by Mike Kearby
Susannah's smile disappeared. "Someone else?" she choked and grabbed his shoulder. "What has Wes done to you?"
Carrigan's mouth turned dry. He swallowed hard and lifted his chin. The spell was broken. He breathed out tired, palled to exhaustion with more talk of the Lone Star Brigade.
"What?" Susannah pleaded with worried eyes. "What did he do, Carrigan?" she asked with fearful anxiety.
Carrigan clinched his jaw and measured his words deliberately. "Twelve years ago, he and his brigade killed my mother and father."
Susannah drew a sharp breath.
"He killed them for my father's cattle. I was only eight years old at the time, but I swore I would find Wes and his henchmen one day…"
Susannah bent at the knees, distressed. A slight moan escaped her lips.
"And three days ago in Delgado's, I found and killed Floyd Daniels."
Susannah's eyes widened. "Floyd?" she asked with a blank stare. "Three days ago? He's dead?"
Carrigan dropped his chin. "Yep," he rasped and then turned his right cheek toward Susannah. The raised scar show prominently. "He's the one who gave me this," he uttered with controlled rage.
Silence and tension filled the small cabin.
Susannah unconsciously drew a finger along the scar, intrigued and repulsed at the cicatrix.
Carrigan broke the quiet, pronouncing, "And now Wes and his boys are riding here for me."
Susannah's expression changed to confusion, then dread. "How do they know where to look? How would they know you're here?"
Carrigan looked down at his boots and inhaled deeply, abashed. "Remember? I don't think things through before speaking," he said haltingly and kicked at the dirt floor. "I sort of left word for him as to where I could be found," he sighed direfully. "You know…I'm given to impulse."
Susannah uttered a convulsive gasp. "And I've wounded you."
Carrigan's eyes ran green. "That doesn't matter, Susannah," he said softly. "Wounded or not, I'll still be up for the work of dealing with Wes."
11.
Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,
October 1848
Susannah forced a strained smile amidst the tension of Carrigan's blood vow. "It looks like your shoulder is still leaking," she whispered, unsettled.
Carrigan's expression turned ice cold. "I want you and Justus to leave here."
Susannah's face dropped. "Just like that?" she asked and then nodded her acquiescence.
Carrigan watched her smile fade, saddened at the quick shake of her head. "It's for the best," he reasoned.
Susannah forced the smile back. "I understand," she answered meekly.
Carrigan squeezed his lips together, searching desperately for something to say.
An interminable silence filled the room.
There could be nothing more for men like Carrigan. He pinched the bridge of his nose and winced slightly, saddened but sure of his actions. These were harsh and violent times filled with hard violent men, and Carrigan was as hard and violent as the worst of these men. His reputation, built on killing and revenge, would repulse his father and cause his mother to wail, and yet, for better or worse, here he was…one more hard case in Texas, rankled and hell-bent for vengeance. It was this unmistakable fact about his person that gnawed at his gut and caused bile, bitter and caustic, to rise in his throat. For twelve years, he had labored, building an inescapable prison inside his head, a prison for which Wes Cauble and his vigilantes had provided the steel bars and stone. Now, Cauble was determined to dwell there until a reckoning balanced the slate. Don't get use to comforts, he reminded, prompted with forgotten words. You're neither paladin nor demon, just an exactor of wrongs long unpunished.
Susannah's eyes dulled in despair and disappointment. "At least let me change that bandage before we go," she said, wiping her hands in resignation on a cloth apron. "And I'll leave that pone and stew for you. It'll help your healing if you eat."
Carrigan remained hopelessly mute.
Susannah reached for the bandage end, refusing to look at Carrigan.
Carrigan saw her abandonment. He knew the look well. As a boy, he had forsaken his rightful life and chosen to receive a bandit's education. Never trained in social skills or polite conversation, his occupation required only the ability to produce solutions through a quick draw and unfaltering nerve. His hand started for her shoulder, and then hesitated unsure of his action. Self-conscious and overwhelmed by his inability to say the right words, he did what he always did in such situations, the impulsive wrong thing. He grabbed her, and drew her tight against him.
