Dead Man's Saddle

by Mike Kearby

  Susannah leaned over and pulled Justus close, whispering, "No, let it go."

  Cauble narrowed his eyes and allowed a thin smile. His hand instinctively dropped to his gun handle. "Or what?"

  Justus strained forward, out of his mother's smothering grip. "Or I'll kill you myself," he uttered in a low, but distinct tone.

  Cauble moved his hand away from his holster and fixed a smug gaze on Susannah. He saw the stunned look drawn across her face. Reaching down, he grasped her by the upper arm and yanked her to her feet.

  Susannah offered little resistance, all of her focus locked on Justus. She blinked in disbelief at her son's outburst. She was appalled at the boy's anger, but most of all distressed at the violence displayed by her only child.

  Cauble leaned in close and smelled her neck, then with great self-satisfaction, whispered into her ear, "Appears the boy has more Cauble in him then you ever knew."

  Susannah winced and choked back a flood of emotions, the most of which was her own growing desire to see Wes dead.

  33.

  Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,

  October 1848

  Carrigan boiled in calm desperation. He placed the long glass back into the saddle pack and tried to arrive at a plan in which he, Susannah, and Justus didn't end up dead. At the cabin, tied to one of the cedar supports, was a gagged Justus. Lying in front of the boy was the body of Johnny Matthews, but Cauble and the other two were nowhere around.

  Always make your enemies come to you, muchacho.

  A chill of helplessness crept up Carrigan' spine. His skin prickled, covered with goose bumps.

  The man who runs after his enemy, rides hotheaded and without good thinking, that man always gets himself killed.

  Carrigan exhaled an agonized breath. A deep sadness welled behind his eyes. He lifted his head toward the sun and enjoyed its warmth on his face. His mind spun in slow deliberation, calculating Cauble's play.

  Carrigan turned toward the cabin. The preceding hours played out in his head. Turner tied Justus to the post. A Judas goat. Cauble loaded Susannah on the pony from Johnny Matthew's string. Brand hid in the cabin, expendable by Cauble's sense of loyalty.

  A glimpse of the future flashed, brief, yet vivid across Carrigan's mind.

  To face death on one's own footing is what makes a man's life interesting and valuable.

  He acknowledged the vision by checking the loads in both Colts. His back relaxed, and his breathing steadied. A grim smile tugged at his mouth. He knew Cauble well. He knew himself even better.

  Cauble's taken Susannah to the Oak tree.

  He checked his belt cartridges and grabbed the stallion's reins, prepared for the nastiness ahead, readied to kill those in his way. His pace quickened. He allowed the stallion to push even with him and mounted the moving pony effortlessly. Looking ahead toward the cabin, he recalled one of the lessons from his life as a bandit…Juan Negras's credo…the bandit's lament…

  Someday, we all find ourselves in that tree with a placard and a lariat around our necks.

  34.

  Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,

  October 1848

  Cauble slid the hangman's noose taut on Susannah's neck and then glanced over at Bark Turner. "Heck of a favor the half-breed did for us, leaving this rope strung and readied," he said and tied the rope off on a nearby maple trunk. "Too bad he didn't leave the saddle as well."

  Turner looked on in solemn silence.

  Susannah fidgeted uneasy. "You've gone completely crazy, Wes," she trembled and struggled against a loop of rope binding her hands.

  Cauble ignored the comment. "This ought to draw him in."

  "What about Winston?" Turner asked.

  Cauble glanced back up the trail and shrugged. "I reckon, Winston won't be smart enough or fast enough for the half-breed."

  Turner bristled at the harsh reality of the real Cauble. "You left him to die up there, didn't you?" he sighed. "You did, didn't you, Wes?"

  Cauble crossed the five paces to Turner quick as a cat. He stood toe-to toe with his deputy and looked down on the shorter man, staring, unflinching, eyes cold and mean. "He might get lucky."

  "Lucky!" Turner squealed in a long drawn out utterance. "He's our friend, Wes!"

  Cauble's eyes sank to Turner's gun belt and then back to the deputy's face.

  Stunned, Turner's eyes dropped. "Blazes, Wes," he whispered, acceding to the brigade leader's call, wondering, and then refusing to consider who the next expendable friend would be.

