Stands a Calder Man

by Janet Dailey

  People were packed in the courtroom like steers in a cattle car. Lilli and Webb found seats in the second row behind the prosecutor’s table. When they saw Simon Bardolph searching for a place to sit, there was such a gabble of voices that it was useless to call to the physician. Webb stood up and motioned to him that there was a small space next to them. Lilli squeezed closer to Webb so Simon would have room to sit.

  “I didn’t know you were coming.” Simon shouldered his way into the space and kept his elbows tucked in close to his sides.

  “Lilli insisted on coming.” Disapproval was in Webb’s voice, but he carried the subject no further.

  “They’re calling me to testify as to the cause of death.” His mouth twisted wryly. “It’s going to be a five-word answer, A bullet in the back.”

  A hush came over the courtroom as the lawyers arguing the case entered, followed by the defendant. Both Doyle Pettit, who was the attorney for the defense, and Franz Kreuger remained standing by their chairs. Their action stirred a murmur of confusion that ran through the courtroom crowd.

  “Good God, what’s she doing here?” Simon muttered angrily under his breath, and Lilli noticed the tubercular-wasted woman being led to the front, a man on each side, half-carrying her to an empty chair behind the defense table. “She shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  “Doyle obviously plans to play on their sympathy.” Dryness rustled through Webb’s voice as a grim watchfulness came over him. It was a clever move. Its brilliance was made even more apparent when the jury filed in and Webb saw it consisted of wheat farmers. He had the uneasy feeling he had underestimated Doyle Pettit for a second time, although he couldn’t see what Doyle hoped to gain by getting Kreuger off. Surely he stood a better chance of getting Kreuger’s land if the man were convicted.

  Once Helga Kreuger was seated, Doyle Pettit sat down and motioned to his client to take the chair next to him. Kreuger did so slowly, his look turning malevolent when he saw Webb Calder in the second row.

  “Calder is here,” he told Pettit.

  “Don’t think about him now,” Doyle ordered, barely moving his lips as he issued the low warning. “And wipe that look off your face. If the jury sees it, you’ll wind up with your neck in a noose.”

  “That’s what he’s hoping will happen to me.” Kreuger turned to face the judge’s bench.

  “Then we’ll just have to fool him, won’t we?” Doyle looked at Kreuger and smiled with his eyes. There was a moment when he thought his appeal wasn’t going to work; then Kreuger’s expression changed to one of blankness. Doyle mentally reminded himself that Kreuger might be a simple matter to maneuver.

  The judge entered and everyone stood as he pounded the gavel and called the room to order. The trial began.

  With the entering of the guilty plea, Doyle Pettit then sought to prove that the act was committed under extenuating circumstances. Within minutes, Webb realized that it was Hobie Evans who was on trial, not Franz Kreuger. A dozen witnesses testified to the physical harassment and abuse they had suffered at the hands of the murder victim. When Evans was painted blacker than the devil, Pettit eloquently set about detailing all the hardships and losses Kreuger had endured—the killing drought, the crop wiped out by a plague of grasshoppers, the deaths of his children, and the debilitating illness of his wife. He compared his trials with those that beset Job in the Bible, trials he had borne in silence until he’d seen a neighbor suffering at the hands of a cruel, villainous blackguard. Then it had become too much for him. In summation, Pettit pleaded with the jury to show mercy for this man and his pitifully ill wife who needed him.

  Webb listened to it all. Beside him, Lilli was transmitting her tension to him, strain whitening her complexion. When the jury filed out of the courtroom to arrive at a verdict, he took her hand and threaded his fingers between hers.

  She couldn’t find any comfort in the gesture, although she held tightly on to his hand. No one left the courtroom, as if they all suspected the jury of twelve good and true men wouldn’t deliberate long over the verdict. In less than twenty minutes, they filed back in and took their seats.

  When the judge read the verdict that found Kreuger guilty of a lesser charge and suspended the sentence, Lilli came to her feet. “No!” She angrily protested the decision that set Kreuger free. “No, you can’t do it!” Her hands were knotted into fists, clenched rigidly at her side.

