by Mike Kearby
Carrigan met her gaze. He studied her bearing but chose not to answer her question. He remained rigid and solemn.
"You answer me!" Susannah screamed.
Silence.
"You may think you can just stumble into my life and then cast me aside, but not my boy, not without some accounting!"
Carrigan set his jaw hard, realizing this wasn't about the boy.
Susannah stormed within six inches of Carrigan. She studied his rugged features carefully, intently searching for some likeness of the man she had seen earlier, but instead all she now found was an illusion, a semblance of John. The reality of Carrigan the man infuriated her more. "What is it?" She demanded, her face flush.
Carrigan shifted his eyes ever so slight to the left and looked away from her.
"Don't you look away!" she ordered. Anger twisted her lips into a bramble. "What did I do wrong?" she muttered, her voice lower now. "What do I always do wrong with you men?"
Carrigan glanced back but remained silent, his expression unchanged.
Susannah moved closer. "Tell me, tell me what I did wrong?"
Carrigan stared through her at the bluff behind. "Get back to the house," he breathed in a low, ominous voice.
"Oh…no," Susannah spat. "I am not leaving until you answer me…until you tell me what I've done!"
Carrigan tilted his eyes down. "Susannah," he said, deliberate and hard-edged. "Go back to the cabin."
Susannah stared at him in disbelief.
Carrigan raised his eyes, unblinking, resolute. His gaze returned to the bluff once more.
Susannah ground her teeth together. The veins in her neck pulsed angrily. Truth replaced the vision of John. "I was a fool to think that you could be…," she paused and slapped an open palm against Carrigan's chest, angrier now, "You're no better than Wes," she sobbed and then in growing anger, uttered, "It must be this country, so large, so grand, that makes you men become so afflicted with violent madness."
Carrigan inhaled a tortured breath, stung to the core by her words. "Go," he exhaled.
Susannah trembled. "Not until you give me an answer," she snarled. "I deserve that from you."
Carrigan placed both hands on her shoulders; his eyes remained locked on the bluff behind her. He fought against the smell of hair and the desire to gaze into her eyes. His hands tightened against her slender frame.
Susannah lifted her face toward him, waiting, hoping for the answer she wished to hear.
Carrigan met her gaze briefly and then slanted his eyes over her head again, his expression, suddenly far-off, cold, and dangerous.
Susannah trembled. She tried to twist out of his grip.
"Don't," he warned. "There's a rider on the bluff behind us. He's been watching us with a long glass ever since you arrived."
Susannah froze, startled. Her eyes drooped. "Wes?" she asked, deflated.
"I don't know," Carrigan replied. "But I figure at the very least it's one of his men." He turned his back to the rider and moved naturally to Susannah's side; his right arm wrapped tenderly around her shoulders. "You'll never make the house now," he whispered and motioned for her to move deeper into the maples.
Susannah struggled ahead, shaky, then pushed a fist against her mouth. "Justus!" she uttered.
"Don't worry about Justus right now, Susannah." Carrigan instructed with a quick glance over his shoulder. The rider had moved halfway down the bluff at a hard lope in the direction of the oak tree. "Whoever it is seems very intent on us right now."
Susannah started to swivel her head back toward the bluff. Carrigan caught the movement and quickly moved his hand up from her shoulder. "Don't," he warned roughly and using two fingers guided her chin back around. "Right now, we're just two people taking a walk along the river. We don't want our friend back there to think otherwise."
Susannah shuddered a trembling breath and nodded slowly. "Please don't let them hurt him," she whispered, pleading. Her voice, only minutes earlier, strong and self-assured now fluttered in anguish.
Carrigan squeezed his lips together until the corners turned white. He recognized the fear in her voice. He knew the uncertainty of life or death on this land. "I won't," he promised, suddenly reminded of why he had ridden a solitary trail for so many years.
15.
Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,
September 1836
Floyd Daniels dropped Eduardo's saddle at the feet of Wes Cauble. "Now what?" he asked.
Cauble smiled at Eduardo coldly and pointed below the saddle's horn. "Floyd, take your shotgun and blow a hole into the gullet," he said and then glanced back at King. "Hold onto the missus, June, and don't let her go."
