Bloody Sunday

by William W. Johnstone

  “This isn’t over yet,” Jennings said over his shoulder.

  Elston didn’t look worried about the veiled threat.

  When Finn and Jennings were gone, Elston faced Glory again and said, “What about it, Mrs. MacCrae? You’ve heard my proposal. What do you say?”

  “If I’ll sign your damned document, you’ll let me go?” Glory asked. “You swear?”

  “Of course. It would be in my best interest for you not to be around here anymore.”

  “What about Luke?”

  Elston shrugged and said, “Jensen doesn’t mean anything to me. True, he’s been damned annoying since he showed up—looking for you and hoping to collect that bounty, I suppose—and he’s cost me a number of good men, but such expenses are necessary sometimes.” A cunning look appeared on Elston’s bulldog-like face. “Come to think of it, if you decide to go along with me, you might prefer not to have to worry about Jensen tracking you down again. That can be arranged.”

  “No!” Glory said quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want him to be harmed.”

  “Does that mean you agree to my proposal?”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  Luke hoped she wasn’t foolish enough to go along with what Elston wanted. He didn’t trust the rancher for a second. He still believed that he and Glory would be killed as soon as Elston got Glory’s name on that paper. He stared at Glory and tried to communicate that to her without saying anything.

  “I have to think about it,” she said. “You’re asking me to make a big decision here, one that affects the rest of my life. Give me tonight, anyway.”

  A look of annoyed impatience flashed across Elston’s face. But he puffed angrily on the fat cigar for a second and then jerked his head in a brusque nod. He took the cigar out of his mouth and said, “You have until tomorrow morning to make up your mind. Cooperate with me or you’ll go back to Baltimore to hang.” He clamped his teeth on the stogie again and added, “And I’ll collect the five grand reward on your head, too.”

  Finn came back into the book-lined room. He reported, “Jennings is locked in his room. He won’t cause any trouble tonight.”

  “Good,” Elston said. “Now you can take Mrs. MacCrae back to her room.”

  Singletary motioned toward Luke with the shotgun and asked, “What about Jensen?”

  “Back in the smokehouse for now, I suppose.”

  “No,” Glory said. “Luke stays in the house with me, or I’ll tell you right now that there’s no deal.”

  Elston grunted and said, “Really? You’ve gotten softhearted over a man who came here to take you in and collect blood money on you?”

  “Luke knows I didn’t kill Alfred Jennings.”

  “I don’t care about that. And like I said, I don’t care about Jensen, either. If you want him, you can have him.”

  Frowning, Singletary said, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea—”

  Elston stepped toward the crooked deputy, bristling with anger.

  “You don’t give the orders around here, now do you?” he demanded.

  “No, I reckon not,” Singletary replied in a sullen voice. “I just don’t trust Jensen.”

  “If he’s locked in a room with Mrs. MacCrae, there won’t be a damned thing he can do to cause us a problem. Just make sure that he is locked up, and that there’s a guard outside their room at all times.”

  Verne Finn nodded and said, “We can do that, boss.”

  Singletary still had a surly look on his face, but he didn’t say anything else except to order Luke to turn around. Then he planted the shotgun’s twin barrels in Luke’s back and forced him to follow Glory and Finn out of the room.

  Luke couldn’t try anything. At this range, the shotgun would blow him in half if Singletary squeezed the triggers. He knew that was exactly what the crooked deputy wanted, too.

  Several more of Elston’s gunmen waited in the ranch house’s main room. They fell in with the others as the group went up to the second floor, then trailed behind while Finn and Singletary escorted Luke and Glory into a bedroom.

  Finn went to the window and thrust the curtain back, then turned toward them and said, “There’ll be two armed men outside the door all night. Not only that, but you can see that this window commands a view of the bunkhouse. A man with a rifle will be sitting outside watching the window, and he’ll have orders to shoot you if you so much as poke your head out, Jensen. So don’t start getting any notions about escaping. You can’t do it.”

