The Devil's Justice

by Chad Cull

The mid morning sun loomed as a huge shimmering orb just above the crest of the hill; its rays protruding long fingers against the pale blue sky. A shadow emerged from the other side of the hill. A horse and rider, just a slow moving black dot against the brilliant light.

  Jace Carlin reined the gray mare to a halt and sat quietly, looking down into the valley below. He took a deep breath, smelling the dampness of the early morning mist. The air was crisp and sounds of the town below drifted clearly upwards. The clang of a blacksmith’s hammer against an anvil. Storekeepers opening their doors and cranking out awnings. The clatter of boot steps against the plank sidewalks. The creak of wagon wheels as locals traversed the streets of Contention Springs.

  The town was very much the same as it was when Jace had left it four years ago. Four years, Jace thought to himself. Is that all it’s been? Yet, it seemed like a lifetime ago, since he had ridden out of this valley on his quest for vengeance against the men that

  had taken his family from him. Vengeance? He thought. Yes, he had finally come to terms with what it really was. He had told himself for so long that it was justice, but the old lawman’s words had followed him these past few months. “Vengenace is the Devil’s Justice.” The memory of a woman and little boy grieving over a man he had taken from them, had plagued his days and haunted his dreams.

  When he rode out of Clairmont that fateful day, he thought he had finally wreaked retribution on the ones who had taken his very life and existence from him; leaving him empty inside with no purpose in life. The vengeance trail had given him a purpose; seek out and destroy. And, he had done that. But the emptiness was still there.

  He had barely ridden out of town when he suddenly became aware that he knew not where he was headed. For the first time in a long time, he had no purpose. No trails to follow. No desperadoes to track down. No where to go. He shouldn’t feel this way, he told himself. He had gotten his satisfaction and the long hunt was over. Over! What would he do now? He forced the thought to the back of his mind. He told himself that he was just tired. Perhaps he should camp for the night. Rest. Think about what he was going to do next. Where to go.

  He had camped in a grove of junipers next to a stream. Sleep did not come easy to him and several times he climbed out of his blankets and paced around the camp. He sat on a rock next to the babbling stream, feeling the briskness of the night air, listening to night sounds and occasionally slapping at mosquitoes.

  It was past midnight, when he finally fell to exhaustion and went to sleep. But the sleep had been fitful and his brain filled with tormenting images. That night in pouring rain as he lay wounded next to his brother, Josh. Poor Josh. He had never had a chance in life. With only the mental capacity of a child, he had grown to a man of complete innocence. A naiveté that the rest of the world lacked and could not understand. Jace had taken care of him ever since their parents died of Cholera when they were just kids. Jace and his brother had come west on a wagon train several years ago. It was when the train stopped over in Contention Springs, that Jace met Jenna and Alice Shaw. He decided to leave the train and settle in the basin east of Contention Springs. Here, he and his brother built a log cabin and began ranching. Josh had worked hard alongside his brother and the ranch grew to a sizeable spread and a large herd. It was just a year later that Jace married Alice and the year after that their son was born.

  Life had been good for the Carlin’s until that night when five riders rode down on them.

  In his dreams, Jace could hear the pounding of hoofs, the drunken shouts and laughter of riders and the roar of sixguns. He could see the engulfing flames of his house and the screams of his family inside. Jace tossed in his blankets, feeling his helplessness; seeing himself lying in the mud, rain pelting his face, while unable to move. Unable to save his family. Unable to fight back.

  Once again he looked into the flames. This time he saw Egstrom’s wife and little boy; burning rafters falling on them, consuming them. The boy’s face loomed large in the flames. He screamed, “I hate you! You killed my Pa! When I grow up, I’ll kill you.!”

  The attacking marauders continued to circle the burning cabin, on their mounts. Their guns blazed in the darkness and the thunder of horses hooves were muted by the slosh of thick mud. And as each rider loomed before Carlin’s fallen body, he heard their hideous laughing and saw their evil, twisted faces. And each one’s face was the face of Jace Carlin, himself.

  Carlin had jerked himself awake, sweat streaming down his face in icy fingers as the chill of the near dawn air quickly dried them and left him cold as a corpse.

  Night after night the dreams returned and each day started with the same coldness. Day after day, Jace Carlin saddled up and rode on to nowhere, trying to decide what to do, where to go. The days grew long and endless. Only the sound of the mare’s hoofs sounding in his ears. The sound of gunfire and screams of a woman and a boy echoed in his brain. He saw men dying before his avenging gun and the lights going out of their eyes as they died.

