Dark Journey Home

by Cherie Shaw

  Chester Burns wondered if things could get any worse, though he moved to the bench, just vacated by Hank, heaved a deep sigh, then sat down.

  As the group of four horsemen and a rented carriage reined in on a ridge overlooking a verdant valley, where stood the large ranch house, with many outbuildings of the Triple-B, Logan was the first of the group to speak, “There it is, Claude. There’s your Texas ranch, all ready and waitin’ for you. We’ve actually been riding on the property for the last few miles.” He waved a hand at the vast expanse.

  “My boy, I saw all those cattle grazing along the way, figured they were mine.” Lord Beckford began. “This takes my breath away. If I had known years ago….but then I was misled.” He turned suddenly, cold blue eyes gleaming, as he looked accusingly at Clayborne Phillips. The attorney had the decency to squirm under Lord Beckford’s hard gaze. Holderman only cleared his throat, saying nothing.

  The two had been unusually quiet during the long ride, even when they had stopped near a small stream to water the horses. Sullenly subdued, the two hadn’t spoken to even each other or anyone else for that matter. Nor had they gotten out of the buggy to stretch their legs at the stream.

  “Could it be,” Ricardo offered, “our two guests have suddenly run out of things to say? They were such conversationalists back at the law office, so full of threats too.”

  Holderman, red-faced and practically snarling, burst out, “You just wait…..you just wait! I’ll have the law on the whole bunch of you yet. This is just plain kidnapping!”

  “Threats, always the threats, and no appreciation.” Ricardo took off his tall sombrero, slapping it against his thigh, and settled it back onto his head, then continued, “We’ve only given you escort home, Señor. This is your home, is it not?”

  While Holderman glared at Ricardo, Logan chuckled, “Remember, amigo, we only escorted these two hombres here to pick up Holderman’s belongings, though where he probably will be going for the next few years, I seriously doubt that he’ll be needing much in the way of personal things. We also need to give old Woody Perkins down there a chance to tell his attorney friend here adios.

  “After this ‘highly respected’ Attorney-at-Law serves a little time in the Territorial Prison, he probably will have some traveling to do, out of the territory that is. Oh, and by the way, in case these two haven’t guessed, this here posse is making a citizen’s arrest. So this can’t be officially termed ‘kidnapping’, in any way, shape, or form. Not sure what to do with Perkins as yet. Depends on which way the coming storm blows.”

  All four men escorted the buggy through the aspens, then down the steep, winding trail towards the peaceful valley below, and Logan’s thoughts turned to more pleasant times three days ago, when he’d attached a fragrant rose to Olivia’s door. She hadn’t officially thanked him the next day, though he’d seen her watching him closely, when she didn’t think he’d noticed.

  Now, sitting loosely in the saddle, Logan chuckled to himself, and Ricardo looked over at him, then grinned, figuring out who had put a smile on the gringo’s face. He’d had that look many a time himself, through the years, while thinking of Maria.

  <><><>

  Back in Coyote springs, Henry Birch, shoulders straight, middle-aged paunch held in as much as could be expected, was once again showing his face around town, amid a few snickers from bystanders. One playful young cowhand, in town for the day, even pretended to faint at the appearance of Henry in front of the Mercantile. Henry didn’t notice the display, thinking that this was just an ignorant bunch anyway. He entered the Mercantile.

  Clara was wrapping a dozen cigars for a customer. The customer just happened to be Marshal Rhodes. Henry, full of himself, didn’t notice who the customer was, as he approached the counter, quickly interrupting the sale. ”Clara,” He spoke authoritatively, “page your sister, Miss Haskell, for me. I need to speak with her at once.” And he nervously tapped the counter with his forefinger.

  “Sorry sir,” Clara spoke offhand, “you’ll have to wait your……Oh, you is it? My sister would not see you if a tornado blew you in.”

  Marshal Rhodes turned to look down at Henry, and a slow smile spread across the lawman’s weathered face. “So!” He stepped back quickly, then to one side. “You are the famous new man about town. Mr. Adams, I believe.” The marshal looked Henry up and down as he spoke.

