by Judith Pella
The trail to Buck’s Canyon proved to be tricky to negotiate under the dark sky. She took it easy, for she was in no particular hurry. By the look of the path, she decided that the trail had not been used for cattle since she had last been there. She dismounted and gave the terrain a closer scrutiny to confirm her suspicions. There were no fresh signs of major activity. It was too dark to discern more than that. Jacob might have traveled back and forth on this path, as the rustlers also might have done, but no cattle had been herded along here. She mounted and rode about two hundred yards to where she had first met Jacob. That spot did not yield the same reward this night.
Where could Jacob be? Could he have had a run-in with the rustlers? Had he been forced to flee back to Mexico, or met with an even worse end? Perhaps she would never see him again.
Once again her hopes had been raised, only to meet with disappointment.
Lord, how could you do this to me, to my ma? Why are you making this so hard? You know my ma is innocent; why can’t she be set free? I just don’t understand.
Deep down she knew it wouldn’t help to get angry at God. All He did had a good reason, even if she was just too dense to see it.
“He’s probably only waiting for me to grow up and to depend on Him more,” she sighed to herself.
Everyone was always saying how stubborn she was—well, maybe she’d just use that stubbornness for good this time. She wouldn’t give up; she’d keep plugging away until she got it right. She wanted to depend on God, to trust Him. Her ma always said that was the way to real strength and independence. But she had such a strong urge to jump in and do it herself—to save her mother, to find the real killer, to change her grandfather’s heart.
Now that she thought of it, it seemed more ridiculous than ever. As if she could do any of those things, much less all of them! She needed help, and she needed it desperately. And God was ready and able to help her if only she’d allow Him to.
She was surprised when, a few minutes later, she spied a figure on the trail a hundred yards ahead of her. Instead of welcoming it as help from God, her first instinct was to cringe, thinking it must be one of the rustlers. She never dreamed it was the answer to her prayers until, drawing closer, she recognized the shape of the man’s hat and the color of his mount. It was Matt Gentry.
But before she could call out to him, he turned sharply in his saddle, a six-gun aimed right at her heart. Shock at seeing her registered on his face, quickly followed by anger. “What’re you doing up here?” he demanded.
The relief that had started to form in her was quickly dispelled by the sight of his gun. And she suddenly remembered the night of the storm when she had seen him right at the foot of this trail in the dark of night. Was it just coincidence that he was here? What was he up to? Had her trust been misplaced? Was their friendship really meaningless? It was, she supposed, if she couldn’t trust him when it really counted.
“I ain’t answering any questions until you put that gun away,” she said.
Gentry looked at the gun almost as if he had forgotten he was holding it, then quickly slipped the weapon into its holster; he knew better than to argue with Carolyn. “Sorry about the gun,” he said. “I didn’t know who was following me.”
“I wasn’t following you, but maybe I should have been.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come on, Matt. I’ve tried real hard to believe in you, but what am I supposed to think, finding you here—”
“What do you know about this place?”
She saw no reason to lie. “The rustlers are using Buck’s Canyon. I saw a herd of about a hundred cattle hidden down there.”
“When was that?”
“When we were on that cattle drive.”
“And you said nothing?”
“There was a bit going on then to distract me.”
“I reckon so.” He paused before adding more to himself than her, “Then they’ve moved them out already, and I’ve missed them.” He pounded his fist against his thigh.
“You didn’t know about that herd?”
“Of course not!” A sudden smile slipped across his face. “I see what you’re thinking. I guess it would make me look kind of suspicious.”
“Okay, Matt, I think it’s time you told me what’s going on—”
But before she could finish, a sharp snapping of underbrush caused her to stop abruptly. She looked at Matt as his hand went once more for his gun. But another sound stopped him—it was the cocking of a weapon less than two yards away.
67
A voice spoke before the figure emerged from the brush. “Raise your hands high so I can see them.”
Both Matt and Carolyn obeyed, although Carolyn recognized the voice and knew there was no immediate danger. Still, in the West it never paid to argue with a cocked gun, even if it was held by your long-lost uncle.
“Uncle Jacob.”
Jacob stepped into the clearing where Carolyn and Matt sat mounted on their horses. He continued to train the rifle on them.
“Carolyn.” He nodded in her direction, then looked at Matt with the rifle still pointed at him.
“Uncle Jacob,” Carolyn went on, noting his hesitation, “this is a friend of mine.”
“Are you sure?”
For all Carolyn knew, both Matt and Jacob could be rustlers. Yet she felt fairly confident that these two men weren’t about to gun each other down without first talking.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” she said. She glanced at Matt as if to warn him he better not let her down.
“All right, for now I will defer to Carolyn’s trust. Dismount, and let’s find a place to talk.”
“Well, maybe I need a reason to trust you,” said Matt. “Who are you, anyway? And what’re you doing here?”
“That’s what we’ll talk about.”
Carolyn said, “Matt, would you just come on? I think we can get somewhere with what’s going on at this ranch if we take a risk or two. I’ll be here to protect you if my uncle tries anything.”
“Ha!” Matt said. But he dismounted and followed Carolyn and Jacob.
