“It’s true?” She gasped. “You really do have your memory back?”
“It’s hasn’t been back long, and I’ve kept it quiet for a reason.”
Her youthful and slightly dirty features sobered. “You can tell me—I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“I trust you, Lark, but this time you’re going to have to trust me. I don’t want anyone to know about my memory coming back—not even Lyric. I can prove my identity to the sheriff when the time is right.”
“But why? Lyric’s protected you. She’s trying to help you and find a way to get you out of here. She’s in love with you, Joseph…I mean Ian.”
The words sliced through his heart like a knife through warm butter. Closing his eyes, he wrestled with his conscience. Lyric would be fit to be tied when she learned his memory was back and he hadn’t told her, but she’d be here now if he had. Spoiling his plan. “Listen to me, Lark. I don’t want you or Lyric involved. Now go home until I come for you.”
Boots called from the shadows. “When I throw this rope up to the window you latch on to it. Hear?”
“This isn’t going to work, Boots. You’re going to foul up my plan.”
“You don’t have a plan. You’re going to hang in less than—well, I don’t know the exact time you have left, but it will be getting light soon.”
“I want you two girls to go home and stay there until this is over.”
She shook her head. “Lyric won’t permit it; she won’t let you hang. Now here’s our plan. We’re going to hitch the horse up to the cell bars and rip them clean out. Once that’s done, you’re to get on the horse and ride like the wind. Boots and I will run home and the sheriff will never know who tore up the jail.”
“Oh, wonderful. I’m sure he won’t have the faintest idea who might do something like that.”
“Well—he’ll have an idea but he won’t be able to prove it.”
Ian glanced toward the darkness. “You tell Lyric for me that I said she is to stay away from here until I come for her. I want you to go now and bring me my wallet. Quickly.” Having his badge on hand would be one more reassurance when the time came to reveal his true identity.
Lark’s head appeared. “How can you possibly come for her if you’re dead?”
“I can assure you that I am going to do all within my power to make sure that day doesn’t come for many, many more years.”
Lark sighed. “You won’t let us help you?”
He shook his head. “Not this time, honey. Go home, get the wallet, and bring it back here before dawn. And pray that my plan works.”
“Can’t you give me a hint of what you’re going to do? What kind of strategy is going to save you from a hanging?”
“A risky one, but I’m willing to take it.” For her—for Lyric.
“Well, it had better be good enough,” she said.
“It will be.”
She eased away from the window and within minutes a rope sailed through the bars with a thump. Pesky female!
He sat for a moment, considering the odds. They were long; Younger had to know that one of his kin was going to be hanged this morning for the plan to work.
The sheriff would have to ignore the bloodthirsty crowd and agree to check his identity with the U.S. marshal’s office. That might be the greatest variable of all: The acting sheriff was young and had a strong need to prove his worth.
Latching hold of the rope, Ian’s protests dissolved in his throat. He had no assurance that Younger had gotten word of the hanging; he could have ridden out of town an hour after Ian last spotted him. And as Lark had pointed out, dawn was creeping up.
Maybe it would be worth trying to break out.
Just in case.
He grasped the hemp and wound it tightly through the thick bars, testing its strength. The knot held.
“Ready?” a soft voice called.
Sweat now puddled on his forehead. If he was caught he’d be shot on sight. “Where’s Norman?”
“Who?” The hushed voice sounded like Boots.
“My horse. Norman.”
“That’s his name?”
“Where is he?”
“Standing right here beside me.”
“Listen—he’s contrary. When you start to pull keep your hand on his bridle. Tight. Don’t let it go slack, or he’ll throw the bit.”
“All right.”
Perspiration dripped in his eyes, and he wiped it clear with his right shoulder. If they woke the sheriff he was a dead man. His life hung in the balance between two flighty girls and a stubborn, cantankerous horse.
When had his life come to this? He’d once been an upstanding U.S. marshal, feared by outlaws and revered by his government.
