Ethan swung into the roan’s saddle. “I’m borrowing your horse, Gerard.”
Turcotte nodded curtly. Rachel stepped close, eyes wide in fear. “Be careful,” she whispered.
He nodded and gently cupped her cheek with his hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised. Then he pulled the roan around and raced into the night.
Chapter Five
Despite his hurry, Ethan soon realized he couldn’t push the roan over the dark trail without risking serious injury to either him or his mount. Forced to a walk, it took most of the night to reach Sundance.
It was still dark when he rode into town. The jail sat on the corner of Hide and Culver Streets, half a block north of the Bullshead. Leaving his horse at the rail, Ethan tried the front door. It was locked, so he knocked, keeping at it until he finally heard movement inside. A moment later, a sleepy voice asked who it was.
“Ethan Wilder.”
That brought a drawn-out silence.
“Who’s in there?” Ethan demanded, growing impatient.
“Ralph Finch.”
Finch was a warehouse man for the Diamond T Freight Company, but deputied part time when the sheriff was short-handed. Finch was a tall, gangling man in his mid-thirties, bald, perpetually flushed, prone to taking his authority a little too seriously, in Ethan’s opinion. Especially with those who were easily cowed.
“Open the door, Finch.”
“There’s no Bar-Five brand on me, Wilder. I don’t have to do a damn’ thing I don’t want to.”
“Open the door or I’ll put a brand on your ass.”
There was another long silence, then the bolt slid back and the door swung inward. Ralph Finch backed away from the entrance, a double-barreled shotgun clenched in his fists. His feet were bare, his fringe of short hair disheveled above one ear from the pillow. Ethan thought he looked scared but determined.
“The only reason I’m doing this is because Jeff said you might be by, and that, if you were, I should let you see your brother.”
“Put that scatter-gun away first. Nervous as you are, you could easily pull a trigger without meaning to.”
“It would bode badly for you if I did.”
“It’d bode a hell of a lot worse for you when Jeff heard about it.”
Finch lowered the shotgun but didn’t set it aside.
Ethan stepped inside, elbowed the door shut. “Where’s Jeff?” he asked.
“Sheriff Burke took off again just before dark, lookin’ for that other brother of yours.”
“Joel?”
“Uhn-huh. He was back again last night pesterin’ Lou Merrick’s little girl. Lou says he slapped her around some more, then rode out.”
“That sounds pretty flimsy,” Ethan said, scowling.
Finch shrugged. “It don’t matter to me what it sounds like. I’m just here to make sure Ben stays locked up.” He smirked, nose crinkling with delight. “It looks to me like you Wilders are about to get cut down a few notches.”
Ethan ignored the remark. “Why’d Jeff arrest Ben?”
“Because Ben shot your pa. Not that anyone’s especially surprised. Lotsa folks figure one of you boys should’ve done it a long time ago.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Who says Ben shot Pa?”
“He was seen running away from the crime. They heard the shot. Wasn’t no one else around who could’ve done it.”
“Who heard the shot?”
“Some fellas out there to talk to your pa.”
“What fellas?”
“Some guy wanting to buy . . .” Finch’s voice trailed off. “Look, they saw Ben hightailing it out the back way, guilty as all get out.”
“And they could tell that by the way he sat his horse?” Ethan asked contemptuously.
“I wouldn’t know,” Finch replied, his face turning even redder than normal. “That’s what they said when they brought him in.”
Ethan could feel a helpless rage building within him. He wanted to smack Ralph Finch upside his head, to demand names and details, but he also didn’t want to give the snide little deputy the satisfaction of seeing him lose control. Unbuckling his gun belt, he set it on Jeff’s desk. “I want to see Ben.”
Finch jerked his head toward a rear door. “You know the way,” he said smugly.
Ethan gritted his teeth as he pushed through the door to the cell-block. Although it galled him deeply, Finch was right. Ethan did know the way. He’d awakened inside the Sundance jail about as many times as he had in Ira Webb’s trough, back when he thought he had the world by the tail.
