by Judith Pella
“N—no, you’re wrong. I—”
His hand shot up with a stinging blow to her face that brought tears to her eyes. Again he struck her, and again.
“Please!” she said, tasting blood on her lips.
“I have thirty-six years of hate in me. Don’t ever underestimate it. I can kill. I will kill!”
His voice shook with that hatred, and Carolyn did not doubt his words for a moment. Then, as if something had snapped within him, he flew at her again, grabbing her bodily and forcefully pushing her against the stall. The horse snorted and skittishly backed off. Carolyn crumpled onto the straw-covered stable floor. Laban yanked her to her feet and was about to strike her once more, but his hand, raised in midair, stopped. He was panting like a crazed beast; his eyes no longer looked human.
Instead of hitting her, however, he flung her once more against the stall, knocking the wind out of her and sending her sprawling to the ground nearly unconscious.
“Don’t forget this, Carolyn. Don’t ever forget this!”
He spun around and stalked out of the stable.
Carolyn lay where she was for some time. Her body ached from the attack, and she was emotionally stunned, in shock. Such hatred, such evil, was simply beyond all her comprehension. Even Caleb had not looked that way when he spoke of her mother. It was almost as if Laban was the personification of all the things she had heard about her father and grandfather. Laban was those things—evil, cruelty, vindictiveness, bitterness. She had only heard about them in Caleb and Leonard, but she had seen them in Laban.
It took five minutes before she could pull herself together enough to stand, dust the straw and dirt from her skirt, retrieve Tres Zapatos’ reins, and lead her outside. She swung up easily into the saddle in spite of her Sunday clothes.
She glanced around and, relieved that she saw no sign of Laban, rode off.
Perhaps it was foolish to take off alone like this, but she knew she couldn’t return to the house right now. It would raise too many questions if anyone saw her bruised and bleeding as she was. It would be tantamount to disaster if Caleb ever found out what had happened in the stable.
She hated the idea that she was protecting Laban. Didn’t he deserve to be punished for what he had done to her? Hadn’t he threatened to kill her?
But would anyone believe her? He would certainly deny it, pitting her word against his. And he would no doubt accuse her of trying to discredit him to secure her claim to the ranch. It all could so easily be twisted against her—just as her mother’s trial had been.
But almost worse than anyone not believing her was the possibility that they might believe, especially Caleb. After what she had seen today, Carolyn would not put it past either one of them to kill the other. She did not want to be responsible for that.
Thus, it was best, for now, just to keep this to herself. But that didn’t mean that she was going to forget about Laban. She was going to keep after him, keep pushing him, one way or the other, until she proved that he, and not her mother, had killed Leonard Stoner.
And she would definitely guard against a repeat of that vile attack. She bent down and checked her saddlebag. In it was the Remington six-shooter that Caleb insisted she carry with her when she rode anywhere on the ranch. Laban Stoner would not vent his hatred upon her again. As much as she abhorred violence, Carolyn did know how to protect herself, and she didn’t think she’d be squeamish to do so. She had killed rattlers and wild animals before. Killing a man, of course, was far different, but she could shoot well enough so that killing would not be necessary. Griff taught her never to point a gun at a man unless she was ready to kill him. Carolyn didn’t think that was always true. A bullet in the arm could be enough to stop Laban if necessary.
But she prayed fervently it would never be necessary.
44
Two miles from the ranch, Carolyn stopped at a stream to wash her face. It brought fresh bleeding to the crack on her lip, but she tore a strip off her petticoat and pressed it hard against the wound for several minutes until it no longer bled. Glancing into the water, she saw her reflection and was sickened. A swollen lip, a cut over her eye, and a bruise on her cheek would never heal in time to keep others from seeing. She remembered something her mother had said about Leonard knowing how to inflict a beating without outward signs. Carolyn wished Laban had learned the same lessons.
No matter, she thought, I’ll just come up with a story. My horse spooked, and I fell off. That ought to do. Then she added as if in self-defense, It could happen even to a good rider like me.
She mounted her horse again and continued to ride, losing all track of time. But at least three hours must have passed; night was beginning to close in. She didn’t care. There was nearly a full moon and plenty of light.
Would Caleb ask about her or worry over her absence?
In spite of its inherent dangers, she loved riding at night when all the world was so quiet and peaceful. Under the twilight sky, studded with stars, she had a greater perception of the majesty of God, of His awesome power, of His presence. The intermittent flashes of lightning streaking the sky only heightened her spiritual awareness. She needed that now. She realized how much harder it was to focus on God without the gentle reminders of Sam and her ma. But Carolyn was an adult now, her own person, and she needed to be able to relate to God for herself. Her need for that was greater than it had ever been before.
“Lord, please direct me and keep me from behaving foolishly. You know as well as I that’s kind of a fault of mine. That and thinking I can do more than I really can. Help me to keep looking at you, not only when I can see you best, like right now, but even at times like before in the stable, or when I’m with Grandfather. None of this is gonna turn out right unless you are in it.”
