The Vigilante's Bride

by Yvonne Harris

  “Where’s the deed, Molly?”

  She stood up. “I’ll get it, but some of it’s in French.” Shoulders stiff, she left the room.

  When she returned, Emily joined the other two at a long coffee table against the wall, where Molly had unfolded the deed.

  “What’s it say about boundaries?” Luke asked.

  “There’s nearly half a page about them here.” Emily traced her finger under the tiny, cramped French writing down the deed’s left margin. “This says ‘west from Rivière du Chien Blanc’ – White Dog River – ‘to Rivière de l’ Élan.’ ”

  Slowly, Molly shook her head. “We all know where the White Dog is, but there’s no such place named Élan around here.”

  Emily tapped her finger in the margin. “It’s not a place. It’s another river.”

  “Had his rivers mixed up, I guess. No such river named that, either.” Luke straightened. Hands on his hips, he stared down at the deed. “Might as well be in Chinese for all the sense it makes to me.” He turned to Emily. “What’s Élan mean in French?”

  She shrugged. “A big animal with horns . . . like a moose.”

  His eyes narrowed, then snapped wide open. “Elk, maybe?”

  “That’s it. That’s the one.”

  “Jupiter was right!” He grabbed Molly around the waist and swung her feet off the floor. “That’s not open range. It’s ours!”

  “Put me down, you crazy man,” Molly said, laughing as hard as he.

  Eyes bright, Luke set her on her feet, grinning. “Elk River is what the Indians used to call the Yellowstone.” He leafed through the pages of the deed, looking for something. “There.” He pointed to the date. “They drew this deed up in 1803. Lewis and Clark didn’t explore this area till after the U.S. bought it, two years later. That’s when he named Billings’s muddy big river the ‘Yellow Stone.’ ”

  “I can’t believe it,” Molly said, her voice cracking. “All these years of just scrimping by. If this is true, it’ll make folks mighty unhappy around here.”

  A shadow spread across Luke’s face, his eyes serious. “Correction. It’ll make one man unhappy. The Paxtons, the Ormons, old Mr. Bolton – they’ll be glad for you. They only drive through, but Axel’s days of hogging the range closest to Billings and the railhead are over. That’s New Hope land. If he wants to graze it, then he rents it. And the next time he drives through, he’s trespassing. Either he pays New Hope or he doesn’t go through.”

  “He’ll fight it, Luke. You know he will,” Molly said quietly.

  “Then we’ll fight back. In court. The money problems for New Hope just ended.” His face was grim and determined.

  “I don’t want anybody hurt. It might mean more trouble with him and his men,” Molly warned.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “There won’t be any trouble.”

  Like an unborn baby kicking, Emily’s heart jumped. She stared at the deed and bit the words back. Of course Bart would fight it. Worried for Luke, her gaze swung to him. If something happened to him now, she’d regret it forever.

  Molly’s gaze held Emily’s, as if she’d read her mind.

  “Let’s not say anything to anyone yet,” she said. “Luke, how about you showing this deed to the land office in Billings? Maybe take Jupiter along to back us up.”

  Coming down from his room two days later, still sleepy and trying to wake up, Luke saw the glow of an oil lamp from the dining room. At four o’clock in the morning, the downstairs was usually dark and quiet. Instead, light shined into the hall, the end of the dining room table lit with a pale apricot glow. The rest of the big room fell into the shadows behind it. He heard comfortable, waking-up noises in the back of the house and the pattering of footsteps. He recognized the hinge creak of the stove’s fire door. The aroma of woodsmoke and boiling coffee drifted into the hall. Curious, he followed his nose.

  Wearing an apron over a long blue gingham dress, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the woodstove, Emily removed a pan of biscuits from the oven. Luke stopped in the doorway, admiring her as he always did when she wasn’t looking. Her hair was tied back with a matching blue ribbon and curled prettily from the heat and steam in the kitchen.

  “You’re up early this morning,” he said.

