Bounty Hunter lj-1

by William W. Johnstone

  Breathing hard, Emily leaned over the back of the seat between the two men. “What are they doin’?” she asked anxiously. “What’s all that shootin’ about?”

  “We’ll know in a minute.” Luke gripped the rifle tightly. It was only a single-shot weapon, but the revolver in his pocket was fully loaded.

  The shooting stopped before they came in sight of the cabin. As they did, Luke caught a glimpse of several riders galloping away from the place. They were already too far off for him to make out any details, but was willing to bet they were the three hired guns who worked for Vincent Wolford.

  “No!” Emily cried as her grandfather wheeled the wagon into the open area between the cabin and the barn. Limp, bloody bundles of feathers were scattered around on the ground. The chickens had been blasted to pieces. In the pen over by the barn, the hogs lay motionless in the mud.

  Emily leaped out of the wagon and ran into the barn. When she came back a moment later, tears were running down her cheeks. “They killed the milk cow, too. Looks like they just shot everything that moved.”

  “Why in blazes would they do that?” Peabody asked furiously. “It aggravates the hell out of me, but losin’ those animals ain’t enough to ruin the farm.”

  “This is just the opening gambit,” Luke said. “Think of it as a warning. Wolford wants to let you know it’ll get a lot worse if you don’t give him what he wants.”

  “Never! I’m goin’ to town and swearin’ out a complaint against the varmints! The sheriff’s got to do somethin’. He’s supposed to uphold the law around here.”

  “The sheriff works for Wolford and that judge of his and the rest of the Yankees,” Emily said bitterly. “He’s not gonna do anything, Grampaw.”

  “We don’t know that. If nobody ever speaks up, nothin’ will change around here!”

  The old-timer was right about that, Luke supposed. But like Emily, he didn’t think complaining to the law would do any good. They would never know if they didn’t try, though. “We’ll all go to Dobieville. Maybe round up some of your friends and neighbors who’ve had trouble with the carpetbaggers and take them with you. If more people are speaking up, the men in charge will have a harder time ignoring them.”

  Peabody nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Not as good an idea as goin’ to town and shootin’ that snake Wolford for tellin’ his men to do this,” Emily said.

  It might come to that, Luke thought, but we have to try reason first . . . then bullets.

  Peabody spent the rest of the day visiting his neighbors and putting together a delegation to complain to the sheriff in Dobieville. The killing of his livestock wasn’t the first such outrage in the area. Barns had burned down mysteriously, crops had been trampled on dark nights, wells had been fouled, and cattle had been run off.

  Nor would that harassment stop, Luke thought. In fact, he expected it to escalate into outright violence in fairly short order. Wolford and the other carpetbaggers were not patient men.

  The farmers rendezvoused outside town and rode in on mules and in wagons and buggies. Some of them walked. A few had brought their wives and children with them, something Luke thought probably wasn’t wise. A group about forty strong converged on the sheriff’s office.

  Their arrival in town stirred up enough of a commotion the lawman heard them coming. He stepped out onto the porch of his office to wait for them. He was a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and a mustache. A gun belt was strapped around his waist, and he carried a shotgun in addition to the holstered revolver.

  “Fella’s name is Royce Wilkes,” Peabody explained to Luke as they approached in the wagon. “Used to be a deputy here, but he was too fond of corn liquor. The old sheriff ran him off. When the war was over, the Yankees put him back in office and gave him the sheriff’s job. He’s local, but he’s in the back pocket of them no-good carpetbaggers.”

  Wilkes had the shotgun cradled in his left arm. He held up his right hand for silence and called, “All right, what the devil’s goin’ on here?”

  Everyone in the group turned to look at Linus Peabody. He had talked them into coming, and they regarded him as their spokesman.

  “Sheriff, we’re all here to lodge complaints against Vincent Wolford and those fellas who work for him,” Peabody said. “I beg pardon of the ladies in earshot of my voice, but Wolford’s men have been raisin’ hell hereabouts, and it’s gotta stop.”