"Why do you do this to me and my family, Señor?" Eduardo gulped. "What could we have possibly done to you?"
Cauble trained his pistol on Eduardo. "Go on, Floyd," he instructed and then leaned in close to his captive. "Done?" he whispered while allowing his gaze to fall on Margaret. "Your only sin is you're a Mex. But here in Texas…today, well that's a mighty big sin, Señor." Cauble pulled his head back and glanced at his deputy. "Now! Floyd."
Daniels shrugged and pointed the shotgun barrels just below the saddle horn. Looking up at Cauble, he pulled both triggers simultaneously. The gun bucked and roared with a loud percussion. Overhead, a murder of crows fled the trees in a black mass. Distinctive caws sounded their distress.
Cauble lifted his chin and stared at the shotgun's handiwork. "Good," he said in response to Daniel's work. "Now keep your pistol on him."
Eduardo looked back at Margaret. "Don't make my wife and child watch this," he pleaded.
Cauble grinned at the woman. "You want to beg for your man's life, ma'am?"
Margaret's eyes blared red at the words. She rolled her attention to Eduardo.
"Don't, Margaret," he trembled softly, "It is what he wants."
Margaret glared at Cauble. "What do you want to hear?" she asked. Unmistakable anger peppered her voice.
Cauble smiled. "I don't know ma'am, he's your man. You tell us why his sorry Mex hide is worth saving."
"What is it, Mama?"
Margaret broke off her stare and glanced down at Miguel.
"What are they doing to Papa?"
She swallowed hard and turned back to Cauble. "I'm begging you, don't do this thing," she uttered softly while stroking Miguel's hair. "He is the father of our son."
"Margaret! No!" Eduardo struggled against Daniel's grasp. "No more!" he ordered.
"Please," Margaret begged. "Take the cattle. Take the ranch. I don't care. Take it all."
Daniels began laughing. "Boy, you sure had this one figured all wrong, Wes. She sure enough ain't the hellcat you reckoned her to be."
Cauble slipped the noose over Eduardo's head. He looked at Floyd and shrugged. "Had me fooled; that's a fact," he replied businesslike, and then cinched the noose tight.
"No!" Margaret screamed at Cauble's action. She twisted and squirmed in King's grip, desperate to be free.
Cauble watched solemnly before nodding at King.
The deputy released his hold and stepped back.
Margaret dropped to her knees and bowed her head. "Wait, wait, wait, don't, wait…please!" she cried. Her words were scattered and disordered.
Cauble shook his head and turned away from Margaret's display. "Tie the Mex's hands behind him, Floyd," he barked and then glancing at King, added, "If Eduardo struggles with Floyd, shoot the woman, then the boy."
Margaret glanced up, wide-eyed.
"What is it, Mama?" Miguel asked, louder now.
Eduardo exhaled, hesitated briefly then pushed his hands behind him, compliant. "I love you, Margaret. Take care of our son," he proclaimed.
Cauble reached down and grasped the loose end of the rope. He pulled against it several times to test its strength. "We're ready here," he announced, glancing at his remaining deputies. "Let's get this cattle thief off the ground."
"No – ohhh," Margaret garbled, choked on Cauble's order. "Noooo
."
The deputies began hoisting Eduardo up in slow, calculated tugs.
Margaret crawled toward Cauble begging, "Pleaseeee."
Cauble looked at the beaten woman, "What's that, ma'am?" he asked while holding an open palm against his right ear.
Miguel trailed after his mother trying to pull her up. "Get up, Mama," he pleaded.
Eduardo was now thirty feet off the ground, twisting and strangling ever so slow.
"He's really up there," Cauble laughed.
Margaret turned her green eyes upward. She watched in horror at Eduardo's flailing legs. Miguel fell beside her.
"Get up, Mama."
She looked at her son and offered the briefest of smiles, then jumped to her feet, panther quick.
"Wha - ," King muttered, surprised.
Enraged, Margaret grabbed Daniel's knife from his waistband as she rushed Cauble.
"Hey!" Daniels hollered, and then turned to his boss. "Watch out, Wes, she's got a knife!"
