by Rusty Davis
Kane tried to focus on the meaning and stared at Halloran closely. The Irishman cleared his throat and then resumed his story.
“Those Riders, they were powerful mad, Friend Badge, when you were gone, but then that Noonan gent came out and talked to that Wood man as though he was somebody that the Riders would listen to. So the tale was told to me, you understand. The Riders took off like bats. I heard the next day or two there were Riders watching like toll-keepers along the road to the fort, should some nosy soul seek to tell the army. No one did, Friend Badge, and Rakeheart has been quiet. No one quite knows where you are or if you are coming back. For your sake, I should hope you do what is right for all.”
“Who helped me?” he asked. Halloran didn’t answer.
“It was you and Tillie, wasn’t it?”
“If she was a man, Friend Badge, she would have cleaned up the town that night.”
Kane tried to take it all in. The Riders pulled the trigger, but it was his fault.
“You don’t understand what happened, do ye?” asked Halloran.
“I poked my nose where it didn’t belong,” Kane spoke.
Halloran rolled his eyes.
“He’s not as bright as he looks,” said Rachel, seeming to enjoy Kane being the target. “It’s all those colors he has on his face distracting his thinking.”
“Thought it was, dear Rachel, his thinking that led to all those colors on his face,” Halloran remarked as they both snickered at Kane’s expense.
“Tell me what it was all about,” Kane said.
“The Riders work for the town,” said Halloran. “They protect the town against the other towns.”
“I got that.”
“But the price of protection keeps going up, so I hear, which means the good town fathers would like to be rid of the Riders, but they have no one to stop them. They hired you, Friend Badge, hoping that maybe a man good with a gun might be enough to let the town fathers dictate terms to the Riders. The Riders came to send a message that, no matter what the town wants, they are in charge.”
“They are vile men,” spat Rachel. “Those men, and that Silas Noonan. They are all bad. The rest of them are not much better. The store man, Mr. Conroy, he tries to be nice, but he is old. The rest should burn.”
Kane’s head hurt. “I don’t understand why they didn’t just shoot me,” he said.
“Ahh, but think, boyo. If the sheriff is killed by a gang, will the army not come to clean out the gang? Why do you think the Riders never killed you? Killing you crosses a line. Telling every man what they get for crossing them only makes them stronger. They have the upper hand, and the town is cowed.”
But had they not left him to die? Without Halloran’s aid, they would have crossed that line. The room moved. There was a flaw in Halloran’s logic, but he could not find it.
Kane felt very stupid. He had been so focused on Sherman’s mission he had put himself in a situation where the only real surprise was that he was, in fact, alive. He tried to think of ways he could get revenge on them all. Halloran talked about ways he could get out of Rakeheart unseen.
Tired of listening to such plans, Rachel ordered them both into silence.
“Kane?” Rachel put a hand on his left arm. She had assumed some level of ownership over him in these past days. “I know you are trying to figure this out, but in case you do not understand, because Libby told me what you said, you might want to think twice at some level other than your usual level of thought about ever going back to Rakeheart.”
“Why?”
“You don’t understand, do you?” Rachel’s tone was as gentle as he had ever heard. “You probably suit the town better dead than alive. Now that they know you can’t stand up to the Riders alone, that you can’t whip them single-handed, they don’t need you alive, and they don’t want you alive. You so much as walk one step back into that nasty place, there’s a target on your back every minute. The only one to stop the Riders is the army, and the only way the army rides in, is if the sheriff gets killed. Seamus was telling me the way it is for you there. You cannot ever go back if you want to stay alive. It is time to look to something else. Seamus has some ideas.”
He could see her face monitor his reaction until she was sure he fully understood her meaning.
“You lost, Kane. You can’t win. It’s over.”
Kane wanted to rage; to insist she was wrong.
But she was right.
Kane had gone outside, with the excuse that he felt dizzy and needed air. In truth, he felt the unwelcome approach of defeat. He had come close in Texas. Many times. There was always a way; always a plan; always something.
Not here. Not now.
He saw the brief square of light as the door to the house opened and shut. “Kane?”
“Here.”
He did not hear her until she was next to him.
“You cannot help it, Kane. They are bad people. I know what Jared became from being around them. Everything that was good and kind in him was gone. You do not have to go back there. Count yourself lucky.”
“Lucky?” He could hear the edge of wild emotion in his words. “I have an arm I can’t use. I can’t always see right. I can’t shoot a gun. I came out here to do one simple job, and I can’t do that because I’m not ever telling Sherman the truth—no way, Rachel. Give me one reason I should not ride into that town and take as many of them as I can before they get me.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Why? You of all people should! Me dead, no one ever learns the secret about Jared’s death!”
“I should slap you!”
Kane had regretted the words. “Maybe you should. I am sorry, Rachel. Can’t imagine what it was like.”
“No, you can’t. And you can’t imagine what it would be like to explain to Libby how her friend—and she thinks of you as a friend because you act about her age—rode off to get himself shot instead of staying alive to be her friend!”
Kane swallowed. Rachel’s intensity was daunting. He never quite thought of Libby as liking him. Or anyone else.