  “You know for a fact that what you’re sayin’ is true, Linus?” Wilkes asked.

  “I do,” Peabody replied with a forceful nod. “They came out to my place yesterday and shot all my chickens and hogs and my milk cow. We seen ’em ridin’ off after they done it.”

  Luke and Emily nodded. In reality the riders had been too far away for a positive identification, but there was no question in Luke’s mind that Wolford’s men were responsible.

  “Well, that’s a mighty serious charge,” Wilkes said.

  Another man in the crowd said, “That ain’t all they’ve done. My barn burned down last week, and I know good and well somebody set that fire. I rode into town and told you all about it, Royce.”

  “You did,” Wilkes said, “but you also told me you didn’t see who done it.”

  “It had to be Wolford’s men! You know that!”

  “I’m a lawman,” Wilkes boasted, his chest puffing out pompously. “I got to have proof. And somebody thinkin’ they saw something ain’t proof.”

  “Are you callin’ us liars?” Peabody demanded.

  “I’m sayin’ maybe you were mistaken.”

  Luke suggested, “Why don’t you at least ask Wolford about it? See if he can account for the whereabouts of his men yesterday when Mr. Peabody’s livestock was being slaughtered.”

  Wilkes shook his head stubbornly. “I ain’t gonna bother an important man like Mr. Wolford—”

  “It’s no bother,” a new voice said.

  Everyone swung around to look. The crowd parted, and Vincent Wolford himself sauntered up to the porch.

  “I heard there was a gathering of some sort and decided to come see for myself what it was about,” Wolford went on. “I’d be glad to answer any questions you have for me, Sheriff.”

  “I don’t have any questions,” Wilkes said.

  “I do,” Peabody snapped. “Did you send your men to kill my livestock, mister?”

  Wolford gave a solemn shake of his head. “Of course not, Mr. Peabody. Why in the world would I do a thing like that?”

  “To try to run me off so you can grab my land!”

  “I wanted to make you a fair offer for your land, but you wouldn’t even consider it,” Wolford said. “As far as I’m concerned, our business is over.”

  “Where were your men yesterday morning?” Luke asked.

  “Burnett, Howell, and Prentice?” Wolford shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t keep track of their whereabouts every hour of the day. As long as they do the jobs I give them, that’s all I really care about.”

  “Did you give them any jobs yesterday?”

  “As a matter of fact, I didn’t.” Wolford smiled. “I didn’t even speak to them. So you see, even if there was anything to these ludicrous accusations—and I assure you, there isn’t—I can’t be held responsible for them.”

  Wilkes nodded. “Looks like that clears it all up. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Wolford.”

  “Oh, it’s no bother, Sheriff, I assure you. All I want to do is carry on my business and get along with my neighbors.”

  Wilkes turned back to the farmers. “You’ve said your piece, now it’s time for all of you to go back home and stop botherin’ folks.”

  “Are you runnin’ us out of town?” Peabody asked. “Don’t we still have a right to go where we please?”

  “No, you don’t,” Wilkes snapped. “Gatherin’ up in mobs like this is against the law. So if you don’t break it up and leave, it’ll be my duty to arrest you . . . and I’ll get the soldiers to help me, if I need to.”

  �
��You’d better do what he says, Linus,” Luke told the old-timer.

  “You mean let them get away with it?” Emily asked.

  “Getting arrested isn’t going to help anything.”

  Peabody scowled darkly, but he said, “All right, we’ll go. But this ain’t over, Sheriff. We’ll get justice somehow.”

  “You step out of line and you’ll be sorry,” Wilkes warned.

  With a lot of angry muttering, the crowd turned to leave town. As the wagon rolled past the last buildings, Emily said, “Like I told you, nothin’s gonna change.”

  “At least Wolford knows we’re on to him,” Peabody said. “He’s the one who’s really to blame for everything.”

  “And all he’s gonna do is laugh at us,” Emily said as her shoulders slumped in despair.