  Holding the hot pan with a towel, she banged the heavy oven door shut and turned to him. “And how about some nice scrambled eggs this morning?” A dazzling smile nearly blinded him.

  Instantly his guard went up. Several times in his life he’d used dynamite, to clear a trail covered by a mountain of mud and rubble or to break loose a snowpack threatening to avalanche a herd. He wasn’t afraid of explosives, but neither was he reckless with them. The potential for mortal danger was only a heartbeat away. The bright smile she gave him was a lit fuse to something.

  Fire in the hole! That was what miners yelled when they ran for cover just before the blast let go. And though the words were ringing in his mind, all he said was, “Don’t think I want any eggs this morning. I’m running kind of late.” He picked up the coffeepot and the milk pitcher and ambled through the door into the dining room, feeling her eyes boring into the back of his neck every step he took.

  Emily followed a minute later with the biscuits on a flowered plate – the good china, he noticed – and an assortment of jams and preserves in little dishes with little spoons, all daintily arranged on a white napkin on a pewter tray. Luke cocked an eyebrow, wondering. A little tea party in the middle of the night? She wanted something. He filled their cups, then set the pot down.

  “Would you like some fig preserves?” she asked.

  His mouth puckered. Few things in this world made him shudder, but fig preserves did. So did beef tea. “It’s a little early. Got any grape jelly over there?”

  “Here’s some lovely quince.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Grape’s fine.”

  She stiffened. Irritably, she pushed the tray toward him and sat back. He moved the fancy dishes around and found some strawberry jam. Almost as good as grape.

  Emily stirred a spoon around and around and around in her cup. He set his teeth together and did his best to ignore it, but the small, monotonous whine of metal on china at four o’clock in the morning curled his toes in his boots. She laid the spoon down and looked off into space, her gaze fixed in the air over his head.

  Luke waited, relieved she’d stopped scraping the bottom out of that cup but wondering what was on her mind. Whatever she had to say wouldn’t come out until she was good and ready. And heaven help him if he didn’t want to hear it. Might as well try to hold back the tide.

  “Biscuits are real good, Emily,” he said, hoping to prod her into conversation.

  Silence.

  Reaching across, he helped himself to another biscuit, slit it, and spread a thick glob of fig preserves on it. There – maybe that would make her happy. He did the same with a second and handed it to her, using the opportunity to study her face.

  When she turned her head, the lamplight pooled in deep shadows under her eyes.

  “You look tired,” he said.

  “I didn’t sleep much. I’ve been thinking.”

  He pushed his cup away and folded his arms on the table. “All right, let’s have it. What have you been thinking?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “I guessed that much.”

  The words tumbled out in a breathless rush. “I think it would be a good idea if you’d take me along with you and Jupiter to Billings,” she said.

  He blinked. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve never really been there and because I can read French, and maybe at the courthouse they can’t.”

  “And maybe they can.”

  Her eyes met his. “But what if they can’t? Then what will you do? You’ll have to come back here and get me and go back again. That means you’ll make a trip for nothing.”

  Wouldn’t hurt to let her ride along, and what she said about the French made sense. No one around here spoke it. In fact
, he’d never met anyone who spoke French before. And he had to take a wagon anyway because Jupiter was too old to ride a horse that far. Her skin looked creamy and soft in the lamplight. His gaze lingered on her lips. She really wouldn’t be much trouble. He cleared his throat. “You’re talking twenty miles in a wagon and camping out one night.”

  Emily nodded. “I know.”

  He picked up his cup and sipped slowly. But there were other things, he knew, that had never occurred to her. Luke glanced over at her. “I’ll have to talk to Molly about it. You know how people gossip. It might not look right. Some folks might get the wrong idea if you were to go to Billings alone with two men.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! One of them is ninety years old.”

  “And one of them isn’t.”

  He meant to shock her with that, but strangely she didn’t look at all surprised. It was almost as if she expected him to say that.

  Emily let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You’re absolutely right, of course. But then, you are about most things.”

