by Mike Kearby
Carrigan's face hardened. The slender smile turned taut and grim. He reached over and cocked the Colt in Susannah's hands. "If anything happens to me… no matter large or small…don't hesitate…you shoot him with this Colt."
Susannah swayed. She thrust her left foot behind her for support.
Carrigan ignored her sudden weakness. "You know how to shoot a pistol, right?"
Susannah nodded slowly. "But nothing is going to happen?" she asked with wide eyes.
"He'll stand over me if he's faster. He'll want to put an extra slug into me for Floyd Daniels…that's when you shoot. You keep cocking the hammer and shooting until the gun is empty."
Susannah stared at the pistol in her hand. "And then what?"
Carrigan ran his tongue along his lower lip. "Then you get back to the cabin and get Justus."
"What if you're wounded and hurt?"
"You saddle my stallion and you and Justus ride west. You keep riding until you get across the border."
"Why don't we just get Justus and ride away now?"
Carrigan placed one hand on Susannah's shoulder. Desperation trembled in her voice. His eyes frowned. "I can't do that," he said firmly.
"You're willing to die even knowing that I would gladly ride away with you right here, right now?"
Carrigan let his hand fall from her shoulder.
"I wouldn't think any less of you as a man."
Carrigan cocked his ear toward the clearing, listening, and then said in a detached voice, "It's not about being a man, Susannah."
Susannah's lip trembled. "I don't want you killed," she uttered.
Carrigan leaned in close. His eyes glared green. "Then don't cause me anymore distractions," he snapped. "Killing is hard enough business when a man gives it his full attention."
Susannah bit into her lower lip, her eyes wide. The quivering stopped immediately. Her body went rigid. "All right, Carrigan," she snapped back with the bluster and ferociousness of a mama bear, "I'll keep shut of my feelings."
He lifted a hand toward her face as reassurance.
Susannah jerked away from his touch. Her face glowed serious. "No! Don't, Carrigan," she growled, "I'll do what you ask…but you better not get yourself killed this morning," and then added balefully, "least not until you have my boy safe."
17.
Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,
October 1848
With Susannah safely hidden, both Carrigan's instincts and stomach churned at a full gallop. He sprinted through the tree-lined shadows of the blood maples toward a crosscut parallel to the river looking right and left. Even though the maple stand offered shade and relief from the hot Texas sun, there was little cover among the widely spaced trunks. He raced along the uneven ground near the river trail until he spied a root ball from a felled maple. The base of the giant tree blocked any passage on the left side of the exposed stump. There, Carrigan thought. The root ball held a perfect circle of dirt and rocks in its nodes. It was a blind spot well suited for an ambush. I'll be able to see him enter but he won't be able to see me. On a dead sprint, he reached the protection of the roots just ahead of the mysterious rider. He prayed and hoped the man was indeed one of the Lone Star Brigade members.
June King gentled his pony into the stand of sun-riddled maples. The trees cast eerie, irregular shadows on the ground. The subdued surrounding caused the seasoned vigilante to fidget uncomfortably in his saddle. No stranger to bushwhacking, he kept a trained eye and careful ear on the shadowy trail. The silence in the trees inspired an uneasiness that fiddled in his chest, a deafening hush, complete in every respect except for the occasional snort from his horse.
After twelve years of burying his role in the events that occurred here, the memory was quick to rush back. Although he had killed more than a few men in his life, never once had he felt any remorse for any of his victims, except one, the wife of Eduardo de Anza. He remembered her fiery hair, combed and held neatly in a long ponytail. He remembered her scream that day, low, guttural, and animal-like. A rolling shiver swept across his shoulders and neck. He swiveled and glanced back furtively.
He knows you're the one who killed his ma.
"Stop it," he muttered under his breath.
He hasn't forgotten you, June.
The stark reality of his actions that day always brought one question to his mind, Why? There was never a good answer, only, Why?
You weren't such a bad man before you rode on with Cauble.
"Shut-up."
What is about him makes you get riled like a mean drunk?
"Shut-up."
The breed will never quit hunting you.