There were three cells along the rear wall, a lamp at the far end dimly illuminating the last cell, where Ben lay sleeping. Walking to the strap-iron cubicle, Ethan kicked at the heavy door.
Ben jumped to his feet with a squawk, blinking owlishly at his surroundings until he spotted Ethan. Then, with a whoop, he rushed forward. “Dang it to hell, big Brother, where you been?”
Ethan waited until Ben was close, then reached through the bars to grab him by his vest.
Ben howled in surprise when Ethan yanked him forward, slamming him into the iron grating. He began to curse when Ethan did it a second time. He tried to pull free but Ethan wouldn’t let go. Finally he managed to wiggle out of his vest and stumble backward, out of Ethan’s reach. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he shouted.
“You bull-headed, stupid son-of-a-bitch,” Ethan said harshly. “I told you to head for the high country. Instead, you’re caught skulking around home like a thief.”
“Aw, hell, Ethan, what was I gonna do at Elk Camp? Chop wood?”
“Yeah, that would’ve been something useful. What did you think you were going to do down here?”
“I wasn’t gonna stay. I just wanted to slip in and borrow Pa’s rifle while . . .”
“You came back to steal the same damn’ rifle that got you into trouble with Pa to begin with? What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Quit yellin’, dang it. I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“That’s why Burke’s got you locked up in here? Because you didn’t do anything wrong?” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Inside the cell, Ben’s eyes were growing moist. “All right, tell me what happened.”
Ben shrugged. “I was coming back to borrow Pa’s rifle and I seen these jaspers poking around, so I slipped in quiet-like to see what was going on. One of ’em must’ve spotted me, because I heard a shout, and the next thing I knew they was all swarmin’ after me, hollerin’ like wild Injuns. I’d’ve probably got away, but I didn’t see one of ’em watching from the trees. He jumped out and my horse spooked and lost its footing. Next thing I knew, these fellas was all over me.”
“Was Burke with them?”
“Naw, they was all strangers.”
“What did they say?”
“They were sayin’ all kinds of things at first, like let’s hang him and let’s shoot him. Then one of ’em says no, we’ll take him in and kill two birds with one stone.” Tears welled suddenly in Ben’s eyes. He swiped at them with the back of his hand. “I didn’t do nothin’, Ethan. Lord A’mighty, I never even seen Pa. They had him all bundled up in a blanket by the time they got me back to the house. You gotta believe me.”
Ethan nodded grimly. “I believe you,” he said, but wondered if anyone else would.
Ben started to come close, then seemed to think better of it and stayed where he was, out of Ethan’s reach. “Finch says they’re gonna hang me. Says them land speculators saw the whole thing, and they’re gonna swear it was me, but that ain’t nothing but a bald-faced lie.”
“I know,” Ethan said gently. “Did you see anyone after you left home, or did anyone see you?”
“No, you was the last person I saw until I come back.”
“Where were you going after you stole Pa’s rifle?”
“Dang it, I wasn’t gonna steal it. I was just gonna borrow it, maybe take it over to the Blackfoot Reservation and show some of the boys.”<
br />
“Some of the girls, too?”
Ben grinned self-consciously. “Maybe Walks-in-the-Wind. She’s been smiling awful big when I ride past.”
Ethan smiled, too, in spite of his fear, then tipped his head forward against the cold iron bars of the cell. What had happened to the world, where a boy couldn’t show off a little for a girl and not get thrown in jail for murder?
“Ethan,” Ben said softly.
“Yeah?” He looked up.
“You’re not gonna let ’em hang me, are you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Ben mulled that over for a moment, and his expression gradually turned to fright. “What’s that mean? You saying you maybe won’t be able to stop ’em?”
“I don’t know, Ben. Everything’s happening so fast I haven’t had time to think.” He pushed away from the bars. “But, no, I’m not going to let them hang you. I’ll bust you out of here before I let that happen.”
“Maybe that’s what we ought to do, anyway,” Ben suggested.