  From time to time Carlin had drifted into a town. He tried to sleep in a bed, but the dreams persisted, just as they had on the trail. He tried to wash away the memories with whiskey, but that didn’t work either. To make matters worse, in each town, he found that he had garnered a reputation and there were men itching to best him. Two more gunnies had died before Carlin’s gun, before Jace decided to stay away from towns and people.

  For days he stayed in the mountains and badlands; alone save for the haunting memories that continually consumed him. The days turned into weeks and then a month. There was still no where to go and no purpose left in his life. Then one early dawn, he awoke from his sleep and realized that, either through sheer exhaustion or some divine providence, he had slept the night through dreamless. As his eyes slowly opened, washing the sleep away, shimmering fingers of gold and orange against a red tinged clear blue sky lifted above the far horizon. He felt the warmth of the rising sun cover him like a blanket and soothing the chill in his soul. As if a messenger from heaven had awakened him and had given him an answer. Jace Carlin arose from his blankets, broke camp, and saddled up. As he started to mount, a thought crossed his mind. He stepped down and unbuckled his gun belt. He tossed the rig, pistol and all onto the ground and let it lie where it fell. A wisp of dust blew over it as he turned to mount. He hesitated, thinking of the men in various towns who had braced him. As much as he no longer wanted to use a gun, the nagging thought of being caught defenseless, gave him pause. Then thinking better of it, he reached down and retrieved the holster and gun. He wrapped the belt tightly around them and tucked it all away in his saddle bag. Just in case, he thought, though he hoped he would never have a need for weapons again. Then he swung into the saddle, turning the mare to the north and gigged her forward. He was going home.

  And, now as he slouched in the saddle, looking down at the town below, he began to question if he had been right in coming back. The pit of his stomach twisted into a hard knot and ached. Memories flooded his brain. He could see himself with Alice, little Joey and Josh loading their wagon in front of the general store. He could hear their laughter. He remembered barn dances and barbeques with the neighbors. He saw them all in the comfort of their home in the basin and he felt the warmth of all the good times they had. A tear started at the corner of his eye and he brushed it away quickly, fighting back the urge to cry. Then it all faded as the memories of that fateful night pushed the happy images from sight. His jaw set hard and grimness returned to his stubbled youthful face.

  “Well old girl,” he said to the mare. “We’ve come this far. I reckon, I’d be somewhat of a coward if I turned back now. Lord knows I’m scared though. I sure hope I’m doing the right thing.” He looked up at the sky as if seeking more answers. A few clouds hung motionless in the otherwise empty blue sky. This time, there was no messenger, no warmth of assurance. Just the chill of what might lie ahead.

  Then with a sigh of
resignation, he lifted the reins, touched his spurs gently against the mare’s flanks and guided her down the slope into the main street of Contention Springs.

  From his vantage point, on the hill above town, it did not appear that much had changed in this little cow town while he had been away, but as he entered the main street and could see it up close, he saw that much had indeed changed. The town appeared shabbier than what he had remembered. Many of the establishments were in need of repair and paint. There were several businesses that had closed up. Windows and doors had been boarded shut; their owners obviously had packed up and left. The Lucky 7 Saloon, further down the street to the right was still open, but this too was not as he had remembered it. Unlike the rest of the town, it was not in disrepair. It sported a wildly outlandish lavender paint job. An addition had been added to the far side, providing for a garishly designed hotel, with ornate pillars. Its new coat of white paint gleamed in the morning sun.

  Across the street from the Lucky 7 was another saloon. This was a new structure that had been built since Carlin had been away. The brightly painted sign over the bat wing doors was emblazoned with the words ‘Lady Luck Emporium.’ Like its competitor across the street it appeared to be a prosperous enterprise.

  Jace kept his head down, hoping the brim of his hat would conceal his face, somewhat, as he rode slowly along the street. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for familiar faces. There seemed to be many new people in town. That lifted his spirits a bit. Maybe, his apprehension about retuning to old friends and neighbors had bee ill founded. But, that elation was short lived as he recognized familiar faces. Les Sturgis, the village blacksmith had lifted the hot horseshoe from his anvil and was dipping it in the cooling water trough. It sizzled and steamed into the crisp morning air. His massive, shaggy head jerked up suddenly as he recognized Jace Carlin passing by.

  Jace noticed him staring, but continued to ride forward, without slackening the mare’s pace. He tried to appear to be looking straight ahead and seeing nothing to either side.

  The blacksmith stood stock still; his stare following the rider as the horse’s hoofs clip clopped past him.