Jacob led them to the same clearing where he had camped before. It was darker tonight, and even the small fire Jacob soon built gave only shadowy illumination.
“What happened to you the other night?” Carolyn asked Jacob after they had settled down around the campfire.
“The rustlers moved out that herd,” said Jacob, “and I followed them to see what I could learn. They took it on that trail I told you about, and when they got on the other side of the canyon, they met up with four other men who took over from there. They drove the herd to a spread about two days’ ride west of the transfer point.”
“We’ve got them, then,” said Carolyn. “We just have to get the law to that ranch.”
“It’s not so easy,” said Jacob. “The brands have all been changed, and it’ll be their word against ours. I’m sure whoever is running this operation has got their tracks covered pretty well.”
“Did you find out who owns that spread?” asked Matt.
“I’m not in the position to make such inquiries.”
“Did you recognize any of the rustlers?”
“No, but then, I haven’t been associated with the Stoner outfit for many years. I did ride up to the ranch and, pretending to be a cowhand out of work, I spoke to a fellow there about a job. Like I said, he didn’t look familiar. He was about six feet tall, a handsome man for a gringo, brown eyes and hair, probably a few years older than you. Oh, and he spoke with an odd accent.”
“An odd accent, you say?”
“Yes, kind of western but at the same time foreign, too.”
Carolyn and Matt exchanged a significant glance.
“I know what you’re thinking, Matt,” said Carolyn, “but it can’t be.”
“Sean Toliver wouldn’t be the first foreman to build his own ranch off his boss’s herd. Besides, something you said a while back made me first suspicious. You remember on that c
attle drive you said Sean didn’t want to go up to Buck’s Canyon—”
“Sean and Laban said that,” Carolyn corrected.
“Well, I don’t know about Laban, but it sure looks like Sean is mixed up in this—unless you think it’s a coincidence that he was at that ranch?”
Carolyn shook her head. She couldn’t argue that point, and she remembered that Sean himself had just told her he had been on a long ride. Could it have been a two-day ride? But something else also puzzled her. “Matt, what’s all this to you? I mean, is your interest just because you want to clear your name?”
“Ain’t that enough?”
“What is this about Laban?” Jacob asked.
Carolyn answered, “He and Sean Toliver told Caleb they wanted to drive the cattle to Duff’s Valley instead of Buck’s Canyon because the grass and water weren’t good up here.”
“But they obviously are,” added Matt.
“And with the foreman and the owner’s son organizing the rustling, they could pretty much have a free hand,” said Jacob.
“Do you realize what you are saying, Uncle Jacob?”
“Yes, but doesn’t it make sense?”
“I guess I wouldn’t put anything past Laban after what he’s done to me,” Carolyn replied.
Jacob raised a questioning eyebrow. Carolyn just shrugged. “He attacked me once; then there were two other attempts on my life that I’m almost certain he was involved in. But why would he want to steal Caleb’s cattle?”
“He is a desperate man, especially now that you have come on the scene, Carolyn. He’s waited a long time to get this ranch, but now he sees it slipping through his fingers. Poor Laban! No matter what he’s done, I still feel sorry for him.”
“That don’t change the fact that we gotta bring him and Sean in for what they’re doing,” said Matt.
“First, we have to find Laban,” said Carolyn. “When Caleb found out Laban attacked me, he swore to kill him,” she explained to Jacob. “We haven’t seen Laban since.”
“I’ll find him,” Jacob said grimly. “Matt, you will ride with me?”
“I reckon I’d first like to know who I’m riding with. I figure you must be related to the Stoners and all, but no one’s said anything about you being here.”
“I am Caleb Stoner’s son. I’ve been away for the last twenty years,” he answered. Then, hesitating only a moment, added, “I suppose if we are to ride together, you have a right to know the truth about me. I am also known by the name Santiago—”
Matt gasped, obviously aware of the significance of that name.
Jacob went on, “So, you will be associated with a bandito…do you object?”
“I’ve ridden with worse,” said Matt. “The way I see it, you are looking out for Carolyn right now and that’s what matters.”
“Yes.” Jacob glanced affectionately at Carolyn. “It’s time many wrongs were made right. And it’s time the Stoner clan began to stand for more than violence and misery. Carolyn is our only hope.”
“I’ll buy that, especially since Carolyn seems to believe in you,” said Matt. “But I’ll keep my eye on you, too, if you don’t mind.”
“As I will on you.” Jacob grinned. “We’ll keep each other honest.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Uncle Jacob,” Carolyn said anxiously, “what about my ma?”
Jacob glanced at Matt and hesitated. “It’s okay to talk in front of him,” said Carolyn. “He knows just about everything, anyway.” She didn’t want to send Matt away because she had a feeling she’d want some companionship on the long ride back to the ranch. “Please go on, Uncle Jacob. We’ve got to have something new to present to the court. The trial is going nowhere as it is and, whatever her lawyer says, I think it ain’t gonna go well without new evidence.”
“I can only tell you how I saw things, Carolyn. None of it, especially coming from a third party, will be admissible in court.”
“Mr. Barnum, my ma’s lawyer, says that even if you testified—”
“You told them about me?”
“I had to, Uncle Jacob! You had disappeared, and I thought I’d never see you again. Anyway, Mr. Barnum said that if all you could do was support my ma’s claims that she was abused, it probably wouldn’t dramatically turn things around. The prosecution would even it out by saying you’re not objective because you and ma were having an affair.”
“I would have testified, Carolyn, and I still will if it would help.”
“No use taking that risk right away.”
“Then why have I come back? I thought I could do some good.”
“You don’t know anything else that would help?”
Jacob focused an incisive gaze upon Carolyn. “There was never any love between your father and me, Carolyn. Do you understand this? I hated him and did not mourn his death. I would have killed him myself had I remained at the ranch a moment longer. But I was miles away, so what could I know?”
Carolyn nodded, but she felt a quaking inside. Would she ever grow accustomed to hearing how everyone hated her father? Still, she had to face it—all of it. She could not protect herself any longer.
“Please tell me what you know, Uncle Jacob,” she said stoically. “Whatever you have to say can’t be worse than I’ve heard already. It may not help my mother, but I need to know these things.”
“Do you really need to put yourself through this?” he asked tenderly.
When she nodded, he continued. “I can think of no easy way to say this, but I believe your mother had every right in the world to kill Leonard Stoner. I believe her life was in danger and I told her that when I tried to convince her to run away with me. My half brother was just like my father—’cut from the same cloth,’ as it is said. And what was happening to your mother was a repeat of what had happened to my own mother. Caleb abused my mother as Leonard abused yours. I saw with my own eyes the physical pain my mother suffered at his hand. Seldom were there outward signs, but often I saw her bent over in pain or limping after she had been with him. But mostly I remember seeing the tortured, devastated look in her eyes, and finally an emptiness, as if the light of life had at last been extinguished. Life had become unbearable for her. I truly believe she died inside long before she took her own life.”
“Your mother committed suicide?” Shock and horror registered on Carolyn’s face.
“Yes, and your mother was traveling down that same road. I feared that if Leonard’s beatings didn’t kill your mother, she’d give up and do the job herself.”
“But still you left her?”
“I’ll never forgive myself for that, but at the time, there seemed to be no other choice. Your father caught your mother and me together—it was all perfectly innocent, but he thought the worst and threatened to kill me if I didn’t leave. Deborah convinced me it was the best thing to do. As I said, I knew I’d kill him if I stayed.”
“You didn’t come back and kill him later…?” She had to ask, though she was growing certain it could not be so.
Jacob sadly shook his head as if he wished he had come back. “Do you think I would let her be punished for a crime I had committed?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“I understand,” he said quietly, gently.
A long pause followed. Carolyn stared into the fire; Jacob sighed heavily and rubbed his hands over his face. Matt shifted his position, obviously awkward at being present during this personal conversation of which he was not a part.
At length, Jacob spoke again. “Perhaps if you had proof of the dangerous situation your mother was in, the court would find that she acted in self-defense.”
“That would be something, I suppose,” said Carolyn, “but what we all really want is to find the real murderer, to prove she didn’t do it at all.” Carolyn fell silent in an inner debate. Finally she said with resignation, “What proof is there?”
“My mother left a suicide note; Caleb never knew about it and I always kept it hidden. In it she tried
to explain to Laban and me why she did what she did. We were young—I was only eight—and she did not go into details a child could not understand. But it was clear she did what she did because of Caleb’s treatment of her. And she felt horrible guilt for leaving Laban and me alone with him.”
“Do you still have that letter?”
“No. I wanted Deborah to have the letter; I hoped seeing it would bring her to her senses. So before I left, I went to the line cabin where Laban and I lived. I wrapped the letter up and had one of the Mexican hands whom I knew to be sympathetic to me take it to Maria, with instructions that she give it to Deborah. I feared it would look too suspicious if a mere hand, especially a Mexican, were to give anything to Deborah directly, but Maria saw her daily and it wouldn’t look unusual for her to do such a thing.”
“My mother never mentioned a letter. It’s possible she never received it.”
“But why—?”
Suddenly Carolyn remembered what Maria had told her, and she remembered the housekeeper’s deep loyalty to Caleb and Leonard Stoner.
“Jacob, I don’t think Maria ever gave that letter to my mother. Maybe she destroyed it. Maybe…” Could that be what Maria was hiding, the secrets she said were best left buried? “Jacob, do you know of any place in the house—a chest, a drawer, some hiding place—where a paper like that could have been hidden?” Carolyn explained about Maria’s comments. “I think Maria feels guilty about withholding that letter, so she left town rather than face me asking any more questions.”
“I doubt she could answer your questions and face my father at the same time,” said Jacob. “The poor woman is torn between doing right and betraying the family she has served for so many years.”
“I guess I understand how she feels,” Carolyn said thoughtfully. “But the only thing that matters now is that the truth comes out. We have to find what she has hidden.”
“Such a letter is still not direct evidence,” said Jacob.
“And it probably won’t do any good either, but what else do I have? I guess, if nothing else, it’ll establish in me the reality of the kind of men my father and grandfather were. I no longer want any false perceptions.”
