Shadow of the Hangman

by J. A. Johnstone

  Jacob fell on his back, his gun swinging to engage the Apaches who were already reaching out to grab him.

  Blam! Blam!

  Two fast shots. Both men went down, as though their legs had been cut from under them with a scythe.

  Jacob was startled. He hadn’t fired. So who had?

  As thunder hammered and lightning scrawled across the sky like the signature of a demented god, Luke Caldwell emerged from the rain and loomed over him.

  “Howdy, Jake,” he said. “Seems like I showed up just in time, huh?”

  The Apache with the blue headband lay on the ground, dead as he was ever going to be, and the other two sprawled at Jacob’s feet.

  “Caldwell,” Jacob said, “are you the one who shot my brother?”

  “Did I kill him?” the Texan said, smiling. “A downhill shot is always tricky.”

  Jacob tensed, ready to bring up his Colt, but the rifle muzzle that rammed into his ear convinced him that now wasn’t the time.

  “Don’t even think about it, O’Brien,” Lum said. “Or my bullet will go into your right ear and come out the other.” The man kicked Jacob hard in the ribs. “Drop it, by God, or you’re a dead man.”

  Jacob let the revolver drop from his hand. He looked up at Caldwell and said, “This just isn’t my day, is it?”

  “Nope,” Caldwell said, “and it will only go downhill from here.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The mesa bulked black against the sky, made barely visible in the growing darkness by rain.

  “He should be back by now,” Shamus O’Brien said, staring out his study window.

  Samuel, wearing a fat bandage around his head, stepped beside his father. “I can’t see a thing out there,” he said.

  “Jacob can take care of himself,” Shawn said. “There’s nobody around better with a gun than he is.”

  “That doesn’t mean a hill of beans when a rifle is trained on your back,” Shamus said. “You said you heard both rifle and revolver shots.” He turned his head. “Is that right, Luther?”

  “Yeah, Colonel, I reckon that’s what we heard. When I went up there to help Jacob he was gone, and three Apaches lay dead on the ground.”

  Shamus slapped the arm of his wheelchair with his open hand. “Damn it, where is he? Did other Apaches take him?”

  “Colonel, you want I should go look for him again?” Luther said. “I was all over the mesa until it got too dark to see, but I found neither hide nor hair of him.”

  “No, not in the dark and in a storm,” Shamus said. “But you and Shawn will leave at first light.” He looked at Samuel. “Why didn’t the vaqueros stay with him?”

  Samuel and Ironside exchanged glances, then the older man said, “One of them took right poorly, Colonel. And we sent the other one back with him.”

  Shamus nodded. “Quite right. A sick man is no good in a gunfight.”

  A servant opened the study door and said, “Dinner is served, Colonel.”

  Shamus nodded. “We’ll be right there, though I don’t have much of an appetite thinking that my son could be lying somewhere out there wounded or worse.”

  “Colonel, I wish you’d let me go now,” Ironside said. “I can see like a cat in the dark.”

  “Luther, you couldn’t see a white sheet in a dark closet,” Shamus said. “Like me, you’re getting as blind as a snubbin’ post.”

  “But Colonel—”

  “And like me again, you’re getting as stubborn as a government mule.”

  “Luther, we’ll leave before sunup,” Shawn smiled. “That way we’ll climb the mesa as soon as it gets light.”

  “There you go, Luther,” Shamus said. “Listen to Shawn.”

  Lorena came to the door. “I know we’re all worried about Jacob,” she said, “but we have to eat.”

  “You’re right,” Shamus said, “we’re coming. Did you ask Sarah to dine with us?”

  “I’ve already sat her at the table,” Lorena said.

  “So, Sarah, tell me, what did you do before you were unfortunate enough to meet Jacob?” Shawn said.

  The girl stopped her soupspoon midway to her mouth and smiled. “I was a whore,” she said.

  Unfortunately for Samuel, already dizzy from his wound, he was swallowing at that moment and hacked into a fit of coughing. He held a napkin to his mouth and was piqued to see Shawn grinning at him across the table.

  “Sarah,” Lorena said sweetly, “was a whore, but she wishes to leave that profession. That’s why she’s now seeking a position at Dromore.”