  Time seemed to slow down to a crawl for Jace Carlin, and he forced down the urge to hurry the mare along. As he rode further on he passed Sy Miller, standing on the porch of his general store. Across the street, Bill Payson was rolling out the awning in front of his tonsorial parlor. He stopped his cranking, jaw slack in surprise, as he watched Jace pass by.

  Off to his right, he passed the local newspaper; The Contention Clarion. Like many of the other buildings, it had a shabbiness about it that had not been there before. It had been a prosperous paper and its editor and publisher, John Parker had been a visionary and a leading citizen for Contention Springs. The morning sun glanced off the plate glass window, painting the image of the street and the passing rider across it. Inside, eyes peered though the glass, totally hidden from the outside by the sun’s reflections. The eyes were large and clear blues. They watched intently as the rider passed by. Amy Parker pushed back a wisp of her light brown hair from her slender young face. She wiped her hands against her printer’s apron, smoothing it out and then absently pushing her hair back, although it was tied tightly in a bun just above the nape of her neck.

  Across the street, Will Parmelee stepped through the doorway of the Sheriff’s Office onto the board sidewalk. He was a tall, lean man, in his early thirties, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His dark eyes squinted against the bright morning sunlight, but it didn’t prevent him from noticing Carlin pass by. A five pointed star was pinned to the left side of Parmelee’s brown leather vest. He stepped out into the middle of the street, feet spread apart and thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. He stared at Carlin’s retreating back and his craggy face turned to stone. Trouble had come to town.

  Carlin angled his mount to the left and reined up in front of the Contention Springs Hotel. This too looked a bit run down as if business had fallen off like the rest of the town’s commercial establishments. The faded sign outside still proclaimed Ethan Decker as owner and proprietor.

  Jace stepped down from the saddle and tied the reins to the hitch rail. As he secured the slip knot, he glanced up and back along the street. His glance lingered as he recognized Will Parmalee crossing the street and stepping onto the sidewalk in front of the newspaper office. Amy Parker had stepped out of the building to greet him, warmly. He had put his hands on her arms and they were both looking in Carlin’s direction. Presently, John Parker came through the doorway to join them. The newspaper man looked much older than Jace had remembered him. His shoulders were stooped and his otherwise dark hair was almost gray now. He too was looking in Jace’s direction. Obviously, Jace was the object of conversation. Not that he was surprised, but he had hoped to be less conspicuous. He was not yet ready to renew old acquaintances and tried to act as if he was unaware of the attention he was drawing.

  He untied the thongs behind his saddle and removed his saddlebags. The extra weight they carried, reminded him he still had his gun. He tossed the bags over his shoulder and started toward the hotel entrance.

  “Jace! Jace Carlin!” he heard a voice shouting behind him. It was Parmalee’s. Carlin paused in front of the door. He almost started again, as if ignoring the call. But he thought better of it and decided to meet the situation head on. He sighed and gritted his teeth. With a turn in place, he watched Parmalee hurrying across the street toward him, his long legs lengthening his strides.

  There was a little extra breathiness in his voice, from the quickened pace as he reached Carlin, extending his hand in greeting. “This is a surprise, Jace,” he said cordially with a smile, but his eyes reflected a certain wariness. “Been a long time.”

  Jace reluctantly took the man’s hand and shook it, albeit not with enthusiasm. He nodded toward the star on Parmalee’s vest. “Still Deputy Sheriff, I see,” Jace acknowledged.

  “Not exactly,” Will responded, lifting the frock of his vest so the star could be more visible. “It’s Sheriff, now.” There was a flatness to his voice as he said it.

  Jace looked the lawman up and down, coolly. “Well, congratulations, Will. What happened to Russ Shaw. He was still Sheriff when I left.”

  “Russ retired shortly after…” He didn’t finish. “You know after what happened. Right after you rode out.”

  “Right after I rode out to do his job,” Carlin stated. “Your’s too.” He leveled his gaze steely at Will.

  Will’s forehead furrowed. “I was only his deputy, Jace. He ordered me not to intervene. He was afraid what would happen to the town, if we tried to take them. He was an old man, Jace. Long past his prime. He never thought he would ever have to stand up against men like them.”

  “Well, he didn’t,” Carlin retorted bitterly.

  “And he was sorry. He never got over it. Afterall, Alice was his daughter. He never got over it.”

  ‘Neither did I,” Jace started to turn away.

  “What brings you back?” Parmalee raised his voice authoritatively. It was a command for answer rather than a question for conversation.

  Jace leveled his gaze into Parmalee’s. “It’s my home,” he almost growled evenly. “Is there a problem with that, Sheriff?” the emphasis was on ‘Sheriff’.