  If that’s all that happens, Luke thought, then we might be lucky. Wolford’s smooth façade had never budged, but he had to be angry that the farmers had banded together to complain about his tactics. Luke wouldn’t be at all surprised if he decided to teach them a lesson.

  And if he did, it would be a painful one. Luke was sure of that.

  CHAPTER 22

  Emily was cool toward Luke on the ride back to the farm and for the rest of the day. He wasn’t sure why she was upset with him, unless it was because he had talked her grandfather out of setting off a showdown in town. Maybe she didn’t understand he didn’t want anything to happen to her . . . or maybe she did, and that just made her angrier.

  Whatever the reason, she didn’t have much to say to him around her grandfather, and they didn’t get a chance to talk alone. Luke turned in knowing nothing was settled and the situation was likely to get worse before it got better . . . if it ever did.

  Sometime during the night he came awake instantly, smelling smoke. It was too strong to be coming from the fireplace or the stove. He sat up. No lights burned inside the cabin, but a flickering red glow came through the cracks around the front door and through the thin curtains hung over the windows.

  The barn was on fire. It was the only explanation that made sense.

  And he knew it hadn’t caught fire by itself.

  “Emily!” he shouted. “Linus! Wake up!”

  Peabody bolted from his bunk. Emily bolted from hers and cried out in alarm. “Something’s on fire!”

  “The barn!” With his nightshirt flapping around his legs, Peabody grabbed the rifle from the chair where he had placed it to be handy and headed for the door.

  When he flung it open, the garish red light from the blazing barn spilled into the cabin. He rushed outside with Emily right behind him.

  Still struggling to get out of his bunk, Luke swung his legs to the floor and stood up, using the back of a nearby chair for support. He picked up his revolver off the chair and grabbed one of his crutches propped against the wall next to the head of his bunk.

  Hoofbeats pounded outside. Someone shouted, and Peabody’s rifle cracked.

  “No, no,” Luke panted as he hurried toward the door as fast as he could. He knew without having to think about it what had happened. To get back at Peabody for trying to organize the farmers against him, Wolford had sent his men to the farm to set fire to the barn.

  And those killers were still out there, where they threatened Emily and her grandfather. That thought made Luke’s blood run cold.

  As he reached the porch, he heard Emily scream, “Grampaw!” In the garish light of the fire, Luke saw a man on horseback nearly run down Linus Peabody. The old-timer threw himself out of the way just in time, losing his balance and sprawling on the ground. The rider wheeled his horse around and pointed a gun at Peabody as Emily ran toward her grandfather.

  She leaped to shield him as the rider pulled the trigger. Luke fired at the same instant. Flame spat from the barrel of his revolver. The impact of the bullet jarred the man on the horse, knocking him forward.

  “Emily!” Peabody cried out. “Oh, my God, Emily!”

  Luke suddenly realized he was off the porch and didn’t think about what he did next as he cast the single crutch aside and broke into a stumbling run toward Emily and Peabody. The nightmarish glare of the fire revealed Emily’s body lying stretched on the ground while her grandfather hovered over her.

  Hoofbeats thundered again as two more riders lunged out of the jagged shadows cast by the firelight. The newcomers seemed intent on trampling them. Still stumbling, Luke raised the revolver and thumbed off two more shots. He didn’t know if he hit either of the attackers, but they veered sharply away.

  The man he’d wounded yelled, “I’m hit! We gotta get out of here!”

  Luke recognized the eastern accent of the tough named Joe Burnett. The other two had to be Howell and Prentice. One of them snapped a couple shots at him, coming close enough for him to hear the bullets whine past his head, as the other grabbed the dangling reins of Burnett’s horse and all three gunmen fled.

  Pain flared through Luke’s legs, but they continued to support him. Peabody looked up at him as he reached the old man’s side, but he didn’t seem to notice Luke was standing and moving around without the aid of the crutches.

  “Emily’s hurt!” Peabody cried. “When that no-good shot at me, she got in the way of the bullet!”

  “How bad is it? Where’s she hit?” Luke figured if he knelt down, he wouldn’t be able to get back up again, so he made his voice urgent in an attempt to get through the fear and confusion that gripped Peabody.