  “I’m just glad I’m not going back in that smokehouse,” Luke said.

  Finn chuckled.

  “There you go,” he said. “Look for the silver lining.”

  Finn left the room. As Singletary backed out, still holding the shotgun on them, he said, “If it was up to me, Jensen, you’d be dead already. And I’d have taken my own sweet time killin’ you, too. Would’ve been mighty enjoyable.”

  “The only way you’d ever be able to kill me, Whitey, is if I was helpless,” Luke said. “Or if you shot me in the back, the way you tried to after the inquest. The way you bushwhacked Sam MacCrae to curry favor with Elston.”

  Singletary grunted. The surprise in his piggish eyes told Luke that his guess was right. It was really the only explanation that made sense, considering Elston’s insistence that he hadn’t ordered MacCrae’s murder. Singletary had come up with the idea on his own.

  Apparently, Glory hadn’t thought it all through and reached that conclusion yet. Her face flushed, and she stepped toward Singletary, saying in a coldly furious voice, “You—”

  Singletary swung the shotgun toward her and snapped, “Stay back, lady. The boss wants you alive, but if I tell him you attacked me—”

  “He’ll probably kill you himself,” Luke broke in. “At the very least he’ll have Finn do it. You think you’re a match for him, Whitey?”

  “You just shut up! You run your mouth and get me all loco.”

  “I imagine that’s not very hard to do.”

  A step sounded in the hallway. Finn said, “Singletary, are you coming or not?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” the deputy muttered. He glared at Luke and added, “I’ll settle up with you. Just you wait.”

  He stepped out into the corridor and yanked the door shut behind him. The sound of it closing wasn’t quite as final as that of a jail cell’s door, but almost.

  Glory turned to Luke and said, “Do you really think he did that? Bushwhacked Sam? Or were you just trying to get under his skin?”

  “I’m as certain as I can be without having seen him do it,” Luke told her.

  “Did Sheriff Whittaker know?”

  “My guess is that he didn’t. Whittaker’s quick to give Elston the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t believe he’s completely crooked. Singletary, on the other hand . . . He probably thought that if he killed your husband, that would put Elston in his debt. I think Whitey’s got his eye on being sheriff, once Elston’s running everything in the county.”

  “What a horrible man,” Glory murmured.

  “You won’t get any argument from me.” Luke turned so that his back was toward her. “Now, if you think maybe you can untie these ropes . . .”

  “Of course.” She worked the ropes off her hands and hurried to get to work on the knots. “I should have done this as soon as they left us alone. I was just so shaken by what you said about Deputy Singletary.”

  “At least now you know what happened to Sam, and why,” Luke said, making his words as gentle as possible. “That’s probably scant comfort, but better than nothing, maybe.”

  “Yes, it is.” Glory muttered something under her breath, “These knots are stubborn.”

  “Take your time. We’ve got all night.”

  Glory kept working at the bonds, and eventually Luke felt them loosen slightly. Glory’s efforts went faster then, and a few moments later the ropes fell away from his wrists. He groaned a little from the stiffness and soreness in his shoulder muscles as he brought his arms ar
ound in front of him again. His hands were so numb they were like lumps of wood. He couldn’t even get them to work well enough that they could rub each other.

  Glory took on that task as well, catching hold of his right hand with both of hers. She began massaging it. Pins and needles quickly turned into a rush of heat that felt like Luke had plunged his hand into a pot of boiling water. His lips drew back from his teeth as the blood flowed and feeling came into his hand, bringing with it pain.

  “I’m sorry,” Glory said.

  “Don’t be,” he told her. “I’d rather it hurt now and be able to use it later.”

  Once enough feeling had returned that he was able to flex his fingers, she moved over to the other hand and worked on it. Soon Luke was able to use both hands again.

  He used them to draw Glory into his arms. She started trembling, and he held her until the shaking finally stopped.

  She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, saying, “Elston’s going to kill us, isn’t he? No matter what he promised, no matter whether I do what he wants or not, he’s still going to kill us?”

