by Mike McNeff
HARD
JUSTICE
THE LEGEND OF JASPER LEE
A NOVEL
BY
MIKE MCNEFF
Booktrope Editions
Seattle WA 2014
Copyright 2014 Mike McNeff
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
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Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Hanna Barnes
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Print ISBN 978-1-62015-198-3
EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-294-2
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2014930793
Table of Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
HARD CRIMES
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MORE FROM MIKE MCNEFF
MORE GREAT READS FROM BOOKTROPE
For Mom, Kay McNeff,
who was loved by everyone she ever met.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is my third novel and I’m grateful for the Booktrope team that continues to work with me and for others that lend their expertise and encouragement to my writing. I have stories and characters in my head banging to get out, so I have to write. But I doubt I would have grown as a writer without my team and friends. I hope to continue to grow with their support.
First and foremost is my content editor, Hanna Barnes. Our author/editor relationship had somewhat of a bumpy start as we learned about each other. From that uncertain beginning we’ve evolved into a richly rewarding collaboration.
My copy editor, Cathy Shaw, who happens to also be my sister, keeps the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed along with the rest of the pesky little details that often escape me. I know she approaches each manuscript with objectivity sprinkled with love.
My book manager, Emily Duncan, carries the heavy load of managing the team and working the marketing end of things. In other words, doing a lot of things I don’t want to do and she does them well…and still found time to fall in love and get married!
There are other folks at Booktrope Editions who have helped on my books in the past and I hope will continue to do so. Thanks to cover artist Greg Simanson, Heather Ludviksson, Jesse James Freeman, Adam Bodendieck and Victoria Wolffe. Thanks also, of course, to Ken Shear and Katherine Sears who man the bridge at Booktrope.
A special thanks to novelist Ruby Standing Deer for her insights into Native American culture and lore.
To my writing friends who offer a place to bounce ideas off of and compare notes, resources and other crazy things writers worry about. Everybody at Whidbey Writers Group and Derrick, Niki, Brian, Mare and Rowena.
To one of the best, Gordon Labuhn, keep fighting Gordon and get well.
To the most special of all, my wife Linda. Thank you for everything you are and do. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.
HARD CRIMES
EZRA LEE AND HIS TWO YOUNGER SONS rode their horses lazily in the cool of the early morning. The fragrance of newly sprouted prairie grass announced spring. Ezra, a stern, but good man, rode tall in his saddle.
Young Caleb had an easy smile on his face as he watched two eagles make graceful circles. He thought how wonderful it would be to fly like such a graceful bird. He caught the grin on Jonas’ face, who shook his head at Caleb’s daydreaming. The men had just reached the north edge of the town of Arlington when a woman’s scream shattered the quiet of the just awakening community. They urged their horses forward, cutting between two buildings toward Dolan’s Livery stables.
A score of outlaws had pretty Claire Dolan surrounded. A pail of spilled milk muddied the ground. Two men held Claire by her arms, her eyes wide with terror. Ezra raised his Sharps .50 caliber rifle to his shoulder and charged the outlaws. His sons rode on either side, close and slightly behind, pistols in hand.
“Unhand that young girl!” Ezra yelled.
A dozen pistols and again as many rifles pointed at the three men challenging the criminals. Smoke, fire and lead roared. An onslaught of bullets blasted Jonas’ head into a cloud of crimson mist and Caleb, the youngest and smallest of the Lee boys, drew ragged breaths through a hole in his rib cage.
Bullets hit Ezra hard laying him low on his mare, but the horse bucked at the gunfire. Ezra thumped hard onto the ground.
Caleb struggled to his feet and staggered to his father. “Pa!” he cried and collapsed on his dad.
Ezra croaked out a hoarse whisper. “Run, Caleb. Get help.”
Eldon Samson trotted his horse up to the two wounded men. “Well, an old man and a whippersnapper. How come you’re so stupid old man? Did you really think you could take on us gunfighters?”
“Gunfighters?” Ezra laughed through his pain. “You’re nothing but pond scum.”
“And you’re nothing but dead.” Samson pointed his pistol at Ezra’s head.
Caleb lurched up toward Samson, the blade of a Bowie knife flashing in the sunlight. He thought of his big brother, who gave him his knife, and what Jasper would do. Caleb plunged the knife into Samson’s thigh. Samson yelled and shot Caleb in the face point blank causing the back of his head to explode blood, bone and brain.
“Goddamn, little bastard!” Samson yelled. He sucked in a lung full of air and yanked the knife out of his leg. He held it up and looked at it for a second and then tossed it next to Caleb’s body. Pointing his pistol at Ezra he said, “Here’s for that little son of a bitch.” He shot Ezra twice in the chest and then carefully aimed and shot him in the head.