  It seemed to work, because the old-timer looked down, gently grasped Emily’s shoulders, and rolled her onto her back. Luke caught a glimpse of blood on her nightclothes, but the stain appeared to be a small one, at least so far.

  “I . . . I don’t think she’s hurt too bad,” Peabody said after a moment. “Looks like the bullet just nicked her side.”

  Emily groaned.

  “She’s comin’ to.” Peabody continued to watch his granddaughter.

  Luke watched and listened for any sign of the gunmen doubling back. In the firelight, the three of them made good targets, he thought.

  Not seeing further danger, he turned his attention back to Emily and Peabody. “You’ll need to pick her up and get her back in the cabin. Can you clean that wound and put a dressing on it?”

  “Yeah, I reckon I can.” Amazement crept into Peabody’s voice as he went on. “Luke, you’re standin’ up on your own! And you ran across there a minute ago! I saw you with my own eyes.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just take care of Emily.”

  “I will. What are you gonna do?”

  “Something that somebody should have done before now,” Luke said.

  He didn’t know how long his legs would keep working. It had taken the threat to Emily and her grandfather for them to move like they had a few minutes earlier. The mixture of fear, desperation, and rage had burned through him like the fire that was consuming the barn, a cleansing fire that forced muscles and nerves to work again the way they were supposed to. His movements were rusty and a little clumsy, but he could get around again, and didn’t want to waste the opportunity.

  Peabody was still strong, and Emily was a slip of a girl. He had no trouble picking her up and carrying her back into the cabin.

  Luke followed. While Peabody tended to Emily, he got dressed, reloaded the Griswold and Gunnison, and went back outside. His face was impassive in the firelight despite the pain shooting through his legs with every step. The rest of those nerves were waking up again after their long sleep, he thought. If they kept working for a while longer, it would be enough.

  He pocketed his revolver and walked over to the spot where he had wounded Joe Burnett. The man’s revolver, a Colt Navy, lay on the ground where Burnett had dropped it. Luke picked up the gun, hefting it in his hand, and realized his ammunition would fit it. Both weapons would be fully loaded when he headed for town.

  He frowned. How was he going to get there? The luckless mules had been in the barn, and so had the wagon. His legs were finally working again, but
he couldn’t walk all the way to Dobieville.

  Shouts and hoofbeats made him swing around and raise both guns. The man riding up to the farm reined in sharply and threw his hands in the air. “Whoa!” he exclaimed. “Hold your fire, mister! I’m a friend!”

  Luke recognized the newcomer as one of the men who had gone into town with them that morning. He thought for a second and recalled the man’s name. “You’re Thad Franklin, right?”

  “Yeah.” The man dismounted. “My place is a couple miles east of here. I saw the light from the fire and knew somethin’ had to be wrong. Thought I’d better come see if I could help.” He shook his head. “It’s too late to save that barn, though.”

  “Maybe you and the others can help Linus rebuild,” Luke suggested.

  “Is he hurt? How about Emily?”

  Luke jerked his head toward the cabin. “They’re in there. Emily was wounded by the varmints who set the barn on fire, but I think she’s going to be all right.”

  “There’ll be more folks showin’ up soon, I reckon. People always come to help when they see a fire.”

  “You can help right now,” Luke said. “Give me your horse.”

  “My horse? What? Say, you’re the fella who can’t walk!” Franklin looked Luke up and down in confusion. “But you’re standin’ up now.”

  Luke lifted the Colt Navy and pointed it at Franklin, saying coldly, “I need your horse. I’ll get it back to you, if I can. If I can’t, you’ll find it in Dobieville.”

  “Careful with that gun, mister! What’re you gonna do?” Franklin’s eyes widened as he realized the answer to his own question. “You’re goin’ after the men who did this?”

  Luke used his free hand to take the reins out of Franklin’s fingers. “Sorry, but it’s got to be done.” He got his left foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle, clenching his jaw at the pain caused by mounting.