“I can’t let this go, Rachel.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Man is what a man does. It comes down to my fault. I thought I could face them down, and Janie paid for that. Those other folks who got shot . . . I’m responsible. That gets squared.”
“Why? Because Janie was your woman?”
“Because she got herself bad hurt—dead maybe by now for all I know—killed tryin’ to do somethin’ to save me or somethin’ to help. I can’t . . . can’t let that ride, Rachel. Won’t.”
“You are a fool!”
“You think they will wait? They think I’m your friend, Jared’s friend. How long before they come sniffing? Or come riding? Only so many places to hide a wounded sheriff. Me or them, woman.”
“Us.”
“Huh?”
“Us or them, Kane. You do not have to fight them alone. I . . . Libby . . . oh, men! You have been good and kind and honest, Kane. You could put me in your jail. Your town would hang me and never think twice. You did not. I owe you.”
He shook his head. “No. You got it backwards, Rachel. Got more courage in your finger than I got in my body.”
A yellow square appeared and vanished. A hinge protested.
“Mama?”
“Libby!”
Mumbling about not being able to see what she was looking for, the girl’s voice grew louder as she walked closer. “Where are they?” she finally asked.
“Where are what, Libby?” Kane called.
“Uncle Seamus told me to come outside and find you because he said there might be sparking out here, and I don’t see any.”
“I will give that man sparks,” Rachel muttered. “Telling my daughter . . .”
Kane could not stop laughing.
He reached out his good hand to touch Rachel’s arm. “Let it go. Explaining what ‘sparking’ is about between a man and a woman is only going to make it worse.”
“Indeed. That man!”
Libby was up to them.
“Where are the sparks?”
“C’mon Libby,” said Kane. “Maybe we can find some out that way.” He touched her right hand with his good one. “Bet your mom will find some, too.”
“Kane . . .”
“Oh, good. Come on, Mama, let’s all go sparking-hunting.”
“You two go,” she said. “I have to go back inside and have a very firm talk with Uncle Seamus.”
They went.
The gun bucked in his hand. Again. Again. Again.
The piece of wood was unmoved by the noise, or his shooting. Some days were good. This one was not.
It still hurt to breathe. His right arm was a purple mass. Touching something the wrong way with his right hand sent a wave of pain to his shoulder, but most days now he could use it to load the gun if he went slow enough. Some days he only dropped half the bullets.
Libby was watching. She had been faithful in going with him to where he practiced. Afterwards, they would find flowers, animals, or enjoy walking in the warm Wyoming sunshine. She would play the wooden flute he gave her. Sometimes well. Always happily.
When evening rolled around, he and Libby would talk about whether she had picked the right place on the moon for her garden, while Rachel watched in wonder as her daughter grew closer to Kane than she ever had to Wilkins.
Rachel insisted the arm would need weeks before she could take the sticks out of the wrappings and weeks more before the arm was usable. It had been two weeks since he awoke on her ranch. Almost three weeks since his beating. It was time.
He noticed Rachel watching. She could smell the scent of decision.
She walked up to him with displeasure on her face. “You are preparing to be a fool,” she said directly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I thought you understood this is not a fight you can win.”
“Understandin’ and quittin’ are different.”
“Tell me your plan.”
“Don’t have one.”
“Kane!” She started to rage.
“I’m not Jared,” he said.
That silenced her.
“Rakeheart does not mean more than you, than seeing that girl of yours laugh or that boy of yours try to figure how worms move,” he said. “This is personal. You tell me to walk away. I don’t know how to do that, Rachel. I can’t do it. I was ready to let it all go, but not now. I can’t look at what comes next until I set this to rights. There was more in that town that was crooked, and I think it cost you your foreman. And them Riders . . . there’s an accounting to be made. I know your friend Halloran means well when he keeps telling me to pack up and get out, and to take you folks with me, but I can’t do that.”
“Kane, I do not want to bury you. I have lost one man that I . . . I don’t want to . . .” She stopped. Her eyes looked wet. “Men!”
She was gone.
Libby, who had given the adults space for their conversation, now came over.
“You should take me with you when you clean up Rakeheart,” she said.
“Libby, you’re too young.”
“Am I?” she said archly. She picked up her rifle and, standing fifty yards from the wooden target Kane had been missing as much as hitting, emptied the rifle into the target.
“I didn’t know you could shoot that well,” Kane said.
“Pa taught me,” she said.
“Good shooting.”
“Mama can’t hit the sky with a gun,” she said, laughing. “That’s why she carries the shotgun, because she can still hit something. I never saw her ever hit anything with a rifle. I never miss.”
Kane saw her face reflect what she saw on his. She had said something that made the scales fall from his eyes. It was almost painful. So close to the truth, but so far.
Now, he knew.
“You lied to me!” he seethed to Rachel as they stood by the fireplace, the roll of blankets she used as a bed since his arrival curled by her feet.
She had food cooking in an iron kettle. The house smelled of fresh bread. Sweat glistened on her forehead from the heat.
“No. I let you believe what you wanted.”
“I want the truth.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Yes. I . . . I was not sure what you would do when you said you knew. I let you believe a lie, but it was necessary.”
“Why?”