  Henry blustered, in his usual manner, attempting to suck in the paunch even farther. He hadn’t noticed it was the town marshal standing next to him, “Why…..why, sir, you must be mistaken. My name is Birch, Henry Birch.” He stuttered.

  “Oh, you’re Adams alright. It’s a widely known fact.” Rhodes spoke in his most gentle voice, and most folks knew that that tone of voice was invariably the ‘calm-before-the-storm’. “Been wantin’ to have a little chat with you.” Rhodes began, “Now just supposin’ you was to foller me nice an’ peaceful like, down the road a piece to my office where we can have us a nice little visit. Maybe have some tea brought over. You can even stop a time or two along the way to smell all the wildflowers growin’ after that nice rain we had. Sure has a way of bringing life to all the trees an’ flowers. They’re just apushin’ up all over the place and I was always taught to appreciate growin’ things.”

  “This is absurd. I won’t listen to this, and won’t stand for my rights being violated. I’m a peaceful man.” Henry turned to make a mad dash for the door, but the Marshal was quicker, and for a big husky man, he moved lightening fast. Rhodes grabbed the back of Henry’s coat collar, spinning him all the way around to face him.

  “You will listen to me, when I talk to you, Mister. I’m the law in this town, and when I say jump, you jump! Now when I say, ‘we’re going to take us a nice little walk down the road a piece’, we’re going to take that walk, then have us a nice little chat. Now you wanted out that door so bad, get.” The marshal gave a little shove, then escorted Henry down the road, walking right behind him, and holding onto the neck of Henry’s jacket all the way. Now this was Marshal Rhodes’ other side ‘coming out to play’.

  More than a few snickers were heard now at this display. The entertainment around Coyote Springs was getting better every day, and folks began wondering just when the next act would begin.

  Olivia and Amelia were just stepping off the boardwalk of the hotel, heading towards the Mercantile, when Amelia exclaimed, “Mercy, child, what in the world? Just would you look at that! Why…..that’s that rogue, Henry Adams, though much older. Why the town marshal’s dragging him off to jail! You didn’t tell me that no-account was here in town.” Amelia fumed.

  “Oh dear, it must have slipped my mind. He really has followed us across the country, and halfway around the world, and for what reason, I have no idea.” Olivia answered.

  “Well, if he gets out of jail, you just let me at him.” Amelia fumed. “He’ll wish he’d never set eyes on any of us. If Garth hadn’t so nicely evicted him from Beckford Manor years ago, it would have been my greatest pleasure to do so.”

  “Oh dear, really, Amelia.” Olivia snickered. “You couldn’t tackle Henry. After all he is a man, though not much of one.”

  “You ever seen me swing my umbrella, child? Well, when I hits ‘em, they stays hit.” Amelia spoke in satisfaction.

  “Alright, dear, if you say so. Point well taken.” Olivia laughed.

  Down at the jail, Marshal Rhodes was sitting on a chair looking through the bars of one of the two cells in the back room of the jail. Henry Adams was standing just inside staring out through the bars, looking very irate. “You can’t hold me here. I’ve done nothing. Just what charges do you think you can hold me on anyway?”

  “Oh well,” The Marshal thought a moment, scratched his head. “Give me a little time, Mr. Adams; I’ll come up with something, probably a lot of things. Matter of fact, come to think of it now, I can come up with a whole list of things, and then I’ll carry a hat around town, and take up a collection of all the townfolks’ complaints against you. Sho
uldn’t be too hard, bein’ as you have done nothing but make a complete ass of yourself since arriving in our nice peaceful little town. And, by the way, I aim to keep this town peaceful too. Been doin’ it for many a year, don’t intend to stop now.”

  “I said before, I’ve done nothing. I demand to see an attorney! I have my rights!” Henry countered, regaining his composure.