  “That’s what he’s planning,” Luke said, “but before this is all over, I think we’re going to have something to say about that.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Luke blew out the oil lamp that burned on the table and went over to the window. He edged the curtain back to look out. As Finn had told them, there was a good view of the bunkhouse from here. One of the hired killers sat just outside the building’s door in a ladder-back chair. He had a rifle across his knees, and he was watching the window. Luke didn’t doubt that he was a crack shot with that Winchester, too.

  “What do you see?” Glory asked from behind him.

  “Finn wasn’t lying. He’s got a marksman keeping an eye on the window. Climbing out wouldn’t be a problem, especially with that porch roof running all the way around the house. But that rifleman would drill me as soon as I threw a leg over the sill.”

  “Then we have to think of some other way to get out of here. The guards in the hall . . .”

  “They probably have orders to shoot to kill, too.” Luke sighed wearily and massaged his temples for a few seconds. His head still hurt from being knocked out earlier. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and the past couple of days had taken a toll.

  He went on: “Elston is trying to set things up so that it would be impossible for the law to ever prove anything against him, even if the Rangers came in and investigated him. Your signature on that bill of sale takes care of that. If you just disappear, either by him giving you to Hugh Jennings or by . . .”

  “Winding up in a shallow grave somewhere out on the prairie,” Glory finished. “You can say it, Luke. I know how much danger we’re in.”

  “If you just disappear, Gabe Pendleton will make a stink about it,” Luke said. “Judge Marbright will insist that the sheriff look into it. Like I said, he might even call in the Rangers. Elston can ride it out as long as there’s no proof that you’re dead, but that’s a complication he evidently doesn’t want. So forcing you to sign is his best bet. But he can kill you and still get the ranch in the long run, so we can’t underestimate what he’ll do.”

  “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t put anything beyond that snake.”

  Luke was still looking out the window but not really paying much attention to what was going on out there. But then movement caught his eye. The rifleman outside the bunkhouse door had stood up. The man half-turned and appeared to call through the open door. A second later, two more of Elston’s hired killers appeared. One of them ran toward the house.

  “Something’s going on,” Luke said quietly.

  Glory came up close behind him and asked, “What is it?”

  “I don’t know yet. Something seems to have spooked Elston’s crew.”

  A moment later, a rider came into view, approaching the house. The guard must have heard the hoofbeats. As the man on horseback came closer, deeper into the light from the house, Luke recognized him.

  Sheriff Jared Whittaker.

  Maybe he’d been wrong about Whittaker, Luke thought. Maybe the sheriff was just as crooked as the deputy and had come to Elston’s ranch to check in and find out if his boss had any new orders for him.

  A door closed somewhere below. Harry Elston strode out into Luke’s line of sight, accompanied by Verne Finn. Luke reached down to the sill and eased the windowpane up so he could hear what was being said below.

  “Sheriff,” Elston greeted Whittaker. “What brings you out here so late?”

  “I’m looking for somebody,” Whittaker replied.

  “That deputy of yours? I haven’t seen him.”

  Whittaker frowned. He said, “No, actually I’m looking for Mrs. MacCrae and that fella Jensen. They left Painted Post earlier today bound for the MacCrae ranch, but they never showed up.”

  Elston shook his head and said, “That’s no concern of mine. I’m not the woman’s keeper.”

  Whittaker thumbed his hat back. Elston hadn’t invited him to step down from his horse, and Whittaker didn’t make any move to do so.

  “Here’s the thing,” the sheriff said. “Some of Mrs. MacCrae’s hands heard a lot of shooting this afternoon. They went to have a look and didn’t find anything except a burned-out stretch of prairie. It was pretty obvious something had happened.”

  “Still none of my concern,” Elston insisted.

  “Then a while later Mrs. MacCrae’s horse showed up at the ranch, and so did Jensen’s dun. The dun had some burns, like it had galloped through flames, so it’s likely the two of them were there.”