King raised his head, angry at his weakness, furious with his conscience. "To hell with it all," he muttered, "I was only following orders; anything else rests on Wes's shoulders."
Carrigan observed the rider's horse and smiled inside. Good, he smells the water, that should keep him from scenting me.
"Hello?" the rider called out to the silence. The man entered the trail hunched over his steed's neck.
Wood wrapped steel. The cool handle of Carrigan's Colt, rested securely in his hand. He watched horse and rider move cautiously past him.
"Anybody here?"
Carrigan squinted, studying the man carefully. A glimmer of recognition sparked in his head. He knew the cut of the man's jaw. The eyes of his mother's killer…cold, uncaring, laughing, flashed before him. His face dropped. He squeezed hard on the Colt until his knuckles whitened. June King, he snarled through closed lips.
King swiveled low in the saddle. "Hello?" he repeated, "I'm a deputy sheriff from Gonzales looking for the Morgan place."
Carrigan's gut told him King's posture was a sham. No one rides stooped like that. He's hiding something. His eyes followed the vigilante's left shoulder down to the wrist. King's hand was buried between his belly and his thigh. Carrigan's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed into slits. He's holding his gun there, he smiled, pleased.
"It's not my intent to frighten you," King continued to plead with a disarming chuckle. "I think I simply got off my trail."
Satisfied as to the rider's identity, Carrigan rose and walked from the shadow of the root ball. His steps were deliberate and soundless, and his posture tacit. The Colt extended shoulder-height from his left hand, aimed straightaway at King's back. "Way off the trail, deputy" he called out in a venomous deadly voice and fired the Colt at King's left shoulder.
King dropped like a bag of rocks from his saddle. The percussion, gunfire mixed with mortal moaning, filled the trees. King rolled on the ground, his back arched in pain as his right hand clutched his left shoulder. "Awwhhhg," he soughed.
Suddenly, Susannah appeared trance-like from behind the maple, her mouth agape and her eyes wide.
Carrigan tossed a brief glance toward Susannah's movement. Her face flashed repulsion and fear. He didn't allow his eyes to linger and walked quickly upon the downed King.
The deputy tried to rise. "What the…," he grunted. "You shot me in the back, mister!"
Carrigan ignored the remark and moved toward King's dropped pistol.
"You can't shoot a man in the back!" King raged.
Carrigan bent over and retrieved the Colt from the dirt. "Why, June, I never figured you for the sort put off by back shooting. Maybe with you its business best saved for women?"
King arched his back and with a low moan rolled to a sitting position. "Mister," he panted with little confidence. "You've got a lot of sand bushwhacking a deputy sheriff of the Lone Star Brigade."
Dazed, Susannah stumbled near King's side. Her gaze fixed on his shoulder wound.
Carrigan lifted his eyes at her. "Let's quit pretending, June," he rebuked the vigilante without looking away from Susannah. "You know who I am."
King rocked gently and scowled. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You rode here specifically to find me!" Carrigan spewed.
"I'm here to serve papers on the Morgan place."
&n
bsp; Carrigan pointed the Colt at King's right thigh and pulled the trigger. The gun roared, flipping King onto his left side.
Susannah jumped back, her hands covering her ears. "Ohhh!" she screamed over the gun's echo.
King wrapped both hands around his upper leg and screamed aloud. "Jesse!" he cursed. Spittle flew from his mouth. "You'll hang for this!"
Carrigan moved forward and straddled the vigilante. "You're a ways out of your jurisdiction to be serving papers, deputy," he replied flippantly.
"What are you doing?" Susannah muttered. Her head shook in palsy.
King turned his neck at her voice. His mouth sagged, and his face set red. "You!" he rasped and then swung his gaze at Carrigan. Foam boiled at the corners of his mouth. "Well, well," he grumbled, knowingly.
Susannah swallowed hard. "You need attending to, June," she said.
"Stay right there, Susannah." Carrigan ordered calmly.
King issued a pained smile. "I should've known," he panted, "Ain't this cozy, just the two of you, all alone out here?"
Carrigan tapped his boot against King's right knee.