He rechecked the rope’s tension, thinking about Norman’s fondness for water. Ponds. Creek beds. Fear struck panic. Lord, please don’t let there be anything close by. If the horse took a notion, he’d lie down in the creek.
“There isn’t any water nearby, is there?”
“There’s a creek that runs by our house, but it’s not close to the jail.”
“Good.” He swiped at the beads of sweat rolling off his forehead. If he ever got out of this mess he would leave this holler and never come back.
“Are you ready?”
“Let’s get it over with. Ready.”
Boots’s and Lark’s urging voices filtered through the bars. “Come on, Norman. You can do it!”
The rope grew rigid. Ian focused on the link to freedom as the thick hemp bit into the bars. Brick dust rose into the air.
The rope went limp. Activity ceased. Then it snapped rigid again.
Ian mentally strained with the horse’s effort. “Come on, boy.”
The dust was flying now, iron bars straining. Ian stood back, focused on the sight and prepared to leap to freedom. If Norman pulled this off it would be a miracle. Those bars were set in solid brick. Lark’s pleading voice came to him. “Come on, you can do it—pull harder!”
“Harder,” Boots’s voice encouraged. “Give it all you got, Norman! Norman!”
“Norman?”
Ian froze when the rope went slack.
Stepping to the window he peered out. Had they been detected? Dread lodged in his throat. There wasn’t much he feared, but that noose dangling in the wind unnerved him. Until this moment he didn’t realize how much he wanted to live, to experience life with a wife and children. To take Lyric in his arms and hold her for the rest of her life.
Silence dominated the darkness. No shouts, no running feet. God, let that be a good sign.
Pressing close to the bars, he strained to see out.
“Hey!”
Boots’s smudged face appeared in the window. Staggering backward, his heart lodged in his throat.
“Boots! For crying out loud—what’s going on out there?”
“It’s Norman.”
“What about him? He’s got the strength to finish the job. That horse is strong as an ox.”
“You know that pond next to the jail?”
“You said there wasn’t any water around.”
“I know, but I forgot the pond.”
Mentally groaning, Ian knew the words that were about to come out of her mouth before she said them.
“Norman’s lying in the pond and we can’t get him up.”
“Drat that horse! Did you try swatting his rump with a willow switch?”
“We’ve tried everything, honest. He won’t get up; he likes it there.”
Agitatedly running a hand through his hair, Ian gave up. “He’ll be there until he’s ready to get up, and who knows when that will be?”
“What should we do?”
“Go home.” He slumped against the cell window. No real harm had been done; the bars were still intact and unless the sheriff looked close nobody would notice any damage.
“Yeah, guess we should. We still have one more thing we can try.”
“Boots!” He sprang back to the window, hissing. “Tell Lar
k to go get that wallet.”
He’d gone along with this foolishness, risked his life even further than required, and now they had to stand back and give his plan a chance to succeed. Granted it would likely prove as faulty as their clumsy jailbreak, but it was the last chance he had. It either worked or he hanged. Now that dawn approached the strategy sounded flawed. Could he really collect the Younger bounty money and go free?
“Can’t, it’ll be light soon.” Boots’s voice faded as she headed off.
“Boots!” Ian challenged in a loud whisper, but the girl was gone, swallowed up by darkness—the one last thing that stood in the way of life or death. Gripping the bars he wanted to shout.
Then cry.
God, I don’t want to die. Not yet. If You could work it where I could be around a while longer, I’d be much obliged.
He dropped his head against the cold window bars as the first hint of dawn, a nearly imperceptible lifting of a thin, colorless veil, appeared on the eastern horizon.
Grandma’s voice came to him, peaceful and soothing. “Life’s a short walk, Ian my boy. Shorter for some, longer for others. It is well to love the earth and the things our Maker put here—He made them for our pleasure, but life is a fleeting passage to your eternal home. It is there that you’ll lay down your sword. If God gives you ten years or ninety, be glad and with great joy anticipate the day when all things good and pure become everlasting.”