Susannah looked up surprised, then placed her fists against his chest, but didn't push away or gaze up.
"Susannah."
She went blank…her face suddenly void of expression. A warm sense of security washed over her.
"I…"
You're back, she closed her eyes and whimpered softly.
"I never…I'm…"
You've been gone so long. Her first husband, John, the only man she had ever loved held her in his arms, tender and safe. I've missed you so.
Carrigan flushed and held her tighter. "I never seem to know the right words," he confessed.
Susannah lowered her head against John Filcher's chest. "Sometimes there's no need for words," she whispered. "Sometimes there's only need for the doing."
Carrigan pulled closer and inhaled her fragrance.
Susannah raised her chin and met his eyes.
Carrigan smelled her warm breath. His lips filled hers. Her mouth tasted of tears.
She swung her arms around his neck. You're back.
They cleaved to one another, desperate, before melting to the floor, two rough-worn souls scarred by the kind of pain that only one's own mind can inflict.
Later, they separated in exhausted reluctance, emotionally spent, yet renewed, and still very much uncertain of their futures.
12.
Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,
October 1848
Carrigan stared down an oval of Indian pone soaked in stew juices. Confused by the rush of emotions spinning through his head, he focused on the table before him, refusing to look up or acknowledge Susannah. He knew deep inside of him were words that could explain his feelings, but try as he might the words lurked just beyond his grasp, irretrievable. Those hidden words smelled of spring rain and fresh grass, words that made a man's chest heave with each pronouncement.
The Carrigan inside scolded, tell her how beautiful she is. But the outside Carrigan had already determined that the time for such declarations had passed, that to do so now would only make things awkward and adolescent. The realization that he was so lacking in the skills of conversation pained him, and he wished he had spent more time practicing the dialogue of a man and a woman instead of availing his life to the killing of Wes Cauble. And even more bedeviling, for the first time in his life, he was thwarted and unable to shoot his way out of a difficult situation.
"Is everything all right, Mr. Carrigan?" Susannah asked, worried.
Carrigan sensed disappointment in her voice and envisioned her downcast eyes but still refused to toss even the slightest glance her way. "It's delicious," he said with a fair amount of formality and distance. His eyes firmly fixed on the table.
"Well, there's more if you want."
Carrigan nodded, confused that he could be so cold to one who had done nothing more than care for him. He despaired for a quick fix to his uneducated deportment.
"And you eat all of yours, Justus," Susannah sighed as she moved away, "because I've promised your labor to Mr. Carrigan for the rest of the morning."
A soft breeze from her dress brushed Carrigan's shoulder.
Carrigan frowned, distressed, aware that the moment had indeed passed. A sensation of sadness fogged his thoughts. You damned fool, he cursed silently.
"I'm a good worker," Justus announced. "I can do whatever you want."
Carrigan looked over at the boy and smiled, thankful for the rupture
in the insufferable silence between him and Susannah. "That's useful to know, Justus," he offered and then squeezed his right hand into a fist several times. "Because as good as your mom fixed my shoulder, it's still a might stiff." His declaration was purposely loud. He hoped she would understand that these words were the only ones available to a man such as himself. They were all that he had to convey his feelings.
"Eat up then, Justus," Susannah said softly. "I think Mr. Carrigan is eager to get to his chores."
Justus stared at Carrigan with wide-eyes and began shoveling food into his mouth.
Carrigan recognized the boy's excitement and nodded. "Your mother's right," he said. "We best start out before the morning gets away from us."
Justus pushed the last morsel past his lips and bounded from his chair. "I'm ready, Mr. Carrigan," he announced.
Carrigan smiled at the boy's bluster, rose, and reluctantly followed Justus to the door, all the while fighting an overpowering urge to turn and sweep Susannah up in his arms.
Twenty minutes later, Carrigan and Justus stood at the base of the oak from Carrigan's past. Carrigan carried a large coil of rope over his left shoulder.