  Samuel stopped coughing, glanced around the table, and said, “Sorry.”

  Shamus angled his son a don’t-do-that-again look and said, “Though your previous profession is an ancient one, Sarah—”

  “The oldest there is,” Luther Ironside said, grinning.

  Shamus ignored the interruption and continued, “I don’t quite see how it qualifies you for a position at Dromore.”

  Sarah looked pretty in a russet brown dress given her by Lorena, who had also teased the girl’s hair into ringlets in the fashion of the time, set off by a brave display of yellow ribbons.

  “I’m a good cook, Colonel,” she said. “The culinary arts are something that’s always interested me.”

  “Bravo!” Shawn said. “A woman should be a good cook. I’m a pretty good chef my own self.”

  “That means, my dear,” Ironside said, “that he can fry salt pork and heat up a can of beans.” The segundo made a sad little sound in his throat. “I wonder if Jacob is hungry about now,” he said.

  “Please, Luther, not at the dinner table,” Shamus said. “We’ll all do our worrying later”—he tapped his stomach—“when we have access to mints.” He looked down the table at Lorena. “Did you talk with Mrs. Harrison?”

  “Yes, I did, Colonel,” Lorena said. “She said she’d love to have Sarah as a kitchen assistant.”

  “Sarah, does such a situation interest you?” Shamus said.

  The girl nodded. “Oh, yes, sir, yes indeed.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Shamus said. “I’m sure Mrs. Harrison will discuss wages with you. The only rules of the house are no beaux in your room, though you can entertain gentlemen callers in the kitchen; no running, dancing, or singing in the hallways; and no profanity.” Shamus smiled. “Are you a Catholic, Sarah?”

  “No, sir, I’m Protestant.”

  “Ah well,” Shamus said, “who among us is perfect?”

  “I also thought that perhaps I could help Mrs. O’Brien with the baby,” Sarah said.

  “You like babies?” Shamus said.

  “Yes indeed, sir.”

  “Lorena, do you need help with my grandson?” Shamus said.

  “A mother always needs help with her baby,” Lorena said.

  “Then, I’m sure that will be fine,” Shamus said. “Just talk to Mrs. Harrison first. She can be very possessive of her kitchen staff.”

  As the plates were exchanged, Sarah said, “Colonel O’Brien, on my days off could I borrow a horse? I do love to ride.”

  Samuel laughed. “Then you and my wife will get along splendidly. Lorena loves to ride.”

  “Yes, I do,” Lorena said. She smiled at Sarah. “Perhaps we can ride out together? It would be nice to have a woman as a riding companion for a change. The colonel’s vaqueros treat it as a chore.”

  Sarah clapped her hands. “Oh, I’d love to ride with you, Mrs. O’Brien.”

  “Then we will,” Lorena said. “Tomorrow, just as soon as Jacob gets back.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Joshua DeClare said.

  “This here is Jacob O’Brien. Says he was up on the mesa hunting me,” Luke Caldwell said. “But he got jumped by Apaches an’ I had to shoot ’em off his ass.”

  “I don’t think you know me, Mr. O’Brien; allow me to introduce myself,” Dora DeClare said. “This is—”

  “I know who you are,” Jacob said. “Now I
know where the stink comes from.”

  Lum backhanded Jacob across the face so hard blood and saliva flew from his mouth. “Keep a civil tongue in your head,” Lum said. “Or I’ll tear it out.”

  “Please, Mr. O’Brien, be seated,” Dora said. After she watched Lum and Caldwell force Jacob to the ground she took the pot from the fire and held it up. “May I offer you some coffee?”

  “Go to hell,” Jacob said, earning another cuff from Lum.

  “No coffee then?” Dora said. “Ah well, perhaps later.” She smoothed her dress over her knees and said, “Now, what shall we talk about?”

  Jacob glanced around him. The DeClares had made camp at the bottom of the mesa in a clearing among the ponderosa. In daylight, anyone up on the rim of the mesa wouldn’t see the camp, and even the horses were well hidden. But when Samuel and the others came looking for him, they’d scout this area and find him—if he managed to live that long.

  Scarlet firelight danced on Dora’s beautiful face and gave her the demonic look of a fallen angel. “Well?” she said.

  “You’re Nemesis, aren’t you?” Jacob said.

