  Standish nodded. “I’ll be over tomorrow at first light.”

  Sheriff Jeff Dolby stood in the darkness of the Carbon County Courthouse basement shaking his head. The evidence collected from the Moose Creek murders was piled in a gated pen. Anyone could wade through the evidence, although Dolby couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to.

  Dolby had passed most of the jolting train ride from Last Chance lost in thought. Standish was either telling the truth, or he was the best liar the sheriff had known. Sheriff Barnes had met him at the depot. He said the visit was a waste of time. He had wired Bodmer, and Bodmer and his pack were on their way to Last Chance. Justice would be done.

  Little or no chance that Dolby would make it back to Last Chance before Bodmer Still, the Last Chance sheriff decided it would be worth going through the evidence. Perhaps something could be used in Bodmer’s murder trial. He started with the shreds of a tent. The canvas reeked of terror. Dolby didn’t want to touch it. He didn’t want to touch anything so saturated with death, but one of the victims might have scratched something on the tent. Maybe.…

  CHAPTER 15

  The scent of cinnamon and warm bread wafted over the three as they rode into town, baggage stacked carefully on the bed of the wagon.

  “Cinnamon rolls,” Arch said, nose high to capture the aroma. “Fresh bread, too.”

  “I think I smell a little maple,” Iona said.

  Standish pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the bakery. “I suspect we should check the perspicacity of our nasal observations.”

  Arch stiffened. “He cussin,’ Ma?”

  Iona grinned, and shook her head. The three stepped into the bakery, leaving Hortenzia sulking outside.

  A glass counter held a wealth of rolls twisted into unique shapes, each covered with sugar teased with maple or cinnamon or chocolate or lemon or coconut. Arch was leaning on the counter, staring at the offerings and biting his lip.

  He turned. “Don’t see how I can know how good that cinnamon roll is if I don’t have one of those,” he said, pointing at a maple bar.

  The baker, white apron stained with the morning’s work, leaned over the counter. “That is an excellent choice, Mr. Belshaw. If you buy one, I will give you the other free.”

  Arch’s attention jerked to the baker. “He called me, Mr. Belshaw. He must know that we’re royalty, Ma.”

  Iona nodded.

  The baker frowned and then grinned.

  “I suggest the young prince have both rolls,” he said.

  Standish leaned over the counter. “You and this varlet are in accord.”

  “One varlet to another,” the baker beamed.

  The three sat at a tiny table in the corner of the shop. The baker brought two cups and a pot of coffee. “It is my privilege to serve the royal prince,” he said.

  Arch was leaning back in his chair, his face a state of rapture. “What do you say we make him a varlet, too, Ma?”

  The baker laughed and returned to the back of the bakery. “If you need anything else, call me,” he said over his shoulder.

  Arch slipped the last morsel into his mouth and chewed it with his eyes closed. “Tell you the truth,” he said. “I can’t pick which is better.” He fidgeted for a moment, and turned his attention to his mother. “Don’t see why we have to go.”

  Iona reached out to take Arch’s shoulder in her hands. “Arch, it’s something I have to do.”

  “Full sail and straight ahead.” Standish said. He stood. “Why don’t you two talk about it? I’ll drop your bags off at the depot and get your tickets.” He leaned back to rest most of his weight on one foot. “Round trip or one way?”

  Iona’s face softened, and she spoke in a whisper. “One way.”

  Standish nodded. “That’s what I figured.”

  Samuel Bodmer pulled his horse to a stop just outside Last Chance. He twisted in the saddle, trying to find a soft spot. “Guess I’m getting soft. Long ride.” He glanced to the south. “Should have stayed where we were. He got his mushrooms faster than we figured he would.”

  Ed Miller followed Bodmer’s eyes. “Train’s coming, alright. No, that’s coming in from the south. We did save some time.” He pulled his attention back to Bodmer. “I could do with some breakfast.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Bodmer turned. “Ed, take the horses over to the livery. Get them some oats and have them rubbed down. Could be we’ll have a run today. I’ll try to find a restaurant.”

  Miller turned to Bodmer. “What do you bet the restaurant is as good as the hotel we stayed in last night?”

  Bodmer grinned. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Think he’s here?”

  “He’s here. I just saw him. He was standing in that shadow by that store,” Bodmer said, gesturing with his chin.

  Miller scratched his head. “You think it’s smart to try to take him in town?”

  Bodmer grinned. “Soon as the town finds out who he is, they’ll join up. Ain’t nobody going to protect a cannibal.”

  “Here you go, sir,” the agent said, leaning over the counter in the Last Chance Depot to give Standish two tickets.

  The agent grinned. “You sure visited the wrath of God on that bunch in church. Me, I always thought Mrs. Belshaw got a raw deal. Not much I could do about it though.”

  Standish nodded.

  “She going to visit your family?”

  Standish’s eyebrows came together, and then he nodded.

  “Be good for her to be home for a while. You figure she’ll come back?”

  Standish shook his head. “I don’t know, but I would guess not.”

  The agent nodded. “Easy to understand that, after the way she was treated.”