  Cauble's eyes brightened at Turner's acquiescence. "Heck, Bark," he laughed and slapped Turner on the shoulder. "Just be glad I didn't leave you back there."

  Turner's head jerked upright in wide-eyed stunned surprise panic. His heart raced at a gallop. A thought tugged at his lips, turned into words, and tumbled from his mouth, just barely a whisper. "He's just crazy enough to get us all killed."

  Cauble laughed aloud at Turner's distress and then rolled his head around. Still chortling, he stared at Susannah with a sinister glare. "But don't worry, Bark, because this strumpet is our ace in the hole. She's going to be the one that finally does our half-breed mongrel in."

  A hundred yards southeast of the cabin, Carrigan lay on his belly and looked through the telescope at the windows on either side of the cabin porch. He figured the right window offered a better view of the tied-up Justus for a would-be ambusher.

  You've been shot once from that window already this week.

  His throat tightened. His face paled, expressionless. He focused on the right-side window. And he knew.

  Brand is hiding there.

  He lowered the long-glass and glanced back to the southwest where Cauble waited with Susannah.

  Seems Cauble wants to keep your mind plenty preoccupied, hoping you'll think yourself into a mistake.

  Rising, he backtracked to the oak thicket where he left the stallion tied. Upon reaching the beast, he lifted the flap on his saddle pack, pulled out a handful of corn, and held an open palm below the stallion's nostril. The horse sniffed once and then greedily devoured the corn. "I'm going to leave you here for a while," he said and rubbed the beast's forehead in a soft, circular motion. "But I'll need you in running shape when I return." The stallion nickered once and exhaled, relaxed. Carrigan smiled, gave the animal one more rub, and then moved away, angling deeper into the oak stand, sufficiently riled and now determined to give Cauble a few things of his own to think about.

  Bark Turner sat on a maple stump mindlessly whittling on a small stick of dead mesquite when a gunshot, followed quickly by another, then one more, raced across the flat prairie south from the cabin. Turner tossed his gaze up quickly and instinctively reached for his pistol. "You hear that?" he asked Cauble.

  Cauble twisted his lower lip to the left and bit down on his flesh with his front teeth. "Course I heard that," he said caustically and then stared toward the cabin, squinting and wondering.

  Susannah twisted north. "Carrigan," she whispered, unsure, aflutter.

  Cauble looked back at his wife and snarled, "Shut-up, whore!"

  Turner rose and moved two steps toward the cabin. "What are you thinking, Wes?" he asked. Uneasiness sounded in each word.

  Cauble rubbed his chin and huffed an agitated breath. "I'm thinking someone's dead back at the cabin, Bark. What are you thinking?"

  Brand nodded and leveled his eyes on the brigade leader. "You think it's Winston?"

  Cauble glanced at Susannah and seethed. "You're wearing on my nerves, Bark!" he growled dangerously. "How in tarnation would I know who would be dead back there?"

  Spooked, Turner tossed his whittling to the ground and shot back, "Well what are we gonna do…just sit here?"

  Cauble removed his hat and slapped his thigh in anger. "We got no choice now but to sit here and wait," he cursed, "and be ready for whoever rides through those trees in the next few minutes."

  "What about Justus," Susannah choked, "What about my boy, Wes?"

  Cauble rushed t
o her side and jerked on the noose around her neck. "I told you to shut-up!" he threatened, lifting on the rope. "Maybe he's dead…along with your boyfriend!"

  "No, Wes, no!" Susannah moaned.

  Cauble looked back toward the cabin and inhaled a deep gulp of air. "Shut-up!" he shouted out to no one in particular. "Just shut-up!" A building ire burned inside him. His mind whirled dizzying fast. He drew his hands up to his temples. His chin fell and his shoulders drooped.

  Turner threw a hot glance at Susannah. She shook her head slowly from side to side. Turner looked back at Cauble and muttered, "Not now, Wes. Blazes…not now."

  Cauble pulled his gun and checked his rounds, suddenly oblivious to Turner and Susannah. "Maybe they're all dead, Ma," he chuckled. "Dead, dead, dead."

  Susannah looked at Turner. "Now's the time to get away, Bark."