“Kane, Libby and I know what you are thinking just from the look on your face. Do you think if I had told you what happened that you could for one minute not let Libby know that you knew she killed Jared? Do you think you could pretend, and it would make no difference? I told you: I will protect Libby until after my body is done breathing. What if you told someone? They would destroy her if she ever set foot in that town. What difference does it make? It is different with me.”
“I want the truth.”
“Jared was drunk. He and I had a horrible argument. For the first time, Kane, I fought back. I was not going to let him hurt her or me any longer. He laughed, Kane. He knew there was no place for me to go. We both thought Libby and Jeremiah were asleep. He told me he was going to teach me a lesson I would never forget. He dragged me out to the barn. I tried to fight him. I never screamed. I did not want Libby to know my shame. That’s what it is, Kane. Shame.
“But Libby was outside in a spot she went for comfort, even though she was forbidden to be out alone at night.
“We reached the barn. She called his name. He told her to go back to bed or she would get what was coming to her. She told him to let me go. He hit me in the face. She fired her gun. I can still hear the echo. It was so loud—louder than I ever heard it before. It sounded like more than one gun, it was so loud. I do not know if she meant to hit him or warn him. She is good, but it was dark, Kane. She was horrified at what she did. He was dead in a moment or two. He never said anything coherent.
“I told Libby we would make up a story. No one seemed to care. I think Clem figured it out, but he would never tell. The army man knew there was something wrong in our story, but no one else knew anything, and he went away. I don’t think he really cared as long as there was nothing that would make work for the army. Then you came, and I knew you would not stop. I knew it when I saw you.”
“Libby tried to tell me.”
“She what?”
“She tried to tell me. She wanted me to know you were not the one responsible. Said you were in your room. She wanted to tell me but didn’t know how.”
It was silent.
Kane moved stiffly to the door.
“Good-bye, Rachel. Once or twice I wondered . . . you and me . . . guess it all don’t matter now. I better go.”
“You can’t go!”
Libby was in the doorway, blocking his path.
“Mama did what she had to. We didn’t know you. I was afraid, Mr. Kane.”
“Even when you both knew me, sweetheart, you lied to me.”
“Mr. Kane!” It was a wail of misery.
“Ride with God, Libby.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, set her to the side, and walked out of the Wilkins house.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rakeheart was in sight. If anything had changed in the weeks he had been away, it was not visible at a distance.
Not wanting to ride in to Rakeheart at night, he had ridden to the shack he was now calling home after riding furiously away from the Wilkins ranch. He was spending a sleepless night until he gave it up altogether.
They lied to him. It was that simple. He kept repeating that as his anger ebbed away like flour spilling out of a hole in a sack.
Libby’s tear-streaked face appeared in his mind. Did it matter if their reasons were good, and he would probably do the same thing if he had a child? He told himself it did not. He was not very convincing.
He could leave. Maybe he should leave. Rakeheart meant nothing to him. He had ridden away from the only thing that meant much in all of Hall C
ounty, and he had no idea how to go back.
He had told himself he had three things to do—make the Riders pay; find out who killed Clem Ferguson and Frank Kruger; and cut the head off whoever was pulling the Riders’ strings. Then he would leave and never look back.
Wood was a brute. Someone else was the brains. Noonan? Made sense to start there.
The first bird’s song was starting in the pre-dawn dimness when he eventually nodded off. The sun was full up when he woke, and he was stiff and sore. The landscape eased some of the anger in his head as he took his time. Time was all he had.
The horse had wandered a bit in the night to where the grass was tall but came when he saw Kane stagger out of the shack. Kane felt guilty for not tying him to the tree. He stroked the animal’s long face as he turned his own battered one to the sun to let it warm him. Once again, he thought of riding on. Once again, he rejected common sense.
He flexed his right hand. Not good for much. He could pretend to use it when he dismounted, but if he put any real weight on it, the game was over.
He took the gun out of the jury-rigged holster on his left hip. Set it back in loose. It was about fifty-fifty he would hit what he aimed at. He didn’t think that would stay a secret very long unless he was a whole lot smarter than he felt. There was always someone who wanted to find out. Always.
Preacher Siegel was slack-jawed as Kane looped Tecumseh’s reins around the rail.
“Sheriff . . . I thought . . . we heard . . .”
Kane forced his arm up to touch his hat with his right hand. A thousand times in practice made him expect the way it would hurt. It didn’t disappoint.
“Riders in town?”
“No . . . um . . . no, Sheriff. They came by last week for some provisions, and they went to Noonan’s, but there was no trouble.”
Big surprise. No one would dare. That was the point. He could feel hot anger welling up.
“Pete Haliburton still around?”
Siegel looked in the dirt. “Pete drank too much before. I don’t think he even tries to work now. I went to see him on account of his wound, and he threw a bottle at me with the arm he was supposedly wounded in.”
“I’ll talk to him. What about Janie?”
“She is still alive, Kane. Mrs. Witherspoon has refused to let anyone in to see her and made a very un-Christian remark when I said that my attendance could only but help her, but she said the girl was alive. She has not moved since she was shot, Tillie said, but she has not died, either. I do not know what that means.”