  The agent hesitated and then spoke. “Kind of surprised you’re not going with her.”

  Standish grinned, a soft wan grin that drifted on and then off his face. “Arch will take care of her.”

  The agent grinned. “He’s a fighter, isn’t he? He spoke right up in church.”

  Standish nodded. “He sure did. Tough little nut.”

  Standish stepped toward the door, pausing as the agent called out to him.

  “Now don’t you worry about your sister. I’ll be sure she gets first-class service.”

  “Thanks,” Standish said, and with a wave of his hand left the station.

  Samuel Bodmer looked up as the door to the restaurant opened. “I’ll be a son of.… It’s him.”

  Standish steppe
d into the room just ahead of Ed Miller.

  Bodmer shook his head. “Where’d you find him?”

  “Walking down the street, plain as day.”

  “Told you we’d get him in God’s good time.”

  A waitress stepped up to fill Bodmer’s coffee cup. He tapped her forearm. “Best you watch yourself. That’s the Moose Creek Cannibal,” he said, pointing at Standish.

  She looked across the table and smiled. “Morning, Mr. Standish.”

  Bodmer squeezed her arm as she attempted to pull away. “That’s him. That’s the cannibal.”

  “Let go of me.”

  “That’s him, damn it!”

  “Jack!”

  A beer barrel on two spindly legs stepped out of the kitchen. He was at the table before Bodmer could turn, digging his fingers into the muscles behind Bodmer’s collarbone. Color fled Bodmer’s face.

  “You let go of my wife.”

  Bodmer loosened his grip on the waitress’s arm.

  Jack leaned over the table. “Breakfast’s on me. Get the hell out of here.”

  Bodmer was rubbing his shoulder. “Don’t’ see why.…”

  “Now,” Jack said, the sound more growl than speech.

  “I was just trying to tell her that Standish is the Moose Creek cannibal.”

  Jack’s fingers dug again into the muscle. “You get the hell out of here, or I’m likely to feed you to my cats.”

  Bodmer rose from the chair stiff with pain, and Jack marched him to the door. He opened it with one hand and tossed Bodmer through with the other. “Git.” He turned. “That goes for you, too. You all right, Mr. Standish?”

  Standish’s attention was focused on Ed Miller. He stood with his hand inside his jacket. Standish knew what Miller was holding. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

  Miller followed Standish to the street, motioning Standish to Bodmer, who stood on the boardwalk, rubbing his shoulder.

  “We’d best get out of town to do our business, boss.”

  Bodmer seemed dazed. “No, we have to do it here. People have to see this.”

  “Boss, we hang him in town, we could wind up on the end of a rope.”

  Rapture flooded Bodmer’s face. “Don’t you see; that’s what we have to do. I want them to see me hang him.”

  Terror was edging on Miller’s face. “Boss.…”

  Bodmer spoke softly. “I want them to try me. I want them to know what he did. Then they can judge.”

  “Boss…I don’t.…”

  Bodmer looked down the street. “There he is!” A question crawled on his face. “How can he be there? He’s here.”

  Miller’s eyes were round as marbles. “Boss.…”

  The hairs rippled on the back of Miller’s neck. Bodmer’s face was twisted into a grotesque mask.

  Bodmer’s eyes roved the street. “That wagon. That white wagon. Ed take him down there and get that white wagon. I’ll get you a rope and meet you at the livery. We’ll hang him from the hay hoist. You’ll like that won’t you Miles? You can plead your case to God.”

  Miller stared at Bodmer. Bodmer stiffened. “Now, Ed!”

  “Boss, the horses are at the livery.”

  Bodmer’s face turned a deep purple. “I’m not running. Once these honyockers know who he is, they’ll dance on his grave, and we’ll dance with them.”

  “The sheriff.…”

  “The sheriff is down in Carbon County digging through a pile of trash.”

  “Boss, I don’t think.…”

  Rage painted Bodmer’s face a dull red. “I’ve waited three years to hang this son of a bitch, and I ain’t waiting any longer. Get that white wagon down there. The one in front of that bakery. We’ll stand him in the back of that wagon.”

  “Boss.…”

  “Do it, damn it! Do it now!”

  Standish stiffened. So this is how it would end. Best he didn’t make a fuss. If Arch and Iona knew what was happening, they would likely step in. They could be hurt. Standish shut his eyes for a moment, remembering the three of them working in the garden and Arch catching the cutthroat. He had something to carry with him on this journey. Miller pressed his pistol into Standish’s back, and they walked toward the wagon.

  “Name’s Miles Standish,” Standish said.

  “I know who you are,” Miller retorted.

  Standish nodded. “But I don’t know who you are.”

  Miller pulled the pistol from his vest and stuck the muzzle into Standish’s back. “That’s none of your damn business.”

  “Man about to hanged has some right to know who’s hanging him.”

  “Man might. Cannibals don’t.”

  “Then I have a right.”

  The pistol’s muzzle jammed hard into Standish’s back.