  "Shut-up, Susannah," Turner replied. "This ain't the time to rile me."

  Susannah ignored the warning. "He's going to get you killed."

  "Shut-up!"

  "I watched Carrigan gun down, June. I was there."

  Turner bore a hard straight through Susannah. His mouth tightened.

  "He's as cold-hearted as they come, Bark. I watched him shoot June in the back and then the leg like it was nothing to him."

  Turner's eye's blazed red. "He ambushed, June, Susannah. It wasn't a fair fight at all."

  Susannah forced a grim smile. "That's what makes him so dangerous, Bark. He's just as comfortable killing a man in his sleep or shooting him in the back as facing him head-on."

  Turner clenched his jaw. "You're a mouthy one, Susannah. I understand now why Wes had to belt you around from time to time."

  Susannah shrugged, her mouth still holding an agitating smile. "He's not after me, Bark. It's you he'll want to kill next, you know, so he can save Wes for last."

  "Pow!" Cauble screamed. His mouth twisted in agony. "Pow, pow, pow."

  Turner looked over at his boss. "Wes?"

  Susannah stared at her husband. "He's not here with us, Bark. He's off in the ether, mad as an afternoon skunk."

  Turner cleared his throat and swallowed rapidly. "Not another word, Susannah or I swear…"

  "Woo!" Cauble screamed. He stared through Turner and looked toward the river. "Run home, little Mex! Go on before I change my mind and shoot down like June did your mama."

  Susannah turned away muttering just loud enough for Turner to hear. "Crazy enough to get the both of you killed, Bark."

  Turner started for Susannah with long deliberate strides.

  "Watch out!" Cauble pulled his gun. "It's the breed come for payback!"

  Turner wheeled back toward Cauble. "Where?" he asked suddenly panicked.

  Cauble was oblivious to his deputy's question, self-absorbed with his demons.

  "Where, Wes?" Turner asked again.

  Cauble turned an ear toward the west. In the far, far distance, a long, harrowing screech cut through the air. The scream brought a toothy snarl to Cauble's lips. The half-breed. Staring blankly ahead, his features twisted unknowingly into a grotesque mask of evil. Die slow, you son-of-a-mongrel, he reminded himself…remembering.

  Floyd.

  June.

  Cauble walked up to Miguel and pounded a well-placed fist into the half-breed's ribcage. Blood poured from Miguel's mouth.

  How's that, little deputy?

  "Please," Miguel begged. "Please stop."

  Wes pounded the ribcage again…and again…and again.

  Take up with my wife, did you?

  The half-breed's pleadings brought a smile to Cauble's lips.

  "Please, Wes!"

  The Lone Star Brigade leader trembled in rage as he pictured slamming the palm of his hand under Carrigan's chin, forcing the man's head up and back with a cruel crack.

  See that, half-breed? That's where we hung your daddy. That's his saddle. And that's where I'm going to hang you.

  Turner took a deep breath and turned toward Susannah. "You might be right, Susannah," he offered, "but right now, I'm betting that Wes is far more crazy dangerous than your half-breed could ever be."

  Three distinctive gunshots shook Winston Brand's catnapping - eyes open. The brigade deputy licked at his lips and swiped his brow with a shirtsleeve. "What the…, " he groaned and glanced out at the still tied-up boy. "Okay," he murmured and then glanced toward the maples and the hanging oak, wondering in uncertainty. "Blazes, Wes," he muttered beneath his breath. "You didn't tell me what to do if the breed come your way first. Tarnation! What am I supposed to do, Wes?" He glanced at the boy once more and then without thinking stuck his head further out the window listening for any sounds coming from the maple stand. "What am I supposed to do, Wes?" he cried aloud. "You didn't tell me."

  Back in the oak thicket, Carrigan lowered the telescope and smiled. "Thanks, Brand," he murmured and leaned back against a small sapling. He wanted to mount the stallion and ride for the cabin, anxious to end his business with Brand, desperate to save Justus and Susannah, but deep inside he knew the best thing he could do for now was let Cauble and his henchmen have a good sweat.

  35.

  Arroyo de la Soledad, Texas,

  October 1848

  "Wes," Susannah muttered, dry-mouthed. "I need water."