  “I don’t understand the question, Mr. O’Brien.”

  “You’re the avenger.”

  Dora smiled. “Ah, yes, now I understand.” She looked up at Lum and Caldwell. “Did you hear that? Nemesis. Yes, the name suits me very well.”

  “Then what the hell are you avenging?” Jacob said. He wiped blood from his chin with the back of his hand.

  “Why, my father, Mr. O’Brien. Surely you know that?”

  “No, I don’t know that.”

  “Well, since you’re my guest, I’ll explain it to you.”

  “Dora, you don’t have to explain anything to this man,” Joshua said. “Just kill him and have done.”

  “That, dear brother, would be too easy,” Dora said. She looked across the fire at Jacob. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, I remember. Mr. O’Brien, does the name Dace DeClare mean anything to you? Think back ten years.”

  “Not a damned thing,” Jacob said.

  “Hmm . . . that’s passing strange,” Dora said, “because ten years ago on Christmas Eve, your father hanged him. It was of the most singular moment for me, but then the colonel hanged so many, why should I expect you to remember?”

  Jacob’s head had begun to clear, and he recalled his talk with Sarah. “I recollect someone telling me your pa was hung for a rustler,” he said.

  Dora clapped her hands. “Quite so! You do remember, bless your heart.”

  “Rustlers get hung in this territory,” Jacob said. “Your pa knew the risk he was taking when he lifted another man’s cows.”

  “One steer, Mr. O’Brien,” Dora said. “It was to be a Christmas sacrifice to the dark lord he served. I really do think that in the end that’s why Shamus O’Brien hanged him. Papists don’t like that sort of thing, do they really?” She smiled. “Are you sure you wouldn’t care for coffee?”

  Jacob ignored that and said, “Why don’t you speak to the colonel, air your grievances? He can be a listening man.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. O’Brien, I don’t wish to speak to the colonel. You see, I want to destroy him, completely and utterly.”

  There was a cold, ugly relentlessness in the woman that set Jacob’s teeth on edge. But then, in a moment of inspiration, as though a firecracker had gone off in his head, he had a blinding insight into Dora DeClare’s plan.

  The woman was smart, but even Lum, mentally slower, saw what Jacob was thinking, and he grinned as he read the light that suddenly appeared in the other man’s eyes.

  “Yes, Mr. O’Brien,” Dora said, “a plan ten years in the making began with your brother Patrick.”

  “You set it up, the rape and murder of Molly Holmes, didn’t you?” Jacob said.

  “Yes, I did. Oh, dear, Mr. O’Brien, don’t kneel on the ground. Please sit. You’ll be much more comfy.”

  “Who murdered Molly Holmes?” Jacob said. He waved a hand in Lum’s direction. “This animal?”

  “Oh, how silly you are, Mr. O’Brien,” Dora said. “Do you think a slut like Molly would welcome Lum between her thighs? I mean, look at his face, what’s left of it. I mean, really?”

  “Then you recruited Shade Shannon to do the job?”

  “Dear Shade. Did you kill him?”

  “No, the Apaches did. Slowly.”

  “Oh, poor thing. Well, yes, Shade raped and strangled the slut. The red-hot-poker finishing touch was all his idea.” Dora frowned. “I told him at the time I was not entirely sure that I approved.”

  “I gave him a piece of my mind, too, Dora,” Joshua said.

  “As well you should, Josh. As well you should.”

  “So now you kill me,” Jacob said. “Is that the plan?”

  “Probably,” Dora said. “Shamus O’Brien already grieves for one son, so why not make him grieve for two?”

  “Patrick isn’t dead,” Jacob said. “He’s at Dromore.”

  Dora sat by the fire in thought. Suddenly, she picked up a burning brand and swung it at Jacob’s face. He saw it coming and raised his arms to protect himself. The blazing branch exploded against Jacob’s hands and showered his face with sparks that stung like scarlet bees.

  “Liar!” the woman screamed. “God-cursed liar!”

  Jacob rubbed sparks out of his mustache. He smelled burned hair. “I took Patrick out of the Georgetown jail myself,” he said. “He’s safe now, safe from you.”

  “I think he’s speaking the truth,” Joshua said. “He’s got no reason to lie.”