Cauble wheeled, bending his upper body away from flashing steel. The blade scratched against his wool shirt. "You whore!" Cauble cursed. His eyes turned murderous. The old memories, brutal and cruel, surged forward. He pulled his fist back. "Appears you didn't learn the lesson I gave you and your Mex boyfriend years ago."
The loud concussion of a flintlock scorched the air.
Startled, Cauble stopped. He looked past Margaret at King. A cloud of smoke enveloped the barrel of the deputy's outstretched pistol. Cauble squinted and looked back at Margaret. Her face was ghostly white. She blinked twice before collapsing into the dirt.
"Mama!" Miguel crawled to her side. "Mama," he cried in her ear.
Cauble and King stared at one another. Wes nodded his thanks, then shouted at the deputies holding Eduardo above the ground, "Let him go!"
The men released the rope. The line began to roll through the series of oak branches slowly lowering Eduardo's thrashing body. As Eduardo sank toward the ground, his saddle started up, adding just enough resistance to keep the rope taut on his neck. High in the tree, the saddle struck the stair-stepped branches of the oak leaving Eduardo dangling a foot above the ground. He struggled desperately for a swallow of air, all the while gazing down at Miguel.
"Mama," Miguel continued to try to wake his mother. "Mama, get up, we need to help, Papa."
Johnny Matthews erupted with a sidesplitting laugh. "Hey little deputy," he called to Miguel and pointed past the shock-stricken boy. "Your papa's calling you."
Miguel glanced back, horrified and paralyzed.
Eduardo, his face a deep purple, struggled to push a toe into the just out-of-reach earth.
Cauble sidled face to face with the strangling man and ran an open palm up and down the rope. "It's called a dead-man's saddle, Eduardo," he said with a black grin and stared high into the oak branches. "Whoo," he whistled. "I bet you're praying that one of those branches splits. I know I would be."
Spittle choked from Eduardo's mouth, and his tongue pushed in and out rhythmically. After five agonizing minutes, his eyes locked opened and glazed over.
Cauble ignored the death sign and continued to talk. "But it's oak; those limbs don't break so easy."
One last gasp of air, guttural and grisly, whistled from Eduardo's lungs.
Cauble pursed his lips and looked down at the corpse. He wrinkled his brow and pushed on the lifeless body causing it to wobble and swing in a macabre circle. Glancing back at his deputies, he remarked, "Appears Eduardo has run out of things to say."
Floyd Daniels coughed in laughter and then placed the toe of his boot against the side of Margaret's temple. He rocked the woman's head back and forth with disrespect. "This one's run out of words as well, Wes," he guffawed.
The whole bunch chuckled at the joke.
Cauble suddenly turned serious and stared in the direction of the cabin. "All right, let's get what we need from the house, and then we start re-branding de Anza's cattle," he ordered.
As the group turned toward their horses, an inhuman shriek broke the moribund silence.
"Awhhggg!" Daniels screamed and collapsed slightly on his left leg.
Cauble wheeled, pistol in hand. Daniel's knife was buried to the hilt in his own boot. The deputy was dancing a wild jig, obviously in a great deal of pain. Cauble hesitated momentarily then laughed aloud.
The others joined in the merriment. June King began clapping his hands together as if calling a dance.
"You little…," Daniels cursed the boy. "I'll kill you, you half-breed son-of-a!"
Miguel ignored the threats and knelt over his mother, sobbing.
"Looks like the little deputy picked up where his mother left off, Floyd," June King hollered over the laughter.
Daniels reached down with a grimace and extracted the knife from his blood-soaked boot; his eyes fixed in a death stare on Miguel. "Blazes and Jo-fire!" he swore, pained, and then grabbed a handful of Miguel's hair. "You think you're tough, boy?" he screamed, enraged. "I'll show you what tough is!"
Miguel flailed at Floyd's mid-section. "Let me go!" he screamed.
Daniel's eyes narrowed into black slits. "I'll let you go," he hissed and then ran the knife blade from the corner of Miguel's left eye all the way to his jaw.
Miguel shrieked like a wounded animal as blood welled in the gash.
"With a little something to remember me by," Daniels laughed hysterically. Slinging the knife to the ground, he looked at King and shouted, "Gimme your pistol!"