“No, what we’re going to do is wait for Jeff Burke to get back. I want to talk to him . . . see how much trouble you’re really in. There’re some awful big holes in that net they’re trying to toss on you. Meantime, you do what Finch says, and don’t give him any sass.”
“Finch is a mean son, Ethan.”
“That might be, but he’s also the man who’ll bring you your breakfast in the morning. Don’t give him any reason to forget he’s supposed to feed you.”
Ben’s eyes widened at the thought that Finch could do just that, and there wouldn’t be a damned thing he could do to change it. Ethan left him like that, wide-eyed with the growing reality of incarceration, and everything that entailed.
* * * * *
Ethan waited until after sunup to go see Doc Carver. Carver’s wife, Claudia, opened the door.
“Hello, Ethan.”
“’Morning, ma’am,” Ethan said, removing his hat.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. Please, come in. I suppose you’d like to speak with the doctor?”
“Yes, ma’am, if he’s not too busy.”
“He’s dozing. He was up late last night, but he asked me to wake him if you or Victor came by.”
“Well, it’s me, and I’d like to ask him some questions if he’s got time.”
Short and graying, but still an able assistant to her husband’s practice, she stepped aside to allow his entry. “The doctor’s office is through there,” she said, pointing to a door all but hidden in the shadows of the parlor’s rear wall. “He’ll be in directly. And please, Ethan, don’t call me ‘ma’am’. Surely things haven’t deteriorated between our families to the point that we have to resort to such formality.”
“No, ma’am, I hope not.”
Claudia hesitated, then smiled. “Go on. I’ll wake the doctor.”
Ethan waited until she’d disappeared up a flight of stairs, then walked into Doc’s office. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the tiny bundle laid out on the examining table, wrapped in a white shroud. At first, Ethan thought it must be a boy lying there. Then he saw his pa’s boots and hat stacked beside a pile of folded laundry, and felt something like a fist grab hold of his guts and give them a hard twist. He walked over to the window and opened it, breathing deeply of the cool morning air. He remained there, staring intently outside, until he heard approaching footsteps, then turned as the door opened.
Doc Carver was a beefy man with kindly green eyes and a harried look that seemed permanently chiseled into his face. He had been one of Sundance’s earliest pioneers, and had always gotten along well with the Wilders, one of the few who would still willingly make that boast.
They greeted each other cautiously, then Doc glanced at the table. “Would you like to see him?”
“I reckon I ought to.”
Doc tugged the corners of the sheet loose, then pulled it down to Jacob’s waist.
Ethan felt a moment’s light-headedness as he stared at the diminutive form. He hadn’t realized how small his pa really was. He’d surely never seemed that way in life. The whiteness of Jacob’s flesh contrasted sharply with the weathered hue of his face and hands, while the pinky-sized hole in his chest seemed to stare back blankly.
“Is that where he was shot?” Ethan asked, his voice coming out more ragged than he would have liked.
“It is. The bullet struck his heart. If it’s any consolation, he probably died instantly.”
“It ain’t much,” Ethan admitted, licking at lips gone suddenly parched.
“No, I don’t suppose it is,” Doc replied sympathetically. He pulled the sheet over Jacob’s head. Motioning toward Ethan’s face, he said: “Would you like me to examine that?”
“What? Oh, this?” Ethan touched the side of his face gently. It was still puffy, but already feeling better. He credited Corn Grower’s special brew for that. “Naw, I’m fine.”
“All right. Well, I’ll need to keep the body here until Sheriff Burke returns, but I expect him later today. Have you made any arrangements regarding the funeral?”
“No, I just got in, but I reckon we’ll bury him at the ranch beside Ma.”
“I think he would’ve liked that.”
Ethan wondered. His ma had died shortly after Ben’s birth, complications from the delivery was the common belief—this was before Carver had arrived, or Sundance, for that matter—but Jacob had never said much about her in the years that followed. Her grave was on the hill behind the house, but it wasn’t maintained, and the headstone was just a river rock Ethan and Vic had hauled up there on their own. They’d scratched her name on it with a nail, but their scribbling had faded over the years until a person wouldn’t know it was there unless they looked close. Yet Ethan thought it was as good of a place as any to be buried, and he said as much to Doc, adding: “I’ll bring a wagon in tonight to fetch the body.”