  Will splayed both hands, patting the air defensively. “Hold on there, Jace,” he said. “I meant no harm. I just wanted to greet you back, is all. I had hoped you had gotten over your bitterness.”

  “Me too, Will,” Jace said in a softer tone almost apologetically. “I’m trying. You just caught me a little off guard. I’m sorry.” Then he added as if he knew what the lawman really was concerned about. “You have no worry about me. I want no trouble. I’m trying to put that all behind me now.”

  Parmalee nodded. A slight half smile. “We all heard about you, Jace. How you tracked them all down. You’ve made a reput
ation for yourself.”

  “Don’t worry, Will. I’m not bringing trouble with me. I’ve put away my gun.”

  “I noticed,” the Sheriff said. “You think that’s wise? There’s always going to be someone looking to build a rep for themselves. What will you do without a gun?”

  “I guess I could die and you’d have the honor of hanging the gent that did it.” He forced a smile and Will returned it.

  “Well let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Jace,” the lawman said. Then he added, still probing. “So you plan on living here again?”

  “That’s right. It’s time I started over. I have a good spread. I made it pay before. I can do it again.”

  “You’ll have a lot of memories to deal with, Jace. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. At least I can try.”

  “Might be easier if you tried to start somewhere fresh and new,” Parmalee said.

  “It might,” Carlin agreed. “But I have land here, already. I just don’t have the money to buy elsewhere. Besides, my family is buried here. I belong here.”

  “You’ve been gone a long time, Jace. You haven’t worked that land for four years. Thing’s have changed around here since you left.”

  “Changed? How?”

  “Well….” Parmalee stammered with avoidance. “What I’m saying is that time changes things. That’s all. I just think you might be better off elsewhere.”

  “Is that a warning, Sheriff?” Carlin’s round eyes narrowed and edginess returned to his voice.

  “No. No, of course not, Jace. I’m just concerned. We are still friends aren’t we?” Carlin eyed the man up and down. “Sure,” he said flatly, turned and entered the hotel, leaving Parmalee standing in the street.

  Sweat dripped off Jace Carlin’s round chin. He used the tips of the loose hanging bandana from around his neck to wipe his face. The early afternoon sun was burning hot and Carlin had been keeping to the shade of trees along the trail as he rode out of the hills and into the basin where his ranch was located. As he sat astride his mount at the rim of the basin, his eyes searched the far expanse that he had once called home.

  Knowing, he would have a great deal of work to do before he could move back to his home spread, Jace Carlin had taken a room in the hotel. After cleaning up a bit and stabling the mare, treating her to fresh oats and a rubdown, Jace had taken lunch at the only café in town. Business was light and he was glad that he hadn’t run into anyone he knew. Even the cook and waitress were new to him. The management had obviously changed hands while he was away.

  He stayed away from the counter and found a small table in a far corner of the room. He draped his Stetson over the back of the chair opposite and he sat with his back to the rest of the room. He had ordered a hot roast beef sandwich and some coffee and was just finishing when he sensed, rather than saw, the shadow or presence of someone standing behind him. He turned slowly and warily, although sensing that danger was not eminent.

  His expression was one of surprise, though not unsuspecting. His tanned face paled and he felt a chill, choking back any reaction that might reveal the tinge of excitement he felt as he saw Amy Parker standing there.

  “Hello, Jace,” she said softly. She no longer wore her printer’s apron, but there was an ink smudge on the left shoulder of her blue gingham dress and a spot of ink under her chin. Amy had been a good friend of his wife in the old days; although she had been much younger than Alice. The two of them had been very close. Alice regarded her as a younger sister; something that Alice’s own sister, Jenna, had always resented.

  “Hello, Amy,” Jace smiled warmly. “You certainly have grown up,” he said admiringly.

  Her face flushed a bit, but she passed over the comment, which she took as a compliment. “Mind if I join you?” She said, already moving to a chair, readying to sit down.

  “No. No. Of course not,” he said, knowing he really didn’t have any choice.

  “Glad to see you’re back,” Amy attempted conversation, not quite sure how to start.

  Jace smiled. “I hope I’m glad too,” he said, swiveling in his chair to face her on the opposite side of the table.

  “You don’t know?” Amy asked.

  “Sorry, I don’t. Not sure if it’s going to work out. Not sure if anyone around here even wants me back.”

  “Oh sure,” she smiled. “All of your old friends will be glad.”

  “I’m not so sure. I didn’t get the impression that Will Parmelee wants me here. And I’m sure Russ Shaw won’t be happy to hear I’m back.”