“I’m trying, Grandma,” he whispered, but his heart wasn’t in the promise.
His attention focused on the soft, muted light getting ever stronger in the east.
Lyric paced the kitchen floor, whirling when Lark opened the back door and stepped inside. Precious little time remained before the hanging. “Is he free?”
“No. For a while he wouldn’t take the rope and help but finally he did. But the horse lay down in the pond and that was that.” She shed her jacket and stepped to the cold cookstove. “Any biscuits left?”
Lyric shook her head. “You’re worried about your stomach?”
“I’m hungry—we didn’t have supper.” She fished around in the warming oven.
“There’s nothing there. I haven’t fixed anything yet. Tell me what happened.”
“Well…” Her tone turned evasive. “He said to tell you—actually all of us—to stay away from the town until he comes for us.”
“Comes for us?” Lyric frowned. “How will he come for us?”
Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, Lark repeated the message. “He said to stay away. That’s all I know.”
“He doesn’t want us to witness his death.”
“Probably not, and truth be told I don’t want to see it. I’ve never seen anyone hanged, and I don’t want to start with a friend.” Tears welled in Lark’s eyes.
“I know.” Lyric reached to take her in her arms and hold her. Tears rolled from both sets of eyes now. “I wasn’t going to permit you to view the atrocity.”
“He loves you.” Lark hiccupped.
“He does? How can you be so certain?”
“Well—he just looks like he does. He goes all soft and mushy when I mention your name.”
Lyric breathed out slowly. She closed her eyes and shook her head gently. “None of that matters now. He’s such a fine man. Kind. Hardworking. Honest and totally trustworthy.” Lyric’s voice broke with emotion when the back door opened and Boots came in.
“The birds are all loaded. Do you know how much noise seven sacks of live guineas make?”
Lyric shook her emotions aside. Drawing a deep breath, she turned to Lark. “Bake some biscuits and fry a slice of ham. Mother will be awake soon and she hasn’t eaten a bite since yesterday morning.”
“But Joseph said we were to stay here, Lyric. And he meant it. He doesn’t want us butting in on his business.”
“I don’t give a fig what he wants. I will not stand by and let those imbecilic morons hang him. They’re only doing this out of spite for the Boltons. And his being here makes them even more upset and determined to do away with him.”
“But he said—”
“Boots, grab an extra lantern.” Lyric dismissed her sister with a sharp look. “You bake biscuits.”
Lark reached for her arm. “He needs his wallet.”
Nodding, Lyric wiped her eyes on the hem of her soiled apron. “I’ll see that he gets the wallet.” Her eyes met Lark’s. “Doesn’t mean that the wallet belongs to him, Lark.”
“But it does!”
“You don’t know that.”
“I…I have to keep a promise, Lyric, but you have to take that wallet to him right now.”
“All right. I’m going, but I don’t see how it can possibly change what’s about to happen.” Lark’s former statement sank in. “What promise? Do you know something that I don’t?” She met her sister’s eyes.
“Just go!”
The urgency in Lark’s tone set her feet in action. Lark was right; they could discuss this later.
17
Streaks of blue, pink, and orange gradually spread across the sky. Ian alternately watched the fingers of light splay the horizon and the back road leading to the jail. What was keeping Lark? She should be here by now. Pacing, he rubbed the back of his neck. This crazy plan was his and he’d own the outcome…but right now the scheme seemed doomed to fail.
The sounds of a gathering crowd outside drifted through the cell window. The scent of blood invariably attracted predators.
Ian sat back down on the bunk to await the time when the door would open again and they would come for him. Doubts assailed him. If Boots’s and Lark’s breakout plan had been successful, he would be ten miles away by now. He shook his head. It was a nice idea but it wouldn’t accomplish his ultimate purpose. He wanted Lyric set for life if this was the hour the good Lord wanted him to exit this world.