"That's some big tree, huh, Mr. Carrigan?"
Carrigan's face contorted, pained, as he studied the reminder. The lone oak carried fervid memories not easily displaced from a man's mind, harsh reminders of the violent nature of the new Republic and its inhabitants.
"What do you need me to do, Mr. Carrigan?" Justus asked, enthusiastic.
Carrigan gazed into the dark foliage of the tree. Rotten strands of hemp, black and moldy, still adorned some of the branches. After several minutes, he exhaled a prolonged sigh and then slipped the rope off his shoulder. "What I need for you to do," he muttered, "is take this rope…"
Carrigan's words froze in mid-sentence.
Justus waited, anxious, and excited.
Awright, Deputy Miguel de Anza, are you ready to report for work?
"What, Mr. Carrigan? What do you want me to do with the rope?"
Carrigan looked down at the boy. He saw himself so many years ago, a boy holding a stringer of catfish. He dragged the back of his right hand across his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. His blood ran cold. Death appeared clearly in the darkness behind his lids, then faded and disappeared. He forced his eyes open. Justus stood, wide-mouthed confused. Putting that boy in the tree with a rope leaves little difference between you and them. Carrigan parted his lips to speak, then paused, then growled, "Justus, you get back to your mama right now."
"But, I'm supposed to help," the boy whined, suddenly confused.
"Now, Justus!"
"But…"
Carrigan's eyes blazed. "I'm telling you go! I don't need your help this morning."
Justus pushed his tongue part way out of his mouth, paused, then turned, and raced for the cabin.
Carrigan dropped the rope. His right hand tightened into a fist. Looking back into the tree, he wondered after all these years if his real anger with Wes Cauble was that the man had spared his life that day.
13.
Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,
September 1836
Wes Cauble and his vigilante brigade rode to the de Anza home at a leisurely pace. They were all smiles, their conversation lively. Miguel rode with Cauble, sitting partway in the brigade leader's lap. Cauble kept a firm but friendly hand on the boy's shoulder while lauding his tree climbing ability.
Miguel gazed ahead. A wide smile covered his face as he listened to Cauble's praises. He fiddled with his deputy badge, happy and secure, youthfully unaware of the wickedness surrounding him. As they approached the cabin porch, he turned and proclaimed to the lawman, "Mi casa."
Cauble patted Miguel's shoulder. "It surely is," he expressed with a smile and pulled rein on his horse.
The vigilante brigade followed Cauble's lead and reined in their mounts, stopping several yards behind the lead horse.
Miguel swiveled back. His mother rushed from the open front door, her face wrinkled and frowning. His father followed closely on her heels. "Mama, Papa," he hollered and pushed his badge forward. "Look."
His mother studied the men, sullenly.
Cauble tipped his hat. "Mrs. de Anza," he said, grinning.
Margaret de Anza, caught off guard at the sight of Miguel with the vigilantes, flashed an unwelcome snarl at the man she feared would return. Looking at Miguel, she extended both arms and motioned for the boy to join her on the porch. Miguel instinctively started to slide from his perch.
"Whoa, deputy," Cauble said in a low grit of a voice.
Miguel glanced back.
Cauble wagged his finger in Miguel's face. "No, no, no," he uttered with a raised brow. "You're not done just yet."
Miguel studied Cauble's face intently, and then looked back at his mother.
"What do you want here?" Eduardo de Anza asked and approached Cauble's horse.
Five hands rubbed holster leather simultaneously.
Eduardo ignored the men and reached for his son.
Cauble squeezed the boy's shoulder hard, holding him in place.
Miguel mouthed ouch and winced.
Eduardo stared straight into Cauble's eyes. "My son," he said and placed two hands around the boy's waist, before adding, "Please."
Cauble smiled and released his grip from the boy's shoulder.
Eduardo lifted Miguel from the horse's back and settled him on the ground. "Go to Mama, Miguel," he instructed. He watched the boy rush to his mother before turning back to Cauble. "What is it you seek here?" he asked.