In the moonlight, Carolyn came upon a little trail that led up a craggy rise. She could make out a profusion of trees and mesquite and brush at the top of the hill, which even in this Texas hill country was not very common. She had seen this ridge from the roundup camp, so she must be many miles from the ranch house. The trees at the top, however, drew her, for it looked like a nice place to sit for a while before returning home.
Suddenly clouds rolled over the sky, blocking out the moonlight. A summer storm was brewing, and even a proficient rider like Carolyn knew that a storm was no time to be out in the open, much less on horseback. If she didn’t get back home soon, she wouldn’t have to fabricate a story about her bruises.
A particularly jagged streak of lightning seemed to split the sky in two, lighting it up brighter than any moon. Tres Zapatos snorted and pranced nervously and Carolyn reined the mare to a stop. Then a sharp crack of thunder exploded above. The horse stomped skittishly. Carolyn tightened her hand on the mare’s reins.
All at once another sound rent through the night air. But this time it wasn’t thunder. Carolyn recognized the sound immediately as the report of a rifle. She was about to dismount when a second shot came, striking the cantle of her saddle with such an impact that it nearly felt as if the bullet had penetrated her back. Tres Zapatos reared, and Carolyn jumped, landing without much mishap. She scurried on hands and knees to the cover of some brush.
Another shot quickly followed, but her six-gun was in her saddle and she dared not try to get it. Suddenly another gun fired from a different direction. Two more shots came in quick succession from the newcomer, then, after a short pause, the sound of a horse retreating at a full gallop.
“Hey! What’s going on?” came a familiar voice.
“Matt? It’s me, Carolyn. Someone’s shooting at me.”
“I think I scared ’em off.” Matt came into view, leading his buckskin mount.
“Maybe we can still catch him.” Carolyn jumped up, ran to her mount, and grabbed the dangling reins.
A flash of lightning stopped her, and then the rain came in torrents. It soaked Carolyn in seconds.
“This storm would have come sooner or later,” Matt said, “and it would never have given u
s time to catch whoever was shooting at you.”
“At me?” Carolyn thought—hoped—that perhaps the bullets had not been meant specifically for her.
“Who else?”
“Maybe it was Bonner’s boys. Maybe they were gunning for you.”
Matt drew attention to the shattered hole in Carolyn’s saddle. “I doubt it. There was enough moonlight for a fellow to do better than this if he was after me. No, they were gunning for you, and they had to know you are a girl, too.”
Carolyn swallowed. Although she wanted to deny it, she sensed all along that she had been the target. And all she could think of was Laban Stoner and the murderous look in his eyes when he had attacked her earlier.
“What in blazes are you doing out here in the middle of the night, anyway?”
“Riding, that’s all. I wanted to explore that ridge.”
“Are you crazy, girl? Don’t you go near that ridge!”
“I’ll go where I want,” she said petulantly.
“Well, I ain’t gonna argue with you here in the rain where we’re likely to be struck by lightning. Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Do you gotta question everything?” He rolled his eyes in frustration. “There’s a line cabin not far from here where we can wait out the storm. We can get there in a few minutes.” When she hesitated, he added, “I suppose you want to ride back to the ranch in this?”
Actually, she had been debating just that as an alternative to spending the night alone with a cowboy. But someone might still be out there gunning for her. And if that possibility wasn’t convincing enough, another fiery streak of lightning struck so close by that they could hear the sound of a tree branch splitting in two from the impact. Tres Zapatos whinnied and reared slightly.
“Okay, lead the way,” Carolyn said resignedly.
Five minutes later they were in the cabin and Matt was busily building a fire in the stone hearth. He had been wearing a slicker and, except for the legs of his Levi’s, was fairly dry. Carolyn, on the other hand, had not even been wearing a coat, for it had been a warm summer evening. She was dripping and shivering. But before long the fire was blazing, and with much appreciation, she drew close to the flames.
“That feels mighty good!” she said, rubbing her hands together.
“You’ll dry off real quick now. Maybe you won’t catch the grippe, or something. It was pretty foolhardy, you out riding alone at night like that—I don’t care how good you are.” He added that last as she opened her mouth in protest.
“Well, I could say the same for you.” Her reply sounded lame. She knew he was right.
“I was working.”
As they spoke, he had continued to nurse the fire, not really paying close attention to Carolyn. Now that a good blaze was going, he turned and started to sit by her. He stopped suddenly as he caught a clear look at her face in the light of the flames.
“What happened to you?”
In the excitement of the night, Carolyn had forgotten her bruised face; now she groaned inwardly at her carelessness. But she had a story ready for Matt.
“Well, my horse threw me—you saw that hole in my saddle. I landed square in a clump of mesquite.”
“Them mesquite thorns are poisonous,” he said. “Let me have a look.”
He moved toward her, but she pulled away. He was about to upbraid her again; then suddenly he stopped. She knew in that moment—she could see it in his eyes—that he had perceived the real cause of her wounds. With shame, though she knew she had no reason to feel so, she jerked her head away from him.
Carolyn was a little surprised at his gentle tone. “You didn’t get that from a horse fall, did you?”
She knew it was no use lying anymore, and maybe she didn’t want to. If Laban Stoner, or anyone, was gunning for her, she needed help. Perhaps, after all, Matt was a likely one to ask, for he was not directly involved in all this. She shook her head, but before she could explain, Matt jumped to his own conclusions.