  Then Webb was standing and taking hold of her arms to restrain her. “It’s no good, Lilli.” His voice was low and rough. “You can’t change it.” His grip forced her to turn away as he guided her down the row to the aisle so they could exit the courtroom. She didn’t resist him, but her body remained stiff, everything held tightly in check.

  Other people were already milling, some pausing to watch the touching scene as the handcuffs were taken off Kreuger’s wrists and he was reunited with his wife. Simon separated himself from the Calders and made his way through the crowd to Helga Kreuger, concerned that the trial had been too much for her.

  Tears were streaming down her sallow cheeks as she lay in her husband’s embrace. She was too weak to cry or cough, making feeble attempts at each that just drained more of her strength.

  Simon turned his scowling and angry countenance on Doyle Pettit. “Get her out of here,” he demanded. “She needs complete quiet and bedrest—and plenty of it.”

  “I have a room for her at the boarding house up the street.” Doyle showed little concern as he signaled to the two men who had brought Helga Kreuger to the courtroom to take her back.

  Franz protested, “I will take her home.”

  “She’s in no condition to travel,” Simon Bardolpb snapped, “Can’t you see she’s sick? She needs rest, and I don’t just mean an hour or two. I’m talking days and weeks.”

  The terrible sound of her cough convinced Franz when the doctor’s warning failed. Grudgingly, he assisted one of the men to help his wife to her feet and supported her while they made their way through the thinning crowd.

  “How could you put her through an ordeal like this?” Simon looked narrowly at the man he had believed to be a compassionate individual.

  “I had no choice.”

  “No, I suppose she was a necessary tool in obtaining Kreuger’s release,” he said thinly. “So you used her and won. I hope you know what you’re doing by setting a man like that free.”

  “I didn’t set him free. The judge did that,” Doyle reminded him smoothly. “As a doctor, it’s your duty to do all you can to save a patient. And it’s my duty to defend my client to the best of my ability. The right and wrong of something is for the judge and jury to decide. I can’t do that any more than you can play God.”

  It was an unarguable comparison, but Simon still didn’t like it. It was written in the sternness of his expression as he pivoted away from Pettit, his opinion of the man rapidly dropping.

  Outside the courthouse, Webb paused with Lilli on the sidewalk. She hadn’t said a word, but he’d seen the I-told-you-so look in her eyes the one time she had glanced at him. It had been her fear all along that Kreuger would somehow be set free, and he hadn’t believed it was possible. He had killed a man, shot him in the back in front of a score of witnesses, and he was walking out of the courthouse a free man. Webb watched Kreuger carrying his frail wife the last few yards to the waiting buggy.

  “Webb, I want to go home. Now.” Lilli was seized by the urge and couldn’t shake it. It was an unreasoning kind of fear that she couldn’t explain. But it was suddenly imperative that they go back to the ranch this afternoon.

  He took his watch from his vest pocket and looked at the time, “It’s late. We’d never make it before nightfall, and I’m not going to try to travel over those roads in the dark.”

  “Please. I have this feeling we should go.” She looked at him earnestly, silently imploring him to listen to her. “I want to see Chase, and make sure he’s all right.”

  Webb hesitated. For an instant, Lilli thought she had won him over
; then he shook his head. “No. We’ll spend the night here as we planned and get an early start in the morning. Ruth’s taking good care of our son.”

  “Yes.” She admitted that, but with more than a trace of agitation.

  He put his arm around her waist and fitted her close to his side. “This business with Kreuger has spooked you.” He smiled warmly at her. There was pride in his eyes for this slim, strong woman who carried his name. She was beautiful and spirited, with a will to match his. Even now, she was pushing away the fear that shadowed her eyes.

  “Maybe so,” she conceded.

  “Do you suppose I can persuade a certain married woman to have dinner with me tonight?” he murmured, his voice growing husky.

  “You can try,” she replied on a faint note of challenge.

  The afternoon sun was leaning toward the west, slanting its rays through the boarding-house window. Franz Kreuger pulled the blind so the light wouldn’t disturb his wife. She had closed her eyes only minutes ago, finally drifting into a much-needed sleep. He slipped quietly out of the room and down the stairs to the parlor.