  “Well, now let’s see. We have one attorney, but right at the moment, that one’s pretty busy tryin’ to get himself out of a serious jam. I believe the gent needs an attorney himself, so you’re out of luck in that respect, leastwise ‘til we get another attorney in town, and that may just take a few months, or years, dependin’. Anyway, there’s this little thing of a shootin’ with that little pop-gun of yours, last week. You could have killed someone, we have laws against murder, even here in the west, you know.”

  “You have no jurisdiction out there. That was out in the county.” Henry argued.

  “Out in the county, huh? So you admit to me, a lawman, that you done it?”

  “No, I didn’t say that.” Henry became sullen.

  “Well, guess I’ll just have to speak to the Sheriff, when he gets back, whenever that is. He does have jurisdiction in the county, and bein’ as I’m a witness to your confession, now that you’ve admitted to it, shouldn’t take too long to hold a trial after that. Now attempted murder, around here, shouldn’t get you over ten years, at the most.”

  “I have confessed to absolutely nothing.” Henry argued. “I am a citizen of England. I’ll….” Henry’s voice shook, as sudden realization set in. He wasn’t in England now.

  Ignoring his protests, the marshal continued, “Course, if you was proven guilty of botherin’ any of our women folks, in any way, shape, or form. Well now, folks around these parts don’t take kindly to that. Might be a hangin’ offense, an’ sometimes citizens been known to break a fella out of jail, just so’s they can hang ‘im.”

  Henry grabbed the bars of his cell, staring at the marshal, as he suddenly made a decision. His life and freedom were more important than anything else in the world. “I’ll leave, Marshal.” He pleaded, “I’ll leave on the very next stage.”

  Marshal Rhodes took the tobacco pouch from his shirt pocket, shook his head, and began to roll a smoke. “I dunno, Henry,” he began; seriously, “folks might just get a little upset with me, if I don’t hold you for trial. Wouldn’t want to lose my badge, or nothin’.” He stuck the tobacco pouch back into his pocket, heaved a deep sigh, stuck the rolled cigarette into the corner of his mouth, then stood, shoved back his chair, took his keys, and slowly unlocked the cell door.

  Henry, hesitantly, walked out of the cell, then backed all the way through the outer office, and practically ran all the way to the boardinghouse. A few moments later, Marshal Rhodes was chuckling to himself, as he watched from the window of the jail.

  Henry Adams was practically running down the middle of the road, carrying a valise, in one hand, and holding onto his hat with the other. When Henry reached the stage depot, Rhodes turned to his desk, and began shuffling papers. Well, the southbound stage was due in about an hour. He’d mosey on down, and make sure Henry got on, then maybe he’d stop, and have his coffee.

  In the Mercantile, Olivia and Amelia had finished paying for their purchases, two heavy traveling outfits each, as they’d been assured they would be traveling to Wyoming soon, and the weather grew quite cold in the northern part of the country.

  As they neared the door to leave, Olivia exclaimed, “Wait, Amelia. That’s Henry Adams across the road. He’s actually waiting for the stage. Let’s not leave yet. I believe I hear the stage coming.”

  “Well, I’m glad I have my umbrella with.” Amelia exclaimed. “Here, hold my packages.” And she shoved her bundles into Olivia’s arms, as Clara, who’d followed them to the door, called. “You don’t have to go out this way, let me show you the back way out, then you can go around through the alley, thus avoiding seeing the scoundrel.”

  Amelia huffed, “Huh, and avoid all my fun. I haven’t yet put in my two cents worth with that rogue.” And she brushed past Clara and Olivia, to then race out the door, off the boardwalk, and lifted her heavy skirts to run across the road, just as the noisy stage pulled up. Henry hadn’t noticed, at first, the older lady waving her long black umbrella in the air as she approached him. He was anxiously watching the stage pull up, aware of the town marshal standing a ways off, watching to make sure he really left.

  One lone passenger departed the stage, a young cowboy, who looked as if he’d just woke up from a nap, but he came alive quickly, as he saw the scene unfolding on the boardwalk next to the stage. Henry, aware now, and recognizing the umbrella-wielding woman at once, jumped off the walk, hunching his shoulders to try and ward off the blows that were coming from the umbrella. Amelia hit three solid blows, before Henry climbed to the safety of the stage interior, holding his head with one hand, and his valise with the other. He’d dropped his hat.