King handed over his flintlock.
"Yeah!" Winston Brand laughed, excited. "Shoot that, little Mex!"
"Floyd," Cauble said softly.
Daniels placed the gun against Miguel's temple and cocked the hammer.
Miguel flared his nostrils in defiance and stared ahead, unafraid.
"Floyd, let him go," Cauble ordered, calmly.
Floyd squinched his eyes and pushed the gun further into the boy's head.
Cauble rested his pistol over his left arm and aimed at his deputy. "I'm not telling you again, Floyd. Let him go."
Daniels kept his focus on the trembling Miguel. "He stabbed me, Wes. I can't let him get away with that," he muttered.
"You're the one who let his mama grab your knife. I ought to shoot you for that alone. Now holster your gun and let him go."
Daniels glanced at Cauble, surprised. "It's not right, Wes. I'm owed some justice here."
"We don't shoot children, Floyd. Let him go."
"We've done worse."
"Let him go, Floyd."
Daniels took a deep breath and pushed Miguel onto his mother's lifeless body. "I'll see you again, boy!" he screamed.
"Get out of here!" Cauble ordered the boy, "Run to Mexico before I change my mind."
Miguel scrambled from atop his mother, glared at Daniels, and then raced for the river…the vigilante's faces burned indelibly into his memory.
June King laughed at the fleeing boy. "Run little half-breed," he shouted at Miguel's back. "Run back to Mexico!"
Daniels dusted his pants and glared angrily at Cauble. "You should have let me kill him, Wes. That one will make trouble later."
Cauble flashed a crazy half-smirk. "I don't think so, Floyd. It wasn't his fault that his momma married up with some charro. Besides, he's going to grow up knowing that he was the one who placed his own daddy's hanging rope in the tree."
June King raised his brow at Cauble's assessment. "Wes is right, Floyd. Little Miguel is going to have more demons than the Lone Star Brigade to deal with for the rest of his life…that is if he survives on his own in this country."
Daniels seethed silently as the boy ran for the river.
"All right," Cauble broke the silence. "That's enough fun for now. Let's get those cattle brands turned."
Daniels, still maddened at his embarrassment was slow to follow the others. "Run, little Mex!" he screamed at the fleeing figure, "Run!" and then mumbled to Cauble, "You watch, we'll see that boy again. I'll promise you that."
Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,
October 1848
Carrigan hurried Susannah into the stand of blood maples along the river. Once hidden in the tree's shadows, he stopped and placed Susannah behind the largest maple trunk. Grasping her by both shoulders, he stared deep into her eyes. "Susannah," he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice ice cold. "In about three minutes, that man is going to ride into this thicket." Carrigan shot a quick glance back to check the rider's location.
Susannah tilted her head slightly. Her eyes wrinkled in confusion. "Justus. What about Justus?" she maundered.
Carrigan made a face and pressed his thumbs into her shoulders. "Listen to me…" he commanded.
"What if Justus decides to come down to the river…to look for us?"
Carrigan tightened his jaw. She's in shock. Regret shone in his eyes. He shook her furiously and took a quick breath. "Listen to me!" he shouted, and then lowered his voice to a whisper. His words were direct and deliberate. "There's a man riding down here…more than likely, he's from Wes's crew."
Susannah blinked. "One of Wes's men?" she mumbled.
Carrigan nodded and eased his grip. "Yes, One of Wes's vigilantes. And when he sees me, he's going to go for his gun."
Susannah inhaled. Her eyes cleared. "What do we do?"
Carrigan drew a quick breath, relieved that Susannah seemed back in the moment. He lifted the Colt from his right hip and handed her the gun. "I want you to stay hidden behind this tree, understand?"
Susannah gazed at the long-barreled pistol. "Why do I need this?" she asked without looking up. "Nothing is going to happen…right?"
Carrigan pressed his lips against one another. He wanted to smile at her…tell her she was beautiful crying, beautiful frightened, beautiful angry. He wanted to walk with her, smell her hair, and watch her smile. The thinnest of smiles cracked his lips.
"Right?" Susannah asked again. Her voiced choked with anxiety. "Tell me nothing is going to happen to you," she demanded.