Cauble clasped his fingers together and issued an exaggerated sigh, "Well, Señor de Anza, we have what you might call a dilemma."
Eduardo glanced up at Cauble, squinting. "I don't understand," he said.
Cauble unclasped his hands and pressed a finger against his lips. "Well, we…," Cauble drawled, then turned and pointed to his men. "My deputies and I have found stolen cattle on your land, Señor de Anza…Nanita's cattle…," Cauble paused, raised his eyebrows and with a slight shake of his chin, exhaled, "Grandma's cattle, stolen cattle, Señor. This is a very serious grievance."
Eduardo straightened. "Impossible," he replied, unwavering. "There are only de Anza cattle here."
Cauble clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and produced another circular badge from his shirt pocket. "Then, I'm going to need for you to follow us back down to the creek and identify some brands for me."
Eduardo stared at the shiny badge and inhaled a deep breath.
Cauble reacted to Eduardo's obvious annoyance by holding his badge at arm's length. "Mr. de Anza, surely you recognize the new Republic's laws and lawmen," he chuckled behind a wide grin. "After all, little Miguel here is a deputized member of the Lone Star Brigade."
The corner of Eduardo's mouth curled slightly. "Give me a minute to saddle my horse," he said and then turned to Margaret and mouthed, it's all right.
Cauble shrugged. "Take all the time you need Señor de Anza," he said in a thin dull voice and then added, "but saddle an extra mount."
Eduardo turned with a raised brow.
Cauble pointed at Margaret and Miguel. "We're going to take the missus and your boy along too," he remarked. Mock concern peppered his words. "I'd hate to leave them alone while we're gone…this is dangerous country, you know."
Three hundred yards south of the cabin, Eduardo eyed the creek bank and surrounding pasture. There were no cattle in sight. He glanced over at Cauble, suddenly unsettled. "Where are these cattle you spoke of?"
Cauble stepped down from his horse and started toward the stand of blood maples. "This way," he grumbled without turning back.
Floyd Daniels dismounted and motioned for Eduardo to do the same.
"Come on," Cauble insisted.
Eduardo looked at Daniels, then to Margaret and Miguel.
"You heard the colonel; move!" he ordered.
Eduardo glanced down at his waist and froze. The unsettling revelation t
hat he hadn't strapped on his gun this morning turned his belly cold.
Daniels pushed against his shoulder. "Move, Mex!" he ordered.
Eduardo started forward, painstakingly slow. As he entered the line of blood maples, he noticed Cauble standing in front of the lone oak tree on the river. The lawman's back was to him. As he drew closer, Cauble turned and smiled. In his hands was a perfectly tied noose. Cauble pulled taut against the knot.
Eduardo stopped and swallowed hard. The barrel of a flintlock gouged his back.
"Don't stop now," Daniels scolded with a slight nudge. "The colonel is waiting."
Eduardo looked at Cauble. "What is it you want?" he asked. Desperation sounded in each word.
Cauble ignored the question and looked at Floyd Daniels. "Bring his saddle over here," he said calmly and then added, "June, you keep a tight hold on the missus."
Eduardo craned his neck to glance back at Margaret. Standing behind her, the deputy squeezed a forearm tight into her neck and a flintlock pressed against her temple.
"Easy," Cauble interrupted the moment. He leaned in and grabbed Eduardo by his chin. "Keep your attention on me, Señor," he instructed and pulled Eduardo's chin face-front. "I wouldn't want there to be any misunderstanding between my deputy and your wife."
Eduardo growled, unable to restrain a vicious snarl.
Cauble's lip curled into an evil grin. "That's the way some folks get hurt in these parts."
14.
Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,
October 1848
Susannah stormed for the oak tree. An angry scowl covered her face. "Mr. Carrigan!" she fumed.
Carrigan turned on his heel.
Susannah slowed briefly, taken aback at his appearance. His face was pure granite and his eyes green steel. A sullen edginess exuded from his posture. Gathering her composure, she continued forward, gaining momentum with each stride. "What do you think you're doing?" she scolded with an accompanying wag of her index finger.