  Amelia stooped, retrieved the hat, leaned in the stage door, and hit him again with the hat for good measure, then threw the hat down on the floor, shouting, “If I ever see, or hear of the likes of you followin’ my girl again, I’ll get me a gun, and it won’t be pretty.” She glared one last glare at the frightened man, then stomped away; the town marshal didn’t move an inch. He figured the lady pretty much had the situation in hand, and wondered if she’d like a job as deputy town marshal. But then he wouldn’t have any work to do.

  The bystanders didn’t snicker. They all laughed out loud, and Henry stayed inside the stage the whole time the team was being switched out with fresh horses. When the stage pulled out, only two other passengers had climbed aboard, an older couple with the woman carrying an umbrella across her lap.

  Olivia snickered, as she handed Amelia’s packages back to her, in front of the hotel. “Really, Amelia.” She said, “Really.”

  <><><>

  Sheriff Paul Denton, his fishing trip postponed for the present, sat with his back to a wall, facing the doorway of Hank Chavez’s kitchen, at the Triple-B Ranch. The Sheriff had left his horse ground-hitched, in a grove of Aspens, at the back of the ranch yard. He had then slipped into the kitchen through the back door.

  He now was enjoying a good cup of strong black coffee, and a slice of Hank’s famous apple pie. Hank and Sheriff Denton were good friends, from way back, having punched cows together for the old rancher, Sam Beckford, long before the ranch had started paying off, and long before Hank figured out the fact that he was a better cook, than a puncher, and long before Paul Denton had been appointed Sheriff.

  They’d fought Indians right alongside Sam Beckford, and helped in the capture of several gangs of rustlers. But that was the old days, and this was now.

  Hank was cooking up some beef, onions, gravy, and fried potatoes, while they talked.

  “Well, Paul,” Hank went on, “it’s gonna be just like back when you an’ I were just young sprouts. You know, I always wondered why that lawyer fella kept hangin’ around the ranch. I knowed he always liked Trudy, but she couldn’t stand the sight of him, an’ he bein’ old enough to be her pa. Her old man didn’t seem to have much to say around that lawyer fella, an’ I always felt that Clayborne Phillips had somethin’ on the old man.” Hank paused to take a breath, and pour himself a mug of coffee.

  He began again, “The old man, though, he always discouraged any of the hands from even talkin’ to the girl.”

  Sheriff Denton spoke now, “I think Phillips and Holderman have always been thick as thieves, even way back before Sam Beckford passed on. And I feel those two have been the brains behind any crooked dealings, maybe just settin’ up old Woody Perkins, just so they could rake in the money, Woody not bein’ very bright an’ all. Old Perkins was dirt-poor, with that small spread of his, and he saw a way to move up in the world, guess he grabbed at the chance. It’s the greed that moves some folks, you know.

  “Guess they never thought that Beckford’s heir
would ever show up here, all the way from England.” Denton pushed his cup over, so Hank could refill it, then took a swallow of coffee. He’d already polished off the last bite of the delicious pie.

  Hank refilled his own cup, then sat down at the table while the food simmered on the cookstove. “Guess Perkins is about to have a fit over there at the house. He’s been hollerin’ out from the courtyard, for some of the hands to come up to the house, but so far, he hasn’t had an answer.

  “There’s about half a dozen out on the range, and the rest are settin’ there in the bunkhouse, playin’ cards, waitin’ for lunch to be brought over.” Hank chuckled. “I almost feel sorry for Perkins. The man ain’t too bright, but most of the hands never cared too much for him right from the beginnin’, and now they know he’s no more than a squatter, and a illegal trespasser to boot, they’re just asettin’ there waitin’ to see which way the wind blows.

  “Now that there Ranger Welby, you can see right off that man means business.”

  Sheriff Denton replied, “I’ve heard nothing but good reports about the Ranger, never met him yet, but soon as you get that food ready, we’ll head on over to the bunkhouse.”