by Jane Shoup
Tommy’s eyes were closed, and there was a bandage above his right brow. Em was sitting on the bed next to him, white-faced, leaning forward slightly, holding one of his hands in both of hers. There were smears of blood on her face and her dress was stained with it.
“He’s still got a pulse,” Wood reported grimly.
“Mr. Howerton sent men after the doc,” Hawk said.
“We’re obliged,” Doll said, glancing up at Howerton.
“Who did it?” Howerton asked.
“A man who used to work for you,” Wood replied. “Name of Blue.”
Howerton flinched. “You sure?”
“Yeah, we’re sure. Em saw him. He wasn’t two feet away from her.”
“He was after me,” Em said in a flat voice. She didn’t look away from Tommy. “Tommy came up on him.”
“How long ago?” Howerton asked brusquely.
“Half hour,” Wood estimated with a shake of his head. “Not even.”
Howerton leaned over to lay a hand on Tommy’s arm. “I’m going to get the son of a bitch, Tommy,” he said, squeezing lightly. “You hang on!” He glanced at Em. She’d been crying, but she wasn’t now. “Your wife needs you.” He turned on his spurred heel and left.
Hawk followed the man outside. “Mr. Howerton?”
Howerton turned back. “Yeah?”
“It may not be my place to tell you, but Em’s going to have a baby.”
Howerton blinked.
“Tommy’s going to be a father,” Hawk said.
Howerton nodded. He looked and saw some of his men riding in, Sam and Quin in the lead. “I don’t trust Doc Simmons to be able to handle this,” he said to Hawk. “Get to town and see Rice. Have him send a telegraph to every doctor and hospital in traveling distance. We need someone with experience at this kind of thing.”
Hawk nodded.
“I’ll pay. Whatever they need. Tell Rice.”
Hawk nodded again. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you ever know anyone to survive that kind of wound?”
Hawk hesitated. “No,” he admitted.
“Me, neither.”
“But I know Tommy,” Hawk said. “I know his heart. He wants to be here and that’s something.”
“Is it? When you’ve been shot in the head?” Howerton mounted and rode out without looking back.
“Anything we can do?” Sam called, when he reached them.
“No. Tommy’s alive, but barely. Blue shot him.”
“Blue?”
“That’s right. And we’re going after him.”
“I’ll go get some men,” Sam said.
“We’ll go get the men,” Howerton corrected. “This is going to end.”
Emmett hurried toward the telegraph office, concerned about the hour. Sure enough, Jules Gunderson, the telegraph operator, was locking up for the day. “Wait,” Emmett called.
“Hello, Emmett,” Jules Gunderson greeted. His cheerful smile faded quickly. “What’s wrong?”
“Tommy Medlin was shot.”
“What? Who did it?”
“Who doesn’t matter so much, since Mr. Howerton’s gone after the scoundrel. Tommy’s still alive, so I need to send a telegraph out to every doctor and hospital in this part of the country. Can you help me?”
“Yes, of course. Is he hurt bad?”
“He was shot in the head.”
Jules’s jaw dropped, and then he quickly unlocked the door and went right back inside. “Has Doc seen him?”
“He’s on his way there now. And I mean no offense to the doc by this, because he’s a good man, but we’re hoping for some sharp mind with new ideas.”
Jules reached the machine. “Where was he hit?”
Emmett pointed to just above his right brow.
“Tarnation! Does he have a chance?”
“Of course, he’s got a chance! Let’s do this.”
“What do you want to say?”
As the clock struck twelve, Em slipped out of her ruined dress and then stared at it, her gaze riveted on the bloodstains. She opened her hand and dropped the dress, then walked to the nightstand, poured water in the basin and placed her hands inside. Despite the fact that her hands had been repeatedly wiped off, the water turned pink. It was too much and she lost control and sobbed bitterly. Please, she prayed. Help us. Please. Please! Tommy was lying motionless in bed, but she suddenly imagined him in a casket, and cried even harder. Please, God. Please. I need him. I need him. I’ll do anything. I’ll give anything. Just give him back to me.