  He shot her a sharp look.

  “I never thought of that,” she went on, plucking a crumb of biscuit off the table, rolling it between her fingers. Wide-eyed, she looked at him. “What do you think I should do?”

  He drained his coffee and set the cup down, secretly pleased. For the second time she was being sensible and listening to him, just as she did with the guns. She was a stubborn one, all right, but he’d learned how to handle her.

  “I’ll talk to Molly, but don’t get your hopes up. She’s a stickler for what’s respectable and proper.”

  Demurely, Emily lowered her eyes. “Well, I’ll just have to wait for her answer. I’ll do whatever you two decide.”

  All the way to the barn, and later riding out to the range, their conversation niggled at him. Again and again he played it over in his head, aware of a small warning buzz in the back of his brain. It wasn’t like Emily McCarthy to give in to him that easily. She’d sounded too confident, too sure of herself – even a little rehearsed, when you came right down to it.

  Like an insect whining in his ear, the thought wouldn’t go away: somehow, someway, she was putting something over on him. But for the life of him, he couldn’t see it.

  Not unless she and Molly had already got their heads together.

  Nah, never happen. There wasn’t a devious bone in Molly’s body. But Emily . . . His eyes crinkled. Chuckling, he went over this morning’s breakfast in his mind again. Whatever she was up to, it wouldn’t work with him. He was on to her.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Riding home from the range that day, Luke glanced over at the rider on a claybank horse alongside that looked as if it had rolled in red mud. A genial scarecrow of a man with straw-colored hair, Henry Bertel was nearly as tall as Luke and one of New Hope’s best range men.

  “How many you figure are missing?” Henry asked.

  Luke didn’t answer for a moment, then frowned and shook his head. “Hard to say. Couple hundred, at least.”

  Henry gestured his outstretched arm toward a group of heifers grazing nearby, away from the others. “Today I looked for two I know were here before Christmas – a bull with a busted horn and a cow that was snake-bit last summer. They’re both gone.”

  Luke and half a dozen New Hope hands had counted and recounted cattle since dawn, all reaching the same conclusion: The herd was down. Way down.

  “Where in blazes did they go?” Henry muttered.

  “Nowhere. I think someone’s stealing them,” Luke said. The words drawled out softly, belying the angry set of his mouth.

  Henry made a disgusted sound. “Hope you’re wrong.”

  Looking at the group of heifers in the distance, he gathered the reins. “Be right back; want to check those out one more time.” He slapped the reins and set the claybank into a slow canter across the field.

  Scully’s face had drawn into a deep scowl as he listened. “What you gonna do, Luke?”

  “Talk to Sheriff Tucker.”

  Scully slid a veiled glance at Luke. “Guess I figured you might do something more direct.”

  Luke shook his head. “Not anymore. Besides, that’s something you never do alone. You need witnesses.”

  “I’d help you, if you needed me.”

  Luke looked over, touched by the offer. “I appreciate it, but the main reason I came back to New Hope was because they got law here. This is the sheriff ’s problem now.”

  But only a few months before, he thought, he would’ve handled missing cattle his own way. He and three or four men with rifles would have hidden out on the range and watched the herd. Sooner or later they’d have caught the thieves, and that would have been the end of it.

  He’d grown up with range law, accepted it, understood it, almost believed in the harsh justice of it. A cow was property. Steal it, you steal a man’s livelihood.

  And thieves were hung.

  But this was New Hope. They had real law here. Cattle rustlers or not, folks wouldn’t take kindly to finding local citizens strung up and left hanging out here as examples.

  But it worked.

  In Lewistown, when Stuart and other ranchers started losing cattle by the hundreds to rustlers, they did something about it. Stuart formed the vigilance committee. Luke, his head foreman, had oversight setting it up and of the men on it. Unlike some, Luke always had mixed feelings about the committee.

  Though he hadn’t been inside a church in years, some of his upbringing at New Hope had rubbed off. Molly had seen to it that every one of her kids went to Sunday school and church every week.