“Get the girl on a horse!” Bart Moore yelled. “We need to get outta here.”
Claire screamed in her struggle against the man trying to lift her onto a horse. She kicked his shin hard.
“Bitch.” He struck her in the face with a closed fist and she went limp.
“Stop!” A shout came from the back of Finley’s Dry Goods.
Bullets started flying and Charlie Finley ducked back into his store.
“Let’s go!” Moore ordered and the men galloped off.
CHAPTER ONE
JASPER LEE CAME FROM BEHIND HIS LOG HOME carry
ing an armload of newly split wood and squinted into the warm, brilliant early May afternoon. Sheriff Carl Williams sat on his horse at the gate. His horse dug at the ground with his hooves. Nervous horse. Nervous rider.
“Howdy, Carl. What brings you all the way out here?”
The sheriff dismounted, looped his reins over the hitching rail and came through the gate. He removed his hat. “I have news, Jasper...bad news.”
Jasper stooped and stacked the logs at the end of the woodpile. “Well, you better come in and tell it.”
“No, Jasper,” the sheriff lowered his voice. “I think this news best not be told in front of your family.” His hands twisted and bent the wide brim of his Stetson. “Jasper, your pa and brothers were shot and killed this mornin’.”
Jasper slowly rose. “What happened?”
“They tried to save young Claire Dolan from being taken by outlaws, but the outlaws still took her.”
Jasper stood mute until the manners his stepmother taught him took hold and forced out the words that stuck in his throat. “Thank you, Carl. I know things like this are hard to do. Thank you for comin’.”
“We’re forming a posse. We’d welcome you.”
Jasper set his right foot on the porch. His left knee felt weak as water and he clasped the railing and forced himself to stand firm. “I believe I have some buryin’ to do. After that, I’ll be my own posse.”
“Now, Jasper, you can’t go after these men alone. You’ve settled down. You have a family.”
“Nothin’ against you, Carl, but I don’t trust the justice you represent.” “You’re not a lawman, my friend, and it’s been quite a while since you’ve unlimbered those Colts.”
“I believe in the natural law and justice for the likes of the vermin who killed my kin.”
“Jasper, the war is over. Times are changin’ and the rule of law is takin’ hold. The old ways are fadin’.”
He wanted to scream, but Pa didn’t raise him to do such things. “Not for me, Carl...not for me.” Jasper turned and walked back into his home.
The Lee ranches lay side by side in the lower foothills. After a night of silent grieving and a day of digging, Jasper and his family stood on the hill overlooking the lush valley. The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue across the blue-green grass that spread out before them. Jasper thought how this scene normally made him happy and bright, but today, he only felt a harsh, hollow sadness. The hill had three fresh graves Jasper and his two sons, Sean and Brenden, had dug to bury Pa, Jonas and Caleb. Three fresh white crosses marked the graves. May 15, 1873, the date of death on each cross burned into Jasper’s mind. Two older graves on either side of Pa’s held Ezra’s long gone wives; Mae, Jasper’s mother and Liza, mother to Jonas and Caleb.
No one from town came to pay respects. The men were out with the posse and the women were too afraid to travel. Fear even kept Preacher Sunlund from doing his duties.
Jasper stood grim faced feeling older than his thirty-nine years. His wife, Gale, stood next to him, red eyed, her arm in his. Their daughters, Megan and Abbey, clung to them crying softly. Sean and Brenden stood across from the rest of the family. Brenden studying his father’s face; Sean looking off in the distance.
Jasper let out a long sigh. “I believe it’s time to say some words over the graves of our kin.” He looked down and shuffled his feet. He knew it was his place to speak but he wasn’t comfortable doing so.
“Let me, Pa,” Sean said.
Jasper nodded.
Sean took a deep breath as he squared his shoulders and spread his feet a little more. “Grandpa was a good man. There’s no other way to say it. He’d help anyone, always give a good word and worked hard. He loved everyone standin’ here and we all loved him. I don’t know anything better to say about any man.
“Jonas was not only my uncle, but also my best friend. He taught me things an uncle can that a pa can’t, things a body has to know about life. I trusted him and he trusted me. I shall sorely miss him.
“Uncle Caleb taught me how to have fun and that a man’s size doesn’t determine how big a man he is. He was the bravest man I ever knew and he taught me to never give up. He always made me laugh and the light in our lives will be a bit dimmer without him.”
Jasper looked across at his son and the ache in his heart eased a touch. He could see the beginnings of the man Sean would be. A man that Ezra would have been proud of. “Those were mighty fine words, Sean. Thank you. You make us proud.”
Gale nodded with a sad smile. “I think we need to gather our things and head back home so I can fix us a supper,” Gale said softly.
“Yes,” Jasper turned and headed down the hill at a quick pace. “I’ve got to get ready to travel.”