Chapter Forty-Three
Em heard knocking and wearily dragged herself from the choppy sleep she’d managed in the last few hours, but it was the sharp stench of urine that shocked her into full wakefulness.
“You up yet, honey?” Doll asked.
Em jumped out of bed so fast, she was overcome with dizziness and nausea, and had to sit back down again.
“I was afraid of that,” Doll said. She’d cracked the door open and saw the wet bed. “I mean I knew it would happen. Because it has to happen. That’s why I said—”
Em dropped to her hands and knees and reached for the chamber pot under the bed. She barely got it there in time before she vomited.
“Oh, honey,” Doll said.
Em retched, but there was very little in her stomach to come up. She quivered and heaved again. The next thing she knew, Doll was there by her side, handing her a cool cloth and pulling her hair back. “I hate those dry heaves,” Doll said.
Em closed her eyes, felt scalding tears and heaved again. Why couldn’t she stop? There was nothing in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten yesterday.
When it finally subsided, Doll helped her up and into a robe. “You go use the outhouse,” Doll said. “Then you get dressed. I’m going to clean up in here and we’re going to move Tommy to his old room.”
Em shook her head. “No.”
“Yes, Emmy, because it’s best. We can all watch over him that way. Him being in here is no better for him and it makes it worse for you. It’s what I said yesterday and I’m right. Now, that is that.”
“No, I—”
“Em, honey, you’ve got to take care of yourself and that baby. We’re all of us here for Tommy. He’s going to come out of this and look at you and ask how his baby is, and you want to be able to tell him the baby is just fine.” She took a step backward. “Now, go pee.”
“Don’t do anything yet,” Em pleaded. “I have to think.”
“You go think,” Doll agreed pleasantly. “Go on, now. We got more to do than we can shake a stick at.”
Em stepped outside and the day was glorious yet again. The temperature was mild, a soft breeze was blowing, and she resented it. Which was foolish. It wasn’t as if foul weather would have made the day easier. She used the outhouse, which reminded her of the last time she’d used it. What had Blue been doing skulking around? And why had Tommy been there with a gun? Why had it all happened? It made no sense.
She left the outhouse and made her way to the spot where Tommy had fallen. She stood rooted there, staring down at dark blotches of blood left behind, then started back to the house, wiping the tears from her face as she went. Doll was right. There was a lot to do and she’d spent enough time feeling sorry for herself. It was time to put her full concentration into getting her husband well.
The eleven-man posse topped a hill and saw Blue perhaps a half-mile ahead, riding hard and kicking up dust. “Ya,” Howerton yelled, spurring his horse on. They overtook Blue in short order and circled him, forcing him to stop, their guns leveled at him.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Blue cried.
“Throw down your gun, Blue,” Sam ordered.
“I didn’t mean to shoot him!”
“If you don’t throw down—” Howerton threatened.
Blue tossed his gun, then stuck his hands high in the air.
Jackie Johnson dismounted and retrieved the gun. “You only have the one?”
“Yeah.”
&
nbsp; “If we find another, I’m going to shoot your kneecap clear off,” Johnson warned.
“I only got the one! I swear it.”
“Get off your horse,” Howerton ordered.
Blue kicked his leg over and slid off the horse, still trying to keep his hands in the air. “I swear, Mr. Howerton, I did not mean to shoot Tommy.”
Mark Hanks was seething. “Yeah? Well what about Johnny, you son of a whore?”
“I didn’t shoot Johnny!”
“Liar!” Hanks accused.
“I ain’t lying! I only took the gun to threaten him with, just so he’d let Mitchell go. That’s all.”
“That ain’t hardly all, Blue,” Sam spoke up. “Not when Johnny ended up dead.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen and I didn’t shoot him!”
“You’re saying Mitchell shot him.”
Blue didn’t speak for several seconds. “I’m saying I didn’t shoot him. That’s the God’s honest truth. But that’s all I’m saying.”