  “Thou shalt not kill.”

  It got through.

  And years later he’d wrestled with it. But after two different preachers told him the Sixth Commandment wasn’t meant to protect criminals, he felt a lot easier about running the committee for Stuart. But those days were over. This time he intended to handle it differently, legally, right down to the letter of the law.

  At least he would try. First.

  The following Saturday morning, Luke and Henry Bertel rode into Repton to see Sheriff Tucker. It seemed everybody had business in town that day. As he waved to Jupiter Jackson coming out of the dry-goods store, Luke saw Bart Axel entering the big two-story Empire Bank & Trust Company next door. Down the street, a couple of X-Bar-L hands pushed into one of the saloons.

  Saturday was market day, the streets choked with buggies and wagons of all descriptions and riders. Noisy freighters with their big teams and heavy wagons waited to be unloaded of goods shipped in from Chicago, Ohio, and back east. Horses were tied to hitching rails, awning poles, anything that would hold them. Women with packages and kids in tow held their skirts out of the mud and picked their way to the other side of the street. When two young boys darted after a dog that ran right between the legs of Henry’s claybank horse, the two men swung off their horses and led the animals the last half block or so to a hitching rail in front of Lucky Eddie’s Saloon.

  “Pleasure before business.” Henry grinned and rubbed his hands together. All the way in from New Hope, he’d talked of little else but the girls at Lucky Eddie’s.

  Looping the reins around the rail in front of Eddie’s, Luke straightened his hat and turned to cross the street. “You go ahead. I’ve got to see the sheriff.”

  Henry clapped him on the shoulder, his cheeks creased in a wide smile. “Not so fast. You’re coming inside with me. You ain’t been to town once since you got back.”

  “All right, all right,” Luke said, with an embarrassed grin. He didn’t want to admit he wasn’t looking forward to seeing Tucker again anyhow.

  They crossed the sidewalk and stepped into Eddie’s. As soon as their eyes adjusted from the bright daylight of the street to the smoky dimness inside, they walked midway down the bar to an empty section. The bar was a huge mahogany counter, mirrored behind, and running the length of the room.

  Luke hooked a boot heel over the railing, his right hand moving
automatically to the gun on his hip, thumbing the small leather loop off the hammer, lifting the handle quickly, checking the gun was free, a habit he’d developed years before.

  “What’ll you have?” Eddie the bartender swiped a rag over the bar top in front of them.

  “Just something cold and wet for me. Got any of that new ginger drink they’re so crazy about in Chicago?” Luke asked.

  The bartender nodded. “Ginger ale, they call it. We got it. Anything Chicago’s got, we got.”

  “While you’re at it, he needs a lady to drink it with,” Henry said, nudging Luke with his elbow. “Right, boss?”

  “Confound it, just order, Henry,” he snapped.

  “Gimme a whiskey, Eddie.” Henry turned to Luke, his long face reddening. “You know what? You been mighty testy the last couple of weeks.”

  Luke winced. Henry was a hard worker and a friend besides. Irritating as he was, he wanted to help. And deep down, Luke knew he was right. He hadn’t been himself lately: short-tempered, worried, and working every one of them too hard, including himself.

  “Don’t mean to be,” he said. “Ignore me. I got a lot on my mind.”

  “I gathered that, and her name’s Emily, ain’t it?”

  “Did you order?” Luke looked at him, stone-faced.

  “You know I did, and you’re just changing the subject.”

  Eddie winked at Luke and tipped his head toward two bored-looking girls sitting at the end of the bar. “Take your pick.”

  Both women were looking the two of them up and down. One was tall, with a mass of dark hair wound in tight spit curls she scratched carefully with her little fingernail, as if it were a wig. The other girl – plump and pretty – wore a shiny green satin dress cut revealingly low.

  Her carrot-colored hair was piled loosely on top of her head in a bouffant style. She smiled at Luke in obvious invitation. He looked away. He hadn’t come in here for that.