  Glory was close by Luke’s shoulder, listening to the conversation, too. She clutched Luke’s arm and whispered, “Thank God the horses got out all right.”

  Luke was relieved to hear that, too.

  Whittaker went on: “Rusty Gimple is acting as Mrs. MacCrae’s foreman while Gabe Pendleton is laid up. He rode to town and told me about Mrs. MacCrae and Jensen being missing, the shooting, the fire, and the horses showing up. He wanted me to look into it. He said he thought you might have something to do with everything.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell him to go away?” Elston asked impatiently.

  “Because I’m the law in these parts, Mr. Elston,” Whittaker said. “And I’m getting a little tired of some people acting like that really doesn’t matter.”

  “Good Lord,” Glory breathed. “Is the sheriff finally trying to do his job?”

  “It looks like it,” Luke said.

  Unfortunately, Whittaker’s decision to be an honest lawman might have come too late.

  “I have no idea about any of this,” Elston said. “You’ve had a long ride out here in the dark for nothing, Sheriff. I haven’t laid eyes on Mrs. MacCrae or Jensen since I left Painted Post.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I’m not in the habit of having my word disputed,” Elston said angrily.

  “Then you won’t mind if I take a look around.”

  Elston hesitated for a second, then shrugged. He waved a hand and said, “Be my guest.”

  As Whittaker swung down from the saddle and the men started toward the house, Glory whispered, “We could call out to him, let him know we’re here.”

  “If we do that, Finn will gun down Whittaker,” Luke warned.

  Whittaker stopped abruptly, which forced Elston and Finn to do likewise. The sheriff turned to them.

  “Something you said struck me as wrong, Mr. Elston, and I just figured out what it is.”

  “No,” Luke whispered. “Don’t give it away, Whittaker.”

  The lawman didn’t hear him, of course. Whittaker said, “When I rode in you thought I was looking for Whitey. If you’ve been gone from town since yesterday, how’d you know he was missing?”

  The question seemed to take Elston by surprise. He didn’t answer.

  “Unless you’d seen him yourself,” Whittaker went on. “Unless he’s been here . . . or is here now. Unless he real
ly works for you.”

  Elston sighed and shook his head.

  “It’s a shame you figured that out, Sheriff,” he said. “Luckily, there’ll be somebody else to step in and take over for you.”

  “What’re you—”

  “Whitey!” Elston called.

  Singletary stepped out of the bunkhouse and rasped, “You always were a damn fool, Whittaker.”

  The sheriff spun toward Singletary and clawed at the gun on his hip. In a blur of swift motion, Verne Finn got behind him. The gun in Finn’s hand came up and chopped down in a vicious blow that slammed into the back of Whittaker’s head and drove the lawman to his knees. Finn kicked him between the shoulder blades and knocked him to the ground on his face.

  Singletary came over and pointed the gun in his hand at the unconscious Whittaker.

  “Let me kill him, boss,” he growled to Elston.

  “Not yet,” Elston said. “We might be able to make some use of him. That bill of sale would carry even more weight if we force him to sign it as a witness. Put him in the smokehouse where we had Jensen earlier.”

  “We’ll have to get rid of him sooner or later if I’m gonna be sheriff,” Singletary argued.

  “You’ll never be sheriff if you don’t do what I tell you,” Elston responded sharply.

  Singletary didn’t look happy about it, but he bent and took hold of Whittaker’s collar. He started dragging the senseless man toward the smokehouse. Everybody in the yard between the main house and the bunkhouse had been watching the confrontation.

  Including the rifleman assigned to keep an eye on the window of the room where Luke and Glory were being held.

  That was why Luke was no longer there. He had taken advantage of the distraction a moment earlier and slipped out the window after telling Glory to stay put, and now he was stretched out on top of the roof. With his black clothes and dark hair, he was almost invisible in the shadows, free for the moment.

  Free . . . but surrounded by a score of enemies who would like nothing better than to see him dead.