  “So, Shamus O’Brien still lords over Dromore and feels no pain,” Dora said.

  “Unless you count the Apache lance head in his back,” Jacob said. “He got that when he was defending Dromore against those who wanted to take it from him, like your pa.”

  “Dora, do you want me to shoot this swine?” Lum said.

  “No,” Dora said. She smiled, her face serene. “Here’s a lark! I’ve just thought of the most precious thing imaginable.”

  “What is it, my dear?” Joshua said.

  “Well, and this is very much entre nous, you understand, we’ll crucify dear Mr. O’Brien. An appropriate fate for a papist, don’t you think?”

  “Dora, I’m not catching your drift,” Caldwell said.

  “If Mr. O’Brien is telling the truth about his brother, then we’ve suffered a setback,” Dora said. “But we can make all right again.”

  Joshua hugged himself. “This is so exciting.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Caldwell said.

  “We’ll mount a two-pronged attack on Dromore,” Dora said.

  “And sign your own death warrant, lady,” Jacob said.

  “Oh, shut up, Mr. O’Brien,” Dora said, “and let me talk.”

  “O’Brien, another word out of you and I’ll bust your jaw,” Lum said.

  “Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?” Dora said. “Ah, yes, I remember. Lum, you and Luke will continue to watch for the O’Brien woman. Now come dawn, a search party will be looking for dear Mr. O’Brien here, so you must stay out of its way.” Dora looked at the two men. “Can you do that?”

  “Sure,” Caldwell said, “we can Injun around the mesa so they’ll never find us.”

  “Good. Now, if after three days you haven’t managed to get your hands on the woman, we’ll crucify Mr. O’Brien from the rim of the mesa where his sufferings can be seen from Dromore. This will bring his father out.”

  “And we plug the bastard,” Lum said.

  “Precisely,” Dora said. “You and Luke are both expert riflemen, are you not?”

  “Good enough to shoot the gallant colonel off his hoss when he gallops to the rescue,” Caldwell said.

  “Then your mind will be at rest, Dora, when we travel to Europe,” Joshua said.

  “I must confess, dear brother, that I’d prefer to see the O’Brien woman captured before we kill the colonel. That would add sauce to the pudding.”

&
nbsp; “And perhaps you will, my dear,” Joshua said. “Is that not so, Lum?”

  “I want that O’Brien wench, and I’ll get her,” the big man said, a gleam in his corpse eyes. “When I’m a-busting her wide open she’ll find she’s dealing with forces greater than Dromore.”

  “All praise,” Dora said, bowing her head.

  Jacob had kept his mouth shut, biding his time. Now, as Lum and Caldwell seemed distracted, he jumped to his feet and made a dive at the Texan’s rifle. But Caldwell lived his life constantly on edge, and the man was always a compressed spring ready to uncoil. He easily sidestepped Jacob’s bull rush, and at the same time he swung his Winchester. The stock slammed into Jacob’s head with a sound like an ax hitting a tree, and he fell headlong to the ground.

  Lum stepped closer and, for good measure, slammed the toe of his ankle boot into the prone man’s temple.

  “Enough, Lum,” Dora said. “We don’t want to rob poor Mr. O’Brien of his crucifixion, now, do we?”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Jacob O’Brien awoke to find himself in a cavern of fire.

  He tried to move, but he was paralyzed, bound in place.

  There was fire, but no heat, and Jacob thought that strange. Somewhere he heard a trickle of water, a small sound in the stillness, and then, as his consciousness slowly returned, the snap of a log fire.

  Now he began to remember . . . the brutal smash of a rifle butt against his head and a descent into darkness.

  Caldwell! He’d kill him for that.

  Jacob managed to turn his head and look around him. He wasn’t in a tunnel but in a cave, and small at that, no more than a shallow depression in the rock. Near the entrance a fire burned, shielded on two sides by a low rock projection, which helped cast flickering scarlet back into the cave. The night had shaded into day, but the light was gray, watery, the color of a mountain pond on a cloudy morning.

  He tried to stretch his legs, but they were tied behind him by the same rope that bound his wrists together. He made an attempt to roll toward the fire but grimaced as the rope cut cruelly into him. He gave up and stayed where he was.