  “How is she?” Doyle Pettit looked up briefly, then finished pouring liquid from his pocket flask into a glass.

  “She finally went to sleep. She will be better.” Franz Kreuger refused to believe anything else. He moved to the window, an impatience claiming his actions; his gaze was restless and hard. “We should be going home. We have been away from our place too long. So much work has been left undone for so long.”

  “It looks as if it’s going to be some time before your wife is in any condition to travel.” Doyle took a drink of the bootlegged whiskey.

  “I’ll have to leave her here until she is better.” Franz was confident his wife would understand. She had never disagreed with any of his decisions, and she would see the sense of this one. “I have decided to go this afternoon.”

  “Calder won’t be leaving until in the morning, so it’s probably a good idea that you leave today.” Doyle nodded his agreement. “I’ll arrange for Mrs. Rogers to look after your wife until she’s better.”

  Kreuger faced him, suspicion lurking in his narrowed eyes. “You have done much for me, and I can’t pay you.”

  “But you will.” Doyle smiled away that concern. “I pride myself on being a good judge of character, Kreuger. You are the sort that always pays your debts. This drought won’t last forever. And as long as you have your land, you’ll be harvesting wheat one day. That means business for my grain elevator, my bank, and my hardware store. By helping you, I stand to gain a lot, too.” Much more than Kreuger ever suspected. Doyle was confident that everything was going to work out as he had planned it. He lifted his glass in a silent drink to it.

  When Kreuger saw the many ways Pettit stood to profit from helping him, it eased his mind. The day would come when he would pay him back. He accepted charity from no man. Pettit indicated he respected him for that, which pleased Kreuger. He’d rather die than grovel at the feet of any man, so he didn’t offer his thanks for the help Pettit had given him. The man would be paid, so gratitude wasn’t necessary.

  “I will leave now,” Kreuger announced. “Please tell my wife that I will come to fetch her in three weeks.”

  “Of course.” Doyle inclined his head. Not until after Kreuger had left the boarding house did a smile spread across his face and a different light began to shine in his eyes. “Hurry home, Kreuger,” he murmured and chuckled softly, “Hurry home.”

  Early the next morning, the Model T was on the road, making the return journey to the ranch. Webb and Lilli passed families of drylanders, a common sight now. Some were on foot, others in dilapidated trucks, and still more in wagons. But the dust didn’t seem as bad. And the wind generated by the fast-traveling automobile made the hot temperature bearable. There were stretches of land blackened by range fires, and more acres mounded into dirt dunes, dotted with thistles that were fodder for milk cows. They drove by hardscrabble farms with chickens scratching futilely in the dirt and bone-thin pigs wallowing in the dust.

  It was a relief when they reached the unmarked gate to the Triple C Ranch. Here the rolling country was covered with brown grass, dried out and burnt up, but it was a covering that held the rangeland intact.

  “We’re almost home.” Webb took his eyes off the lane long enough to glance at Lilli.

  The blowing wind had freed strands of dark hair for the sun to set on fire. Her wide mouth was lifted in a faint smile at the prospect of journey’s end. “I wish we could go faster.”

  Ahead, there was a straight stretch of fairly smooth road. Webb pushed down on the foot pedal to increase their speed, blurring the landscape in his side vision. They were nearly halfway across the stretch when, all at the same moment, there was an explosion and the steering wheel was suddenly wrenched to the right, nearly ripped from his hands.

  A blowout. Webb fought to regain control, but the automobile careened violently to the right, bounced wildly into a ditch, and came to an abrupt stop as it gouged into an embankment. It was a full second before Webb realized they were no longer moving. The instant he turned, he saw Lilli slumped against the door.

  A wild fear clawed through him as he reached for her, calling her name. Her body was limp when he gathered it into his arms. Already an ugly bruise was coloring her right temple. His fingers found the pulse in her neck, but it wasn’t very strong. His own heart was thudding loudly in his chest, the blood pumping with powerful thrusts. As carefully as possible, he laid her down on the seat and reached behind him to open the door.