The vigilante howled and tightened the grip on his wounded leg.
"How would a lost deputy know a woman by name in these parts, June?" Carrigan taunted the deputy.
King's chest heaved rapidly. He started to speak, but stopped and stared straight ahead.
"Embarrassing isn't it, June?" Carrigan kept up his carping, baiting the deputy to reveal anything about Wes's plans. "Caught by a half-breed, the boy you let go so many years ago, the boy whose mother you shot down like a dog. How does that feel to a big man…a cold-blooded lying killer like you, June?"
King ignored the razzing and tightened his mouth in a grimace before shouting back, "Listen! I didn't want to shoot your ma, boy, but she shouldn't have grabbed Floyd's knife. That's what caused her end," he rambled.
Carrigan leaned in close and thrust the barrel of his Colt into King's forehead. "But you did shoot her, didn't you, June?"
King grimaced, a brief hint of remorse showed in his face. "And I've lived with it for a long time."
Carrigan's face twisted. He wanted King to suffer slow and deliberate. He placed a spur on King's right thigh and ground the neck into the deputy's gun wound.
King shrieked in pain.
"You think you've lived with it longer than me, June?"
"Awwwhhh!" King cried. Tears welled in his eyes.
"You think you deserve some forgiveness, June?"
Susannah gasped and covered her mouth. Her stomach lurched upward with a dry heave.
Carrigan's eyes went slack. He realized Susannah had caught a glimpse of the real Carrigan. He could see the repugnance painted on her expression. In his belly, he cursed King and Wes Cauble.
King held his thigh tightly and rocked side to side. "Go ahead and do it," he uttered and then added, defiant, "Maybe I deserve it, but no matter what you do here today, Wes and the boys will still hunt you down and string you up the same way we hung your daddy!"
Carrigan's lips went taut. His fingers tightened on the trigger.
"Go on, half-breed!" King screamed, suddenly crazed. "Show the woman who you really are!"
Carrigan glared green hate. His thumb cocked the hammer. "You shut your mouth, King!" he snarled. "Shut it now or I'll…"
"No," Susannah straightened and pleaded loudly. "Don't do it. Don't do it, Carrigan. Then softer. "Don't become like one of them."
Carrigan's eyes drifted up. He fixed his gaze on her countenance, but she glanced away unable to keep his eye. Carrigan's lips drew taut. The sad realization that he had lost her closed in on him. His trigger finger twitched. He snarled and then slowly lowered the gun.
King relaxed. Blood flowed freely from both of his wounds. "It's kind of funny," he mumbled, "All my life I've been a decent and good man, least ways until I met Wes."
Susannah shuddered and exhaled a whisper of breath.
"It's all Wes's fault…I should've never listened to him."
Incensed, Carrigan grabbed King by the left shoulder and yanked the deputy to his feet in one movement. "I'm going to let you live, June, only because I need you to take a message to Wes," he hissed and pushed the twice-shot man toward his horse.
King stumbled forward. "What the…," he screamed, "What are you doing?"
Carrigan grabbed the deputy by the collar and ground the man's face into his saddle's left fender.
King's face glowed in surprise at Carrigan's violence. "You're plum loco!" he shouted.
Carrigan stopped and pulled back on King's collar. Raw anger caused his heart to race and buck like an unbroken colt. He studied the man's face and fought back the urge to smash a fist into the deputy's mouth. Hesitating briefly, he gathered his breath and then roughly poked a finger into the deputy's shoulder wound.
"Ahhh! Hey!" King hollered.
Carrigan pulled his finger from the gunshot wound and gazed at the deputy's blood. Satisfied as to the color, he grabbed King by the belt and forcefully threw him up into the saddle.
King landed hard and collapsed forward with his face rested against the horse's neck.
Carrigan took the horse's reins, wrapped them around King's wrists, and then bound the vigilante to the saddle horn. "That ought to hold you," he growled.
King rolled his head toward Carrigan. "You can't do this," he slurred.