Gale caught up at the bottom of the hill. “Jasper, I’m only going to ask once. Please let the law handle this. We need you home with us.”
Jasper put his arm around his wife. “You know I love you all. I don’t mean to disrespect your wishes but this is my fight. These men must be brought to justice according to natural law. I got it to do.”
Gale nodded her acceptance, but as Jasper helped her into the wagon a tear rolled down her cheek.
Two days of hard hurt wore heavy on Jasper but the deep blue sky above, the open range stretched out bright green before him, the pine covered foothills, and the easy motion of his horse, Coal, provided a measure of solace. Gale had cleaned and mended his buckskin shirt and his cavalry pants from the War Between the States. They fit well even after eight years. A Stetson wide brimmed Carlsbad hat protected his face and head from the sun.
Leaving his wife and four children standing on the front porch wrenched his heart. Gale’s worrisome stare at the new Colts on his hips weighed on his mind but it felt good to have them on again. The one on his right hip was set for a fast draw while standing. The Colt on the left hip was set cross-draw for shooting while riding or sitting. He let his right hand slip from the saddle horn and rest on the warm wood of the also new Winchester ’73 in the saddle scabbard.
The good sheriff was wrong. Jasper loved to shoot. He practiced every day with his guns. Shooting allowed him to keenly focus on a single thing. It cleared his mind and gave him respite from life’s daily problems. He wore other weapons but these were not for other men to see until it became necessary. He wanted them to see his Colts.
He slowed his approach to Pody Junction, eyeing two riders coming from the north. When they hailed him and quickened the pace of their horses he recognized two of his neighbors.
“Jasper, hard news,” Micah Niles, a tall thin man with a walrus mustache said. “The posse was ambushed. The sheriff and Bob Ricks were killed. More men were wounded including Al Dolan.”
“Where did this happen?”
“About four miles north of town on the Arlington Road.”
“They was waitin’ for us,” Burt Ashton said. “Like they knew we was comin’.”
“How many of the posse are still after them?”
“The posse’s done,” Micah said. “There’s no stomach for it.”
“No stomach for goin’ for the girl?” Jasper’s mouth hardened into a frown.
The men looked down or away.
“Ah, no matter.” Jasper laid his hand back on the Winchester. ”It takes a certain kind for this work.”
“Well, Jasper, you was fearsome in the cattle wars,” Micah said. “I imagine you’re that kind.”
“I’m done fightin’ other men’s wars. This one’s my war.” Jasper lifted his hat and wiped his brow. “I’d be obliged if you folks would check on my family now and again, ‘til I get back.”
“We’ll do that,” Micah replied. Burt nodded his head.
“Good day, gentlemen.” Jasper’s heels tapped Coal’s flanks and he headed north. He skirted the town to avoid word spreading he was out and about. He threaded his way through the poplar and oak trees along Arlington Creek which ran next to the road. His eyes constantly scanned an arc ahead of him and he stopped every on
ce in a while to check his back trail and listen. All he heard was the breeze tickling the leaves along with the gentle lullaby of the creek. A hawk cried out.
When Jasper figured he reached four miles he angled east up a rise, keeping just below the skyline. He saw no movement but a buzzard spiraled in lazy circles about a half mile away.
Easing Coal down the hill to the edge of the road, Jasper stopped. He listened, but heard nothing except flies darting around him as the day warmed. The stench of death lightly rode the breeze. He crossed the road, weaving through the boulders until he came to the area where the buzzard circled. Jasper noticed the hoof prints of maybe two dozen horses that had trampled the ground. A coyote scurried away from a brushy patch.
He dismounted and looped his reins around his saddle horn. He knew Coal wouldn’t leave him and he wanted the big black stallion to be able to defend himself from other critters, if necessary. Jasper drew a Colt then moved carefully toward the brush. Pushing the brush aside revealed Claire Dolan’s naked body. He walked closer but had to stop long enough to force his stomach to stay put. But it wasn’t what the critters had done that brought a surge of bile to his throat.
Claire’s bloody face was set in contorted agony. She lay with her arms staked out and her legs splayed wide. Blood caked around her groin and the girl’s breasts were skinned. The cheeks on her face were sliced away and where the light of her clear blue eyes had once sparkled only bloodied sockets remained. Her long, golden blonde hair had fallen victim to a scalper’s blade. The same blade sliced Claire’s throat, the outlaws’ final injustice ending Claire’s suffering. Jasper had seen much violence in his life, but he shuddered at the depravity of this crime. He wrapped the body in his blanket and moved it to a clean spot by the creek where the sycamores swayed and wild flowers danced brightly the breeze spreading their fragrance.
Jasper unpacked his camp shovel and for three hours he dug. He dug another grave. He dug it deep to protect Claire from critters scattering her around.