  “I would like to shoot you dead right now. Then Boss and I can ride out of town and be shut of this.”

  Standish paused; Miller’s pistol digging into his back. “Bodmer will never be shut of this. Guilt will ride him to the grave.”

  “No guilt in this. We kill you; you won’t be killing anybody else. Thing that rides him is what you did on that mountain. He’s a little off kilter because of that. He thinks he sees you all the time, thinks you’re following him. I’ll tell you one thing, you son of a bitch, killing you won’t bother me at all.”

  “I wasn’t up on that mountain when Bodmer…did what he did.”

  “Bullshit! Bodmer’s a good man. He supports half the churches in Helena, and he gives money to people in trouble.”

  “And he’s about to hang an innocent man.”

  “If you’re innocent, why did you run?”

  Standish stopped an turned. “What will you do if I run?”

  “I’ll blow you to hell.”

  “What will you do if I don’t run?”

  “We’ll hang you, you son of a bitch, and then we’ll buy drinks for anybody who wants to hear what you did up on Moose Creek.”

  “So what would you do. Stay and be hanged or run an take a chance that you aren’t much of a shot.”

  “Run and we’ll see what kind of a shot I am.” Miller grinned, a twisted black grin. “I’ll going to enjoy this, Standish. I’m going to set that noose so you strangle. I want to watch you kick yourself to hell.”

  “Bodmer is a murderer.”

  “Bullshit. He’s been good to me.”

  “He’s turning you into a murderer. How is that being good to you?”

  “He said he would take responsibility.”

  “You think he can stop the state from putting a rope around your neck, Mr.…”

  “Miller. Ed Miller.”

  “You will die on the gallows with him.”

  Miller raged. “Ain’t a jury in the state that will convict us for killing you. You can go to hell, Standish. I s’pect they got an especially hot fire reserved for you.”

  The two had reached the wagon.

  “Climb up. You drive. You try anything, I’ll kill you.”

  “I don’t do anything, and you will kill me.”

  “Not me. Bodmer will.”

  “You and Bodmer.”

  Miller hit Standish with his pistol, and Standish’s cheek spurted blood.

  “I figure that was the best cinnamon roll ever,” Arch said, his tongue running over his lips.

  Iona smiled.

  Arch cocked his head. A question ran across his face.

  “What’s wrong, Arch?”

  “Who’s taking our wagon?”

  Iona stood and walked to the door. Standish was driving the wagon. A man was sitting on the seat beside him. Her turned the wagon in the street, bouncing over deep routes, and stopped in front of the blacksmith’s shop. Standish was shoved on the wagon bed, and somebody was…tying his hands. Another man was climbing on the wagon with another rope in his hands.

  “No,” Iona screamed. “No!” She ran toward the men.

  The baker ran into the room. Arch was sitting wide-eyed at the table.

  “What’s wrong?”<
br />
  Arch rose from the chair and ran after his mother. The baker glanced back at the kitchen. Not long before the bread.… He tore off his apron and raced after them.

  Doors were opening and people spilling on the street. They ran toward the melee.

  Bodmer was standing in the wagon, tying a hangman’s knot. He paid no attention to the crowd until he had thrown the rope over the hay hoist and dropped the noose over Standish’s neck. He turned then and assumed an orator’s air.

  “I have come to hang the Moose Creek cannibal,” he said, and a murmur fluttered through the crowd. “Miles Standish marched through miners knife in hand. He killed them, and ate their livers raw. I may hang for doing what I am doing, but your children will be safe from this murderer, this eater of human flesh.”

  “Yeah, and that son of a bitch preached to us in church about that whore.” A louder roar rumbled from the crowd.

  Iona sagged. She wrapped her arms around, she was holding Arch’s arm as he tugged toward the wagon.

  Ivan Kabanov stepped from the front of the blacksmith shop blinking in the light.

  “Well, I tell you one thing. You will not hang any man from my shop. Come on Hortenzi, you back up. You don’t pay any attention to those bad men.”

  Kabanov unhitched the horse and lead Hortenzi into his corral.

  Bodmer blinked. This wasn’t right. He wanted to hang Standish. That seemed more…judicial. If he shot him, that would.… Ruffians shoot people. He wasn’t a ruffian.

  A man stepped from the crowd, bleary still with drinking the night before and the night before that. “Let’s get the son of a bitch hanged, so I can have my turn with the whore. Truth is, she wasn’t much that night. Far as I’m concerned we didn’t get our dollar’s worth.”

  Thunk. Sheriff Dolby looked down at the fallen man. “Amos, I don’t think you’re ever going to know how much I appreciated that.” He turned to his deputy. “Clive, have those two drag this son of a bitch back to the jail. Lock ’em all up. I want to talk to them this afternoon. I want to talk to them real bad.”

  Dolby climbed into the wagon, his face a dull red. He slipped the noose off Standish’s neck, and untied his hands.

  Bodmer wailed, “He’s the Moose Creek cannibal. I have to hang him.”

  Dolby glowered and turned to the crowd. “Got something to read to you before we decide who the Moose Creek cannibal is.”