“It was that Toliver, wasn’t it?” Matt’s gentleness all at once turned into hot anger.
“No, it wasn’t. Now simmer down!”
“Come on, Carolyn. Why should you defend him? The other night you were struggling to get away from him, weren’t you? That’s what I heard. He came back later, didn’t he?”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard!” Carolyn retorted. She didn’t know why his accusations should rile her so; he was only concerned for her. “It’s true Sean got a little carried away the other night, and I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. But he’d never hurt me like this.”
“Then who—?”
“Why should I tell you?” she said, feeling stubborn and defensive again.
“Looks to me like you’re in a heap of trouble, Carolyn. First, someone hits you like that, then you’re ambushed…and even if the two ain’t connected, you got problems. Maybe you don’t have to tell me, but if someone harmed you, then at least the sheriff should know.”
“How do you know I didn’t already tell the sheriff?”
“’Cause those wounds are fresh. You’d never have had time to ride to town and back out here.” He reached up and, as if to prove his statement, dabbed away a drop of blood from her lip.
“All right, I didn’t tell anyone, and I don’t intend to. Now just forget it.”
“You are the most stubborn person I ever knew!”
Carolyn was quiet for a minute. She began to feel bad about her insensitivity toward Gentry, who was only concerned for her welfare. That was no way to treat someone who had probably saved her life, then found her shelter from the storm, built a fire to warm and dry her, and tried to be nice. She hadn’t even thanked him.
“Matt,” she said in a repentant tone, “I’m sorry for being so ornery—I guess it’s just a bad habit with me. Thanks for your concern and for scaring off that varmint who was shooting at me.”
“I’m glad I happened to be out there,” he said.
She just nodded in reply. Her throat was getting tight, and she refused to start crying—that was happening much too often lately.
Apparently content that they’d made peace, Matt was satisfied with the quiet also, and they remained silent for some time. The radiating warmth of the fire was soothing, and Carolyn lost herself staring into the dancing tongues of flame.
In the silence, Carolyn had a chance to think about what Matt had said. She was in trouble, and she needed help. But she couldn’t go to the sheriff for fear it would get back to Caleb or Laban. As with her mother, the town officials would probably believe Laban over her. Yet she couldn’t just sit by and let Laban get away with attacking her.
“Matt,” she said quietly, in an unusually contrite tone, “I’m just so confused, I don’t know where to turn or what to do. You won’t laugh if I tell you I am a little scared about it all?”
“Carolyn, you are really too much. Why, if I’d been through what you just been through, I’d be a heap of jelly. And for what it’s worth, I wanta tell you that I’m here for you—I mean, if you want, you can turn to me.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, Matt, especially considering you don’t know me much, and you don’t know what it’s all about.”
“I reckon this might have something to do with your mother.”
Carolyn nodded, and before she realized it she was telling him the whole story, including the most recent confrontation with Laban.
“That fellow deserves more than a thrashing—he deserves a rope!” Matt exclaimed when she finished. “But I guess I can understand why you’re afraid to tell Caleb or the sheriff.”
“If Laban killed my father, then it’s best if we just watch him and hope he makes a mistake, or leads us to some evidence to convict him. I don’t want him to get put in jail for hitting me and then escape punishment for his worst crime.”
“What’re you gonna do besides watch him?”
“I don’t know.”
“
And the shooting tonight, Carolyn—you can’t forget about that. Laban, or whoever killed your father, might be getting nervous, and might be trying to get rid of you before you can find any evidence.”
“It might just have been those rustlers.”
Matt nodded, but as they looked at each other, both knew that with all Carolyn was involved in, the chances of tonight’s close call being merely a random incident with rustlers was remote. At least, they had to treat it as such and not get careless or lazy.
“Well, I’m gonna keep my eyes peeled and my gun handy,” said Matt.
“Me, too, Matt. Thanks.”
45
After about ten minutes of silence, Matt rose and stretched. “I’m kinda hungry, how about you?”
“They keep this place stocked?”
“Mostly in the winter for when a hand stays out here to keep an eye on the cattle grazed up here. But there oughta be something left over.”
He walked to the cupboards in the kitchen area of the small, one-room cabin, glancing out the only window as he did so.
“It’s coming down with a vengeance out there,” he commented.
“That’s Texas for you,” Carolyn said. “Yesterday, it was dry enough to blow dust off the Brazos.”
“I reckon General Sherman was right.”
“That Yankee!” Carolyn laughed with mock disdain. “What could he be right about?”
“He said that if he owned Texas and hell, he’d rent out Texas and live on the other property.”
Carolyn laughed. “That’s good. But I wouldn’t want to live any place else myself.”
“Neither would I.”
“Were you born here, then?” Carolyn asked.
“Yeah, over by Jacksboro. How about you?”
“I was born in Indian Territory, in a Cheyenne camp.” She said it with some pride, even though she was always just a little disappointed she couldn’t claim Texas as her birthplace.
Matt whistled. “You don’t say? In an Indian camp? How did that come about?”