  “Will’s your friend, Jace. He’s just concerned about you. As for Russ Shaw, he’s a sick old man. I’m sure he’s more concerned about you having a grudge against him.”

  “Well, if I have,” Jace said. “I’m going to try not to keep it. I’ve had enough revenge.” His eyes saddened. “Too much in fact. And I’m only the worse for it. It didn’t bring my family back.”

  “I’m sorry, Jace,” she answered, not knowing what else to say.

  “I know,” he responded. Then changed the subject. “So tell me. Are you and

  Randy Poole married yet?”

  She lowered her lashes and took a deep breath. She felt like she was blurting it out. “No. Randy’s dead.”

  Carlin bolted upright, surprise on his face.

  She continued. “We were to be married, but he was killed a year and a half ago.”

  “I’m so sorry, Amy. What…what happened? How?”

  Amy reached for the words, her hands wringing.

  “But if you don’t want to talk about, you don’t have….”

  She cut him off. “No. No that’s alright. I can talk about it.”

  He waited a moment. Then she started. “You know he was working for DuncanHolt.”

  Carlin nodded. Duncan Holt had been one of Jace’s best friends. He owned the spread to the East of Carlin’s and was married to Alice’s sister Jenna.

  “There are new owners on Ben Crenshaw’s old place to the west and south of you. It’s called the Diamond 8 now. They claimed Duncan was rustling their herds, but it was just an excuse to bring in hired guns and try to take over the other ranches in the valley. They claimed the Rafter h was stealing cattle and one day Randy was found shot to death. Of course they denied it,but there was no reason for anyone else to kill Randy., He didn’t have an enemy in the world. You know that.”

  “Yes, I do,” Jace muttered. Then he said. “What about Will Parmalee? Couldn’t he do anything about it?”

  She shook her head. “No. There were no witnesses, There was nothing Will could do.”

  “Or maybe, he didn’t want to,” Carlin mused bitterly.

  “That’s not fair, Jace.”

  “You seem real touchy about Will, Amy. Looked to me like you two are real chummy, when I saw you out there on the street.”

  Amy’s eyes flashed and she pushed herself up from the chair. “Yes. Yes we are. It’s none of your business, but Will and I are going to be married next month. I…I thought we were all friends, but I guess you’ve changed too much for that.” She stomped away and slammed the café door as she went out.

  He felt a pang of guilt as he watched her go. Maybe he had changed too much.

  Now as he sat in the saddle above the basin, he admitted that perhaps things had changed, as Will Parmalee had warned. He had expected his ranch to be overgrown with weeds from neglect. He had expected to see the ruins of his cabin, but this was not the case. Where his cabin had once stood, the ground had been laid bare and grass now grew in its place. Gone was any trace of his barn, corral and other outbuildings. His eyes searched frantically for signs of the little cemetery where his family had been laid to rest. No markers existed. An emptiness settled into the pit of his stomach and it ached. It was almost as if his home and family had never existed. In its place was rolling rangeland, full of lush grass and cattle dotting the range for miles. Bu
t whose cattle were they?

  Could it be that he had ridden the wrong way? That he had forgotten his way to his own home and was looking at the wrong basin? No! He could not persuade himself that such was the case. Someone had taken over his land. Was this why Will Parmalee wanted him to ride on? Had he been afraid of Carlin’s reaction, when he found he had lost his home? Maybe so, Jace acknowledged to himself. He was feeling the familiar rage building inside him. He remembered the men who had died before his gun and he fought to restrain himself. Whatever had happened here, he had to change it without violence.

  He rode down into the basin and guided his horse in among the grazing cattle. At first he saw no brands. Then he realized he was among young stock that had not yet been branded. He looked around for older stock with a brand that would tell him who the cattle belonged to. He picked out a rangy old mossey horn grazing on a knoll a short distance away and pricked his spurs to the mare’s sides, urging her up the incline.

  He was stepping out of the saddle almost before the mare slid to a complete stop. The mossey horn shied quickly away. Carlin slowed his approach and stepped gently in a half circle toward and around the animal until he could see the brand. Diamond 8!

  He almost lost his balance as something hissed through the air over his head. The surprise was such that he did not readily realize that a hemp lariat had looped above him and had dropped over his head, settling around his shoulders and drawing his arms tight to his sides and pulled him sideways, off his feet. He felt the ground rush up to meet him. Pain racked down his left side and the fall drove breath from his lungs. And then he felt himself moving; sliding, twisting and turning; finally realizing that he was being dragged behind a galloping horse.

  *****

  Chapter Three