Had Jim Younger even gotten wind of the hanging? His strategy was flimsy at best, but if he was going down he was going down alone. The Boltons had enough trouble without him involving them. His gaze shifted back to the cell bars. What or who had detained Lark?
Aware of the time ticking away, he focused on his boots.
In less than an hour, another man could be wearing them.
“Oh, turtle feathers!” Boots wrung her hands when the second sack split apart and feathers flew. Guineas scattered, their shrieks echoing in the holler.
The sun’s rays had started to spread; tearing sacks had delayed the women twice. Guineas dangled by bound feet from Norman’s saddle horn and stirrups. The white-breasted fowl squawked every time they added another hen to his load. Boots struck off to gather the strewn birds, trapping them between her feet. Her red cowboy boots were covered in dirt.
“We have to work faster!” Lyric fumbled to find an empty spot to tie a hen, keeping an eye on the sunrise. “The sun will be full up before we make it to town.”
“I’m working as fast as I can!” Lark snatched a hen and tucked it under her arm. “I don’t know why that horse had to go lie down in that pond. Who ever heard of an animal liking water that much?”
It seemed the whole world, not just the horse, was working against Joseph now. Lyric tied another bird to the saddle and bolted off in search of more.
The front door of the jail opened and the sheriff walked in, the smell of bacon and eggs lingering on his vest. “Howdy.”
Ian didn’t bother with niceties. He reached for his hat but the sheriff stopped him. “No need to take that, and leave your boots in the cell.” He eyed the fine leather. “That’s some good-looking leather—what’s the size?”
“You couldn’t fill those boots.”
The sheriff appeared to catch the putdown and a growing grin spread across his youthful features. “Well now, I shore am gonna try, Mister, ’cause you ain’t gonna be needin’ ’em.”
Ian got slowly to his feet.
“Might as well sit a spell longer. The mayor’s still finishin’ up his breakfast and the crowd’s still gatherin’.”
/> “I prefer to stand.”
“I suppose I could offer a cup of coffee while we wait…”
The man’s hospitable efforts were not only in vain, they were hypocritical. “No thanks.” He glanced toward the door. “Sounds like a good turnout.”
“Oh, it’s a fine gatherin’. Standin’ room only.” The sheriff tossed his hat on the desk and walked to the gun cabinet. “A hanging’s always good for business. Gets the folks moving about, and while they’re in town they do their shopping.”
The social chitchat rubbed Ian’s nerves raw. The door opened a couple of times with men coming to check in. He tried to catch a glimpse of the crowd—see if he could spot Jim Younger—but his efforts were in vain. Crowd noises and the sound of someone tuning up a tuba met his attempts. Was Jim Younger out there waiting? Or was he fifty miles away, unaware he was about to win a bet?
The circus-like atmosphere grew louder. He needed order, calm, not folks milling around like this. Younger wouldn’t announce his presence even if the townsfolk would choose to look the other way. The outlaw would disguise himself as an innocent bystander, merely here for the show, but Ian would be able to pick out his tall frame in a crowd.
Relax. Once the ruse was over and he informed the sheriff his memory was back, the authorities would have no recourse but to turn him loose, and then he would grab Jim and make the arrest. The bounty money would set him, Lyric, and Grandpa and Grandma up for life—if Lyric would have him. There’d been no time for proper courting, but he sensed that she shared his feelings. He’d seen it in her eyes. Felt it in her touch. He would forever be in her debt for the way she had shielded, nursed, and protected him, but gratitude alone had nothing to do with his feelings. She was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
He glanced up when the door opened a third time and the hangman stepped inside. The man’s grave features left no guessing as to his intent.
The sheriff glanced up. “Time to go?”
The hangman nodded.
“Then let’s get a move on.” The sheriff reached for the cell keys hanging behind the desk and then stepped to the heavy bars.
The Healer's Touch Page 18