“Will there be a service?”
Ethan shrugged uncertainly. “Who’d come?”
“I would,” Doc replied. “Claudia and I would be honored to attend your father’s funeral, Ethan. I suspect there are others in the community who still remember the assistance you Wilders gave us when we first moved into the valley.”
Ethan wasn’t as sure about that, but he was feeling too worn out to argue. “I reckon that’d be fine. I’ll go home and get a grave dug, maybe put on some beans and fatback for company . . . .”
“Nonsense! Claudia and some of the local women will furnish food. Dig the grave, Ethan, and I’ll pass the word. We’ll hold services tomorrow afternoon at the ranch, if that’s all right with you?”
“That’d be fine, Doc.” He started for the door, but Carver stopped him.
“You’ll want to bring his good clothes in with you tomorrow, Ethan. Those rags he was wearing when he was brought here are too shabby for the hereafter.”
Ethan smiled. “Those rags are his good clothes, Doc, but I’ll stop by Davidson’s later on and buy him something better.”
Chapter Six
It was a lonesome ride back to the Bar-Five. Ethan kept his borrowed mount to a walk the entire way, so lost in his own ponderings he didn’t even notice when the horse crested the bluff overlooking the ranch buildings and started down the winding track toward home. It wasn’t until the hollow thud of the roan’s hoofs crossing the crude plank bridge over Wilder Creek drew him out of his thoughts that he realized how oblivious he’d been. Ten years ago, such carelessness could have gotten him killed—an arrow in the back, a tomahawk through his skull. It seemed odd to think that the risks were no less today. Only the weapons had changed—a bullet through the heart, a noose around his neck.
Irritated with his negligence, Ethan reined up to study the buildings. The place looked forlornly deserted, and it occurred to him that it had for some time now. Maybe ever since his ma had passed away. It was a sad realization, and it pressed heavily on his shoulders—his parents dead, Ben facing a hangman’s rope.
&n
bsp; He dismounted at the front door and peeled the tack from the roan’s back, then hobbled the horse and turned it loose to graze. He was reaching for his saddle when a prickly sensation rippled across his scalp. He dropped the hulk and was grabbing for the Winchester when the front door flew open and a blurred figure rushed him.
Ethan tried to jump clear, but he was too slow. A pair of arms encircled him, the weight of his attacker bearing him to the ground. He landed on his back, the air rushing from his lungs. Catching a partial glimpse of his assailant’s face, he tried to cry out, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt himself being rolled onto his stomach, and jerked his face away from a pile of dried horse manure under his nose, fuzzy gray apples breaking apart with age. Getting his arms under him, Ethan heaved himself and his attacker to the side.
“Get off me!” he rasped.
“Not till you take a bite,” the man on top of him said, laughing.
“Dammit, Vic, get off!” He brought his elbow back, driving it sharply into his younger brother’s ribs. Vic grunted, and his grip momentarily loosened. Ethan tried to squirm out from under him, but Vic wasn’t ready to give up. He lunged, got his arms around Ethan’s waist, and forced him back to the ground. Ethan slammed the side of his fist into Vic’s ear, and Vic hollered and swung awkwardly, knuckles skidding harmlessly over Ethan’s skull.
“Vic!” Ethan shouted. “Vic, listen! There’s trouble.”
Vic stopped and sat back cautiously, not yet ready to believe.
“It’s Pa,” Ethan said. “He’s dead.”
“What?” Scrambling to his feet, Vic grabbed Ethan’s arm and hauled him up. “You better not be lying, Big Brother.”
“I’m not. Doc Carver’s got Pa’s body in town. Somebody shot him.”
The blood seemed to drain from Vic’s face. “What . . . somebody shot him? Who?”
“I don’t know. They’re saying Ben did it. Burke’s got him locked up now.”
“Ben? Lord, Ethan, that can’t be true.”
Wild Side of the River Page 6