Carrigan ignored the vigilante and turned the horse's head east. "You don't look so well, June, but I reckon you've got just enough blood in you to make it to Gonzales," he whispered matter-of-factly. "When you get there, you tell Wes, I'm still waiting for him on the Arroyo de la Soledad."
"You're crazy," King wheezed. "I told you I was sorry."
Carrigan took a deep breath and leaned in close to the wounded deputy. "You tell him his woman is here," he stated as provocation for the Lone Star leader, "You tell him," Carrigan ordered then slapped the horse's rump with an open palm. The startled animal whinnied off in a flash.
Susannah watched the horse bound away.
"You tell him!" Carrigan screamed, maddened.
Susannah took a short labored breath and hurried for the trees opposite Carrigan.
Carrigan turned at her movement. "Susannah," he called to her disappearing shadow, "wait…let me explain."
"It's too late for explaining," she sobbed.
Carrigan started to call out once more, but decided better and held his tongue. A dull ache throbbed in his chest and neck. His mouth hung open, empty of words. He knew that anything he said now would be worthless, and any argument he presented already lost. He braced the heels of his boots into the sandy soil. The image of her fleeing expression, one of horrified revulsion startled him. His stomach tightened in the somber realization that the only thing left to him was to watch her leave.
Never looking back, Susannah raced for the cabin, screaming. "You stay away from me and my boy, Carrigan!"
18.
Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,
October 1848
Carrigan stood in the doorway of the family cabin. Inside, near the fireplace, Susannah held Justus behind her back. A strange, frightened, yet dangerous look shone in her eyes.
"Susannah."
"Don't come any closer," Susannah snarled.
"I didn't want you to have to see that," Carrigan stumbled awkwardly. The disposition of his case, guilty on all charges, shone through Susannah's eyes. He fumbled to present his defense to her, but in the end he was only left with pleading, "I couldn't handle the play any other way."
Susannah shook her head and gripped Justus tighter. "I don't want to hear your explanations. I used to listen to Wes's same excuses," she pronounced. Each word rose in tone. "You!" she cried, "You! I thought…"
Carrigan made no attempt at an answer. He was empty.
"I thought you might be different," she said, "I thought the way you looked at Justus that you might," her voice dropped to a whisper, "be a man he could look up to."
Car
rigan held out an open palm, still voiceless. He blinked through hurt eyes, unsure of how to apologize and make things right again.
"I thought someone who had been through so much," Susannah choked, "would understand that justice handed out at a man's back is no kind of justice at all."
Susannah's words struck a nerve. Carrigan flashed red cheeks at the word, justice. "Would you rather that I just let King kill me, then you and maybe Justus?" he asked, his anger now building.
"No, I didn't want him to kill you," Susannah replied, incredulously. "I wanted you to capture him… bind him over to the law…let him have a fair trial…but not shoot him in the back."
Carrigan dropped his hand, suddenly not wanting nor needing her absolution. His mother lying dead in the dirt, his father hanging inches off the ground, incited the beast inside of him to lash out. "Law? What law is that, Susannah? The law that allowed June King to shoot my own mother in the back?"
Susannah threw a fist to her mouth and inhaled deeply. "That was before, not now, not today," she sobbed.
Carrigan's voice rose. His jaw tightened. A jagged weariness dulled his eyes. "The law of a fair trial that my father got right before Wes and King hung him?" he asked. There was no gentleness in his voice.
"What they did wasn't right, but that gives you no right to act just like them," Susannah shot back.
"It gives me every right, Susannah," Carrigan uttered tensely. "It's easy to be law-abiding and follow your conscience from a distance where the violence can't affect you, but up close, well that's much harder, especially when it's some of your own being murdered. How many other men and their families have Wes and his boys killed for soil and beeves?"
Susannah's mouth formed an answer, and then paused, hesitant to go further.
Carrigan didn't wait for a response. "How many do you need dead before I can act?"
Susannah pushed her tongue out of her mouth and inhaled. "I don't want anyone else dead, and I don't want anymore violence."
Carrigan dropped his head for a fraction of second, considering her words. He looked up from the brim of his hat. "It's a little late for that," he snapped.