  There was a whanging thud of a bullet ricocheting off the metal frame, and Webb threw himself across Lilli. It hadn’t been a blowout. Somebody had shot out the tire. Another searching shot plowed into the upholstery of the seat only a few inches above his head. He reached over to open the small compartment in the dash and take out the revolver that was always kept there. It was mostly for snakes, which were prevalent in this part of the country. It wasn’t uncommon to encounter one while changing a tire. Whoever was shooting had a rifle, but at least Webb, too, was armed.

  Aware that he had to draw the fire away from the car, where Lilli might get hit, Webb waited until the third shot broke the windshield. He kicked the door open and rolled outside, counting on surprise. He hit the ground and kept moving. Two shots were snapped off in rapid succession, kicking up the dirt behind him as his unseen assailant tried to bring his moving target into his sights. Erosion had exposed an outcropping of coal just ahead of him. Webb lunged for the shelter it offered, grabbed a corner of it, and swung behind it. Another bullet fragmented the coal edge under his hand, coal splinters peppering his hand as he yanked it back and flattened himself against the ledge rock.

  He was breathing hard; perspiration was breaking out on his forehead and upper lip. All the shots had come from the same rifle. There was only one person out there. Judging from the direction of the shots, the man had to be in that stand of dead pines on the hill across the way. Webb checked his revolver. There were only five bullets, the hammer resting on an empty chamber. He turned it and wished he’d grabbed some shells.

  There was a chance a Triple C rider was in the vicinity and had heard the shots. But with Lilli hurt and unconscious, Webb couldn’t risk waiting for help to come.

  So far, his attacker was unaware he was armed, which gave Webb a slim advantage. With only five bullets, he couldn’t trade shots with the man, which left him with the only other option—to stalk his attacker. There was little covering around him. The ambush site had been well chosen. The hill and the stand of trees gave a commanding field of fire. Webb would have to rely on the folds of the land to conceal his stalk, but first he had to verify the location of his prey.

  He made a move as if he intended to bolt for the protection of the Model T and let the rifle fire drive him behind the outcropping of coal again. This time he watched for the stabs of red in the pines. They came through the branches of the lowest tree on the slope, brown and brittle n
eedles hiding the shooter behind their screen.

  There hadn’t been a sound from the Model T, nothing to indicate Lilli had regained consciousness. His lips were dry with fear and he moistened them. He couldn’t risk thinking about her, not now when all his concentration had to be on this stalk.

  As quietly as he could, Webb bellied down on the ground and left his hat by the coal ledge. Then he started out, crawling like a snake through the grass and using every available dip and crease in the land. It was all so open around him. Any minute he expected to hear a bullet whistling near his head. But it was the openness that was his protection. It lulled his attacker into believing there was no way he could be approached in this deceptively flat-looking land.

  It seemed to take forever to crawl around to the side slope of the hill. His nose and throat were constantly tickled by the dust and the smell of dried grass. A persistent wind partially covered the rustling sounds he made. Webb paused, his shirt drenched with sweat, and tried to gauge how close he was to the trees. He flexed his fingers, tightening his grip on the long-barreled pistol.

  The low, suspicious whicker of a horse came from his right, snapping Webb’s gaze in that direction. A tall, gaunt draft horse stood ground-tied on the back of the hill, eyeing the dark object in the grass with puzzled alarm. There was a second of shock as Webb recognized the animal as one of Kreuger’s plow horses. Kreuger! He was the attacker.

  Webb cursed himself for not listening to Lilli’s warnings about the man. But even if he had, there was nothing he could have done about it. The law had tried Kreuger and turned him loose—to kill again.

  The horse snorted. There was no more time to wonder about how things might have been different—or how close he was to Kreuger. Kreuger would have heard the horse and become suspicious about what was alarming it. He had to make his play now.

  Pushing to his feet, he squared his body in the direction he expected to find Kreuger and cocked the hammer of his gun. Kreuger was backing away from a tree, half-turned to look up the hill instead of to the side where Webb stood.