The men began dismounting, all but Howerton, Sam Blake and Bud Ulrich. Ulrich pulled a thick coil of rope from his saddle and rode toward the nearest usable tree.
“Hey, now. I deserve a trial,” Blue cried, shifting from foot to foot. “You can’t just go and hang me. It ain’t legal and you know it.”
“It’s not legal,” Howerton agreed. “I know it and I don’t give a rat’s ass,” he railed, yelling the last of it.
“Where’s Mitchell, Blue?” Sam asked.
Blue shook his head rapidly. “I ain’t telling you that.”
“Oh, I think you will,” Howerton said.
“Why’d you go after Tommy anyhow?” Lynn Green asked. “Tommy, of all people. He never hurt you or anybody. Not in his whole goddamned life.”
“I wasn’t after Tommy. I was after Miss—”
Howerton seethed. “I cannot believe you were stupid enough to just say that.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Blue added quickly.
Howerton leaped off his horse. “Move!”
Blue was forced forward at gunpoint as the rope was thrown over a tree, knotted and prepared. “You can’t do this,” Blue whimpered.
Howerton holstered his gun. “If I’d done it when I should have, Tommy would still be alive and well and so would Johnny.”
Sam sighed. “I got to ask,” he said, leaning over in the saddle to holster his gun. “Why? I don’t get it. What could you ever have against Mrs. Medlin?”
“Mrs. Med—” Blue’s jaw dropped.
“That’s right,” Sam said. “Emeline Wright married Tommy. The man you shot and probably killed.”
“Probably?” Blue stammered. “Is he still alive?”
Johnson and Green grabbed hold of him and Hanks tied his hands behind his back.
“Don’t matter if he’s alive or dead,” Johnson replied. “You shot him in the head. You die.”
Blue gritted his teeth as Hanks yanked the rope as tight as it would go, cutting into his skin. “It doesn’t have to be that tight,” he bit out.
“Scurvy son of a bitch,” Hanks fumed.
“Sam asked you a question,” Howerton said. “Why did you go after Miss Wright? Time and time again?”
“I never had nothin’ against her! It’s Mitchell. First, he wanted her and now he hates her. Hates her guts. Thinks it’s all her fault, what happened.”
Sam frowned thoughtfully. “You said you weren’t going to hurt her,” he mused. “So . . . what? Were you taking her to Mitchell? So he could do it?”
Blue didn’t answer.
“The man asked you a question,” Johnson warned.
Blue shook his head. He was breathing fast. “You’re gonna hang me? I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.”
“You might want to consider that we can make it last a long, long time,” Howerton said calmly. “You’re not going to have your neck snapped, if you were hoping it would go fast.”
“I wasn’t hoping that. I wasn’t hoping anything. I can’t believe this crap!”
“Answer the question,” Howerton warned. “You were taking her to Mitchell. Yes or no?”
“Yes! He was always calling me names, saying things.”
“But you knew he’d hurt her,” Sam said. “Probably kill her.”
Blue looked away from Sam’s gaze.
“Which makes you just as guilty, Blue,” Sam continued. “Don’t you see that?”
“Give it up, Sam,” Howerton said. “He either doesn’t get it or he doesn’t give a damn. Let’s do this.”
Hanks slipped the noose over Blue’s neck. “Any last words?”
“Yeah. Screw you,” Blue replied angrily, his voice shaking.
“Mitchell probably sent him, which means he’s close,” Green suggested.
“Is that true?” Howerton asked Blue.
Blue breathed rapidly through his nose and stared down at the ground.
“That true?” Hanks asked, jerking him backward by the noose.
Blue remained silent.
“Nothing to say?” Howerton said calmly. “Take him up.”
Ulrich had formed a lariat around the far end of the rope and snubbed it around his saddle horn. Now, he walked the horse forward. Sam looked away as Blue was hoisted into the air.
“Don’t tell me you think we’re wrong,” Howerton said to Sam.
“No.” He paused. “Doesn’t mean I want to watch it.”