  Two hours had passed since the gunshots and there was no sign of either Brand or Carrigan.

  Cauble sat on a fallen maple trunk. He glanced at Susannah and laughed smugly. "You should have stayed in the kitchen cooking my food, instead of hitching your rope to the half-breed's cart."

  Susannah struggled against the noose, lifting her heels as high above her toes as she could manage. "Wes, just let me go. I'll get Justus and clear out. You won't ever see me again. I promise."

  Cauble laughed louder, further incensed by Susannah's pleading. "First you want to come home and now you want to run off and leave your new boyfriend."

  "Wes… "

  Cauble turned to Turner and shook his head. "Ain't that always the way with whores?"

  Turner gazed back and took a studied look at Susannah then turned to Cauble. "Maybe you should give her a little sip of water, Wes."

  Cauble stiffened, quickly enraged. "What? Have you gone soft, Bark? That whore gets nothing, do you hear me, nothing! I don't care how much she whines or carries on!"

  Turner cleared his throat and stared at the ground. "You want her alive when you kill the breed don't you?"

  Cauble rubbed his hands along his thighs, fuming, and then in a flash, he swiveled angrily to face Turner. "I ain't no innocent babe, Bark!"

  Turner fought to hold his boss's glare.

  Cauble tossed an angry snarl toward Susannah and then snorted at Turner. "I know what you're trying to do and it won't work."

  "I'm just saying…"

  Cauble exploded to his feet. His face and neck a deep red. "How do you know the half-breed ain't dead, Bark?"

  Turner pushed his hat back, scratched his scalp and muttered softly, "Because if he was, you and I both know Winston would be down here whooping and celebrating and banging his own drum to beat all."

  Cauble wheeled around muttering unintelligibly then paused before flinging his hat to the ground. "All right, curse you!" he screamed, furious. "But just one sip and that's all, Bark!"

  Susannah savored the small trickle of water that flowed down her parched throat.

  Turner watched the swallowing movement of her neck and then tipped the bladder away.

  Susannah's eyes widened as Turner lowered the bladder away from her mouth.

  Turner shook his head to indicate, no more.

  Susannah's eyes pleaded with the brigade deputy, desperate.

  Turner twisted his mouth, nervously and then glanced back at Cauble. The brigade leader's focus was north toward the cabin. Keeping his eyes on Cauble, Turner raised the bladder once more and tipped it toward Susannah's mouth.

  Susannah gulped greedily at the liquid.

  "I said one sip," Cauble uttered and then tossed a qui
ck glance over his shoulder at the pair. "One," he reiterated, pointing his index finger skyward.

  Caught red-handed, Turner nodded and turned away.

  But Susannah locked eyes with Cauble refusing to back off. She studied his set-up. One Colt holstered and another in his waistband.

  "Stare all you want. It won't change things that are fixing to happen here today," Cauble said in a frightening but calm voice.

  Susannah glanced away. She watched Turner loop the bladder string around his saddle horn. The deputy carried a pair of holstered pistols on his waist.

  "You know, you could have had a good life, you and Justus," Cauble whistled and turned away from the cabin with a flip of his chin. "But you could never be satisfied, could you?"

  Susannah held her disgust inside.

  "I loved you, you know," Cauble's voice softened. "Like no one else."

  Susannah shivered at the fake sincerity. She wanted to yell, I know you, Wes, and you aren't capable of loving anyone or anything, instead she bit her tongue and fumed in silence.

  "But you ruined it all, Susannah. It wasn't any of my doing."

  Susannah's heels drooped. She instinctively flexed her cramping toes against the soil as the noose tightened, ever so slight, but enough to induce a panic. She was choking. She panted rapidly, fighting to force air into her lungs.

  Cauble watched his wife struggle. He folded his arms across his chest, and his lips curled upward delighted at her predicament.

  Straining, angry, and scared, Susannah lifted her heels up, away from the ground and balanced on her toes once again.

  "Your problem, Susannah," Cauble continued. His face glowed in self- satisfaction. "Is you don't know how to love a man. That's the long and short of it."

  Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Susannah gushed out, "Why is it, Wes, that you think love must be a woman's total submission to you?"