"Oh my God," an older man interjected. "Mr. De Graaf, that's it! He's the Horseman. It's taken human form to spy on us."
De Graaf couldn't believe his ears. "I was not being serious!"
"But Mr. De Graaf—"
"No, I forbid any of you to talk. You are making up your own tales of terror right here on the streets of Tarry Town. And I thought Sleepy Hollow folk were bad."
"Mr. De Graaf, we all live in Sleepy Hollow."
"There it is. But before you continue...This Julian Crane did not murder Mr. Van Brunt's men with an ax, any weapon or instrument, or his bare hands. He beat them bloody, yes, and strung them up, but they are all quite alive. That's what happened."
"But Mr. De Graaf, we heard—"
"That's exactly the problem. You're hearing the wrong things and then spreading your false gossip to create fear and panic. My duty is the safety of Tarry Town. In keeping with that, I am ordering you all off the streets. There could be some very dangerous gunplay today, and someone could get murdered for real. Everyone get off the streets now and go home. And no more gossiping about this unless you talk to me about it. Telling tales around the fireplace is the nightly ritual in these parts. Telling tales as facts outside is reckless and dangerous. We are adults not schoolchildren. Go home now, please. For your safety."
The people were reluctant but listened to him and began to clear the streets.
De Graaf noticed three couples standing back, waiting to leave last, waiting for him. Dressing in black was common, but their dark clothes seemed to have a more ominous look with their gaunt bodies and drawn faces.
"Maybe this J. Crane isn't the Horseman," one of the women said. "Maybe he didn't murder anyone that we know of. Perhaps he's not an agent of the Horseman. But I don't believe in coincidences, and I'm sure you don't either, Mr. De Graaf. The Horseman's been gone for more than ten years after it took Ichabod Crane. I don't believe for an instant that the resurrection of all this Legend talk and Ichabod talk isn't going to bring the Horseman galloping back to Sleepy Hollow so that its deathly search for victims can start again. Tell me that isn't the case. Look me right in the eye, Mr. De Graaf, and tell us here, now."
De Graaf said nothing back to her.
Mr. Berg, the undertaker, leaned against the wall of his mortuary with his pipe hanging from his lips. He watched people gather in the street and disperse over and over, and people coming and going all because of the anticipated showdown.
It could be a busy day indeed today.
"You shouldn't be so self-satisfied, Mr. Berg. It's unseemly," a townsman said to him.
Berg turned to see the man watching him with a look of disapproval.
"Why shouldn't I be happy in the anticipation of some business? I'm an undertaker, and I need bodies to take under." He laughed.
"I'm glad death is funny to you."
"Why shouldn't it be funny to everyone? You can cry about it. Be sad about it. Be scared about it. I choose to be happy about it. Not that any emotion makes the slightest bit of difference. Death is going to come. Only the when and how is an open question."
"If you say."
"Do you know when Brom and his men will arrive?"
"It won't be long. I heard he already left the Van Brunt place."
"Soon." Berg smiled.
"Think this stranger will get any of them before he goes down?"
"This stranger is a clever one. I'm not convinced he'll go down after all. If it's gotten to this point where Brom has to get a whole big gang of his men to come with such force in the open like this, it means this stranger has bested everything Brom has thrown at him. This is Brom's final play, but I don't think it's the last play for this stranger."
"You say what you want. Brom's gang rides into town, and this stranger is shot dead right at the start. Bam. Dead. Only one body for you."
"We shall see."
Julian Crane sat at the rear table alone, nursing his wounds. It was only a cut above his eye and a bruise to his right temple. Mild compared to what he inflicted on his eight attackers. He had a plate of untouched food in front of him. His main activity was soaking a cloth in a pitcher of water and applying slight pressure to his cut. He had already wiped the butt of his rifle clean of all the blood from his victims.
The tavern was not packed, but everyone present had their eyes on him. Some people were very quiet, while others whispered amongst themselves. "It's that man claiming to be Ichabod's nephew." "Ichabod Crane, the one taken by the Horseman."
"Are you really Ichabod Crane's nephew?" The tavern owner stood across from his table.
"I am."
"Ichabod had no kin, so how could he have a nephew?"
"Ichabod had an older, estranged brother. My father."
"Had?"
"Killed in the War."
"Oh." The tavern owner was sorry he had pried. "I lost a boy in the War." The owner paused for a moment. "Is it true? You accused Brom Bones of killing your uncle?"
"I did."
"Your uncle was killed by the Horseman, mister."
"There is no such thing! That's imaginary superstition!" Julian was angry.
"The Headless Horseman isn't imaginary!" The owner was angrier.
"This is the year 1800, and there is no such thing as ghosts and undead creatures. The earth is not flat, and there is no Headless Horseman. Murderers are all men. The only exception is the rare times when it's a woman."
"Stranger, you're going to meet a terrible end. It'll either be Brom, for spreading lies about him, or the Horseman, because your fool self will go looking for it. Either way, you're going to meet a terrible end."
"The only person who'll meet a terrible end is the murderer of my uncle, Brom Bones."
The owner had turned in a huff, but stopped in his tracks. Julian looked up to see about a dozen armed men approaching with the Elders following.
Julian grinned to himself. The men reached his table and De Graaf, the head elder, pushed through to the front.
"I notice in these parts the people like to gang up on a man," Julian said. "Three to one, eight to one, fifteen to one."
"Mr. Julian Crane, if that is your true name, we are taking you into custody," De Graaf announced.
"On what charges?"
"On the charge that you are a menace to this town and we are not going to allow any gunplay in our streets," the head elder answered. "Do you know that Mr. Van Brunt is heading to town with a full posse to find and probably kill you?"
"I suspected he might do such. I'm waiting for him," Julian answered.
"Please stand up, mister," the head deputy said to him.
"Not until you take the letter from my left breast pocket."
"Why?" the head deputy asked.
"Because it's addressed to you."
The deputies looked to De Graaf for instructions. