by Judith Pella
****
Matt knew Jacob didn’t want to shoot at his brother. He understood his hesitation, but he also knew that their own lives would be forfeited if they didn’t fight back. He was also beginning to wonder where Sean Toliver was. The presence of Toliver’s horse indicated the foreman was around someplace. But where?
Matt tried to look over the top of the boulder that provided some cover, but as he moved, a bullet zinged by much too close for comfort. Another bullet followed in quick succession as Matt ducked back to safety. Then there was a brief pause. Perhaps Laban hadn’t started with a full gun and was now reloading. Matt didn’t wait to consider all the possibilities. He raised his head like a startled jack rabbit and quickly craned it around. The instant he spotted movement in the brush about a hundred yards to the left of his and Jacob’s position, he ducked back to cover, but not before another bullet sliced the air an inch from his head.
He nudged Jacob and pointed to the left. “They’re gonna try and keep us busy,” he said as he fired at Sean. He was too far away to hit his mark, but he hoped to draw Toliver out.
He immediately got his wish. Toliver returned fire with his Winchester. The bullet struck only a foot in front of Matt, spitting the dirt up in his face. Matt shouldered his own Winchester and fired back. He kept this up for several minutes, while Jacob, next to him, exchanged shots with his brother in the cave.
Soon Matt had to pause to reload his rifle. In the brief moments while he was thus occupied, Sean must have changed positions, for when Matt looked up he could not see Toliver. He carefully scanned his flanks and rear but saw no sign of movement. Toliver probably planned to sneak up behind them. Matt held his carbine taut and ready, eyes alert.
He saw a slight movement in the grass forty feet away; it could have been only the rustling of the wind. Then he saw the muzzle of a rifle as it was raised to aim. Matt fired. The weapon flew into the air, accompanied by a sharp curse of pain from its owner.
But Toliver was too experienced to let a little pain distract him; he recovered quickly, diving to his left to retrieve his weapon. Matt leaped up and crossed the ground between them in a heartbeat. He bodily slammed Toliver back to the ground before Sean could get a firm grip on the rifle. The impact dazed Toliver for an instant, and Matt got in a solid right hook to Sean’s jaw.
Toliver shook the fog from his brain and retaliated with three or four painful body punches that left Matt gasping for air. The two were evenly matched, even if Toliver had more brawn, for Matt was quick and strong. They scuffled on the ground for a few moments until Sean gained his feet, but he made the mistake of attempting to kick Matt in the face. Matt caught Sean’s foot and twisted it away. Then, while Toliver was off balance, Matt jumped up. They sparred like two angry boxers, each making substantial contact with his fists.
In the meantime, Jacob and Laban continued to exchange shots, both seemingly oblivious to the battle some yards behind and to the left of Jacob. Laban’s bullet, then, must have been a stray as it flew over Jacob’s head just as Matt came into its path. The lanky cowboy had just raised his fist to deliver what might have been a finishing blow to Toliver, who was nearly spent. But he never made contact; Laban’s shot creased Matt’s skull two inches above his left ear and sent him sprawling senseless into the dirt.
****
Panting, Toliver lunged for his rifle, grabbed it, and got off a shot before Jacob even realized there was danger from that direction. But Toliver was too quick to be accurate, and his shot only dislodged Jacob’s six-gun from his hand. Sean aimed his Winchester again, this time with deadly accuracy. He squeezed the trigger at a helpless Jacob.
The Winchester jammed.
Before Jacob could recover his weapon, Laban came out of the cave, gun still drawn. The stand-off seemed to be over. Jacob saw that his partner was down. He had little chance of surviving the next minutes.
“Kill him, Laban!” shouted Sean. “There’s no other way now.”
Laban came within a few feet of his brother, still aiming his gun at him, but with a look of ambivalence clouding his hard visage. Sean saw immediately that Laban wouldn’t have the guts to do what had to be done. He slowly made his way to where Matt had dropped his carbine.
“Why couldn’t you stay away?” said Laban to his brother. “I had it all planned out so perfectly.”
“Rustling our father’s cattle—that was your plan?”
“The rustling was nothing—it was what I had hoped would come of it. This whole region was on the verge of a range war because of that rustling. The small ranchers wanted blood for all the grief the big outfits have caused them, especially our father. He was going to catch a bullet sooner or later—”
“And you planned to make it sooner? With a range war as a perfect smoke screen?”
“Why not? What did our father ever do for me?”
“You couldn’t wait just a little longer?”
“That was my worst mistake—waiting. Now I’ve waited too long.”
“It’s still not too late to repair things, Laban,” said Jacob.
“And it’s not too late for you to join me. We can both have it all.”
“We only have to kill our father and our niece. I can’t be a part of that. I have lived the life of an outlaw for many years, but I have not forgotten about honor.”
“Then you leave me with no choice,” said Laban. He raised the gun, but his finger seemed to freeze on the trigger.
“You can’t kill me,” said Jacob.
It was true. Laban’s father had always told him he was gutless; this was proof.
The next shot seemed to come out of nowhere. Jacob watched, stunned, as his brother lurched with the impact of the carbine cartridge, then crumpled to the ground. Then the weapon cocked again, aimed this time at Jacob.
****
Matt regained consciousness just as Sean picked up his carbine. He shook away his dizziness and tried to stand, but the ground seemed to rise with him, all sense of equilibrium gone haywire. He only made it to his hands and knees. Through blurry vision, he saw Sean aim the carbine and, assuming it was aimed at Jacob, he knew he must act quickly to save his partner.
But he wasn’t fast enough, and he was certain he’d failed when the shot was fired unobstructed. Out of sheer fury, he gritted his teeth and made a lunge for Toliver.
Matt hit Toliver waist-high and leveled him. The blow caused his head to reel. When he regained his senses, he saw Jacob, very much alive, standing over Toliver, pointing his six-gun at the foreman’s head.
74
On Sunday night while Jacob and Matt were trailing Sean, Caleb sat in his study stewing over the quickly unraveling events. He was in no way repentant of his actions. He thought Carolyn was a fool for leaving like she did and for hanging on to the fantasy that her mother was innocent.
He’d had enough of the lot of them, and he’d especially had enough of that sham of a trial. If it continued Monday morning, it would do nothing but ruin his and his son’s reputations. Although none of those papers Carolyn had found could possibly be construed as viable evidence, even by the most incompetent legal official, Caleb knew that Deborah’s lawyer would bring it all to light out of sheer spite.
But no one knew the spite game better than Caleb. And he had been waiting too long to be outdone once again by a snip of a woman—two women this time!
In the old days, it had not been unusual for a man to take justice into his own hands. Caleb himself had several times executed that so-called justice with the help of a rope and an oak branch. It had been purely stupid of him, nineteen years ago, to try to lend an air of civility to the proceedings by orchestrating that trial. It had been weak of him—just as gutless as he was always accusing Laban of being. There was only one kind of justice—the kind of justice he had given to that scoundrel who had stolen Elizabeth from him.
It was time—well past time!—that Leonard’s death be avenged.
Caleb stormed out of his study in search of Toliver. At t
he bunkhouse he learned that the foreman had left a short time ago, saying he would be back in the morning. Caleb wanted Toliver’s help, for he was a competent, formidable ally. But there were others who, for the right price, would do Caleb’s bidding.
Within the hour he had gathered three such men together, each one a hand from the ranch. In Leander, he planned to add another man to his party—one-time Sheriff Pollard. Caleb didn’t like the broken-down old drunk, but the presence of a lawman would lend a semblance of legality to Caleb’s plans.
****
Pollard was at the Dancing Tumbleweed. He didn’t frequent this place, but he was out of money, and his other regular saloons in town were no longer extending him credit. That was about the only reason he was glad to see Caleb Stoner that evening. Caleb still owed him the reward money for turning in the Killion woman.
“We got some unfinished business, Stoner,” said Pollard.
“Let’s talk about it in private,” said Caleb, indicating for Pollard to follow him to a back room the bartender of the Tumbleweed had said he could use.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Pollard demanded, “So, when am I gonna get my reward?”
“You figure I’m going to give you a cent before justice is served on that woman?”
“The reward was just for her capture, nothing else.”
“If you want your reward money, all you have to do is officiate at her hanging.”
“What do you mean? She ain’t gonna hang—you better get used to that.”
Caleb shook his head. “She’s going to hang, just like she should have nineteen years ago. I’m going to see to it, and you’re going to help.”
“A lynching? You’re crazy, Stoner!”
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, what do you need me for?”
“I want a representative of the law there.”
“You think that’s gonna protect you from the trouble you’re gonna be in if you go through with this?”
“I’ll worry about that. All you have to worry about is your five thousand dollars. If she walks away free, you don’t get a penny. Five thousand will buy you a lot of whiskey, Pollard, probably a lifetime’s worth.”
****
When Lucy Reeves saw Caleb and Pollard going into the back room, she knew something was up. Those two scoundrels meant nothing but trouble for Deborah, and the fact that they were together made it even worse. She asked one of the other girls to cover for her, then quietly went to the closed door, which was secluded from the main saloon by a short corridor. She pressed her ear to the door and listened.
The two men had not taken pains to lower their voices, and she could discern most of the muffled conversation. She heard it all to the point when Caleb was bribing Pollard with the reward money. Absorbed in the conversation, she simply had not considered there to be any danger except from the two men in the room. She didn’t notice the approach of someone from behind her.
“Hey you!”
Lucy gasped and jerked up.
“What’re you up to, lady?”
“I—uh—lost an earring,” she said lamely, and to confirm her story, she quickly knelt down and began groping on the floor.
The intruder was one of Caleb’s henchmen, and he wasn’t buying her story. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up. Then he opened the door.
“Hey, Boss,” he said upon entering with his catch firmly in tow, “look what I found outside your door. She was tryin’ to get an earful.”
“Really?” Caleb eyed Lucy. He recognized her from the trial; she had been among the spectators, and as one of a very few women, and an attractive one at that, she had been hard to miss. “And who might you be?”
“My name’s Lucy, and I just work here. I thought the room was empty and wanted a private place to meet my beau. You know how it is—”
But Pollard broke in. “I seen her talking with Deborah Killion a couple of times, Stoner. I’ll bet they’re in cahoots.”
“That true?”
Lucy hesitated, wondering if she could lie her way out any further. She was furious with herself for getting caught at the door and upset that she hadn’t heard more details of Caleb’s plans to execute Deborah. Lucy knew she had to somehow talk her way out of this so she could warn Deborah and Sam. But what could she say to allay her captor’s suspicions?
“I guess I know her a little. But I mainly was hoping I could make a few bucks from this situation. You know, maybe I could help you somehow, seeing as how I know the woman.”
“Don’t believe her,” said Pollard.
“I’m not that much of a fool,” said Stoner. “Besides, I have all the help I need.”
“Okay,” said Lucy, casually, turning to leave.
“Unfortunately, I can’t let you leave,” said Caleb.
“But I—”
“Steve,” Caleb said to his henchman, “tie her up and gag her securely. I’ll see to it no one uses this room for the rest of the night.”
“You’ll be sorry, mister!” threatened Lucy. “You ain’t going to get away with this.”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
Lucy struggled every inch of the way as the ropes were cinched tightly around her hands and ankles. But she knew Caleb Stoner was right. No one could stop him, especially since it appeared he planned to do his terrible deed this very night. She was the only one who knew, and she was helpless.
When she had been left alone in the room, she fought against the ropes until she was exhausted. Then she thought of the conversations she and Deborah had had many times in prison.
Listen here, God, she silently prayed. If everything Deborah said about you is true—even if only half of what she said is true—you oughta be able to get Deborah out of this fix. It’s up to you. Get these ropes off me so I can warn someone, or help Deborah in another way. But, God, one way or another, help her!
75
It was easy enough for Caleb and Pollard to walk into the jailhouse in Leander. The sheriff knew the men and welcomed them, even at that late hour. He didn’t even bother to strap on his gun.
Caleb’s plan was simple and to the point. He intended to do what had to be done no matter what the personal cost.
After about two minutes of trivial conversation with the sheriff, Pollard casually lit a cigarette as a signal to the three accomplices waiting outside, telling them that the sheriff was alone and it was safe to proceed. Immediately the ranch hands entered, masked, and with guns drawn. They made as if to take Caleb and Pollard hostage, knocked out the sheriff, and locked him up in the spare cell. It was an obvious ploy to attempt to cover Caleb’s guilt, and the sheriff might not believe it, but Caleb would worry about all that later.
Caleb himself unlocked Deborah’s cell.
****
Deborah had been lying on her bunk dozing when the opening of the next cell awakened her. She looked up and thought she was dreaming when she saw Caleb standing at her cell, a ring of keys in his hand. She had not spoken to the man in nineteen years, and her voice failed her as she stared silently at him.
“It’s time to go, Deborah,” he said, sounding exactly the same as he had years ago when he had accused her of murdering his son.
“Where?” Deborah croaked past the terrible constriction in her throat.
How many times had she fantasized about what she’d say to Caleb if she ever saw him again? At first she had heaped recriminations and hatred upon him, accusing him of turning his son into a monster, of ruining her life, and every cruel injustice she could think of. Later, as God began to work in her life, she wondered about forgiving him and thought of grand and saintly speeches that would bring him to his knees in repentance and redeem his heart for Christ.
Now, as she stared into his cavernous, cold eyes, her mind went blank.
“You had to know you couldn’t get away with it,” he said.
“No…I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s time to pay for what you did to my son.”
&
nbsp; Deborah shook her head. “You can’t do this, Caleb.”
In response, Caleb turned the key in the lock and pulled open the cell door, then stepped aside as Pollard entered with a length of rope in his hands. He tied her hands behind her and placed a secure bandanna around her mouth. Then they led her outside and took a short walk to where the horses were tied out of sight behind the jail. They rode quietly out of town.
Deborah thought of her escape from Stoner’s Crossing so many years ago. How different it had been, in a flurry of galloping horses and clouds of dust. Would there be a rescue this time? How would anyone find out what had happened until it was too late? The sheriff could be unconscious for hours, and Caleb did not have to ride far to find an appropriate tree.
She prayed for grace and strength to accept whatever came, but a quiet sense in her spirit seemed to assure her that she was not meant to die at the end of a rope. That helped to calm her and relieve some of the shock over what was happening. It also cleared her mind so that as they rode, she began to think of her family. If Caleb’s plan was successful, what would become of Carolyn? The others she didn’t worry so much about—Sky and Sam were strong and would be able to overcome their grief. But Carolyn never had been as tough as she wanted people to believe. Losing her mother would be hard, but even more difficult would be bearing this cruel, hateful blow from a man she had placed such hope in.
How could Caleb be so spiteful and heartless? Didn’t he realize how much Carolyn wanted to love him? Was revenge more important than that? Deborah began to berate herself for not speaking these things to Caleb while she’d had the chance. Now it was impossible for her to say anything because of the gag on her mouth. Feeling helpless, Deborah began to pray. She wanted to pray for Carolyn and Sky and Sam, but instead she prayed for Caleb alone.
****
Caleb knew it was risky, but he was going to indulge himself in one thing. There was a stout tree by the place where Leonard was buried, and it seemed appropriate that his son’s murderer be hanged within sight of his grave. In a symbolic way, Leonard would watch the death of the woman who had ruined and ended his life. A more practical aspect was that the execution party would be distanced from Leander and, hopefully, from being easily found should their deed be discovered.