Other than a rogue flinch or slight grimace here or there, no one else showed any emotion as Blue’s face turned purplish and his body began to convulse. A painful whistling, wheezing sound came from him and he wet himself.
“Bring him down,” Howerton ordered.
Sam looked at Howerton sharply. “What are you doing?”
“We’ve got to find out where Mitchell is, don’t we?”
Blue collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. Howerton waited until he’d recovered enough to hear him. “This can go relatively fast or we can make it last all day long. Where’s Mitchell?”
Blue didn’t answer.
“If you can speak, you’d better do it,” Howerton warned.
“I don’t know where he is,” Blue rasped.
“Where was he when you last saw him?” Howerton demanded.
“Come on, Blue,” Lynn Green spoke up. “You don’t want to die like this.”
Blue glared at the man.
“Haul him back up,” Howerton said.
“Wait a minute,” Sam snapped. He dismounted and strode forward, squatting beside Blue. “You think it takes principle to keep silent? Think about it! Mitchell would have raped Miss Wright, if not for Tommy. Mitchell killed Johnny Macgregor. There’s a debt needs paying, Blue, and I think you know it. And I’ll tell you what else; if we don’t stop him, there’s no telling what he’ll do next. And if you don’t tell us where he is and he hurts someone else, that’s part your fault. I’d give that some thought, since you’re fixin’ to meet your maker.”
“He was the only friend I ever had,” Blue rasped. A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.
“I know you thought so,” Sam replied gently. “But he wasn’t really much of a friend, was he? What you’d say earlier? He was always belittling you, calling you names? Would you have gotten into all this trouble, if not for him?”
“Doesn’t mean I’m going to betray him. I ain’t no Judas.”
“All we asked was where you last saw him. You’re just sharing a fact, not really betraying him.”
“I’d listen to the man,” Howerton said. “Otherwise, you’re going to die a hard death.”
Blue’s lips quivered. “He’d know it was me.”
Sam shook his head. “He won’t.”
“Swear it?” Blue whispered.
“I swear,” Sam replied. “And you know I’m a man of my word. None of us will tell him. If he asks, we’ll lie. That’s if he’s even still there, which really isn’t too likely.”
“I feel like crap.”
&nb
sp; “You’ve got call to. You’ve done a lot of bad things. But telling us where a murderer is, who’s got every intention of murdering again, it’s not one of them.” Sam paused. “Where is he?”
“Roanoke,” Blue replied weakly.
“Is that true?”
Blue nodded.
“Thank you.”
“This ain’t right, hanging me like this.”
Sam was silent for a moment, then he stood. “Yeah, it is.”
Howerton gave the signal, Ulrich backed his horse and Blue’s body went back into the air. For several seconds, not much happened, then the wheezing, choking sound began again. Not only did his face turn blue again, it engorged. His tongue protruded and his body convulsed harder than before. A terrible stench filled the air.
“He shit his pants,” Hanks complained.
“And he’s getting a hard-on,” Johnson observed with an amazed frown.
Sam turned away, thinking it couldn’t last too much longer, and he was right. Howerton pulled out his pistol and shot the man dead. The sound ricocheted, and then there was silence. “Let him drop,” Howerton ordered. “We’re pushing on to Roanoke.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Tommy started toward the house, feeling the eeriness of an inexplicable change. He focused on the middle-aged man sitting on the front porch. He vaguely recognized him, and yet couldn’t place him.
“Hello,” the man called.
Tommy stopped, realizing it was Ben Martin. He shook his head in confusion, because Ben wasn’t supposed to be there, although he couldn’t recollect exactly where he’d gone or why.
“Sit awhile,” Ben invited. “How’s the tobacco coming?”
Tommy continued on to the porch and sat in one of the rocking chairs, hoping to regain his bearings. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Something wasn’t quite right. “We’re getting it in the fields.”
“Slow go, ain’t it?”
“Tedious,” Tommy agreed.
Ben grunted. “All those tiny, little seeds. Preparing the first seedbed and planting, and then plowing the fields, how many times?”
“Four. Wood thought three would do, but it’s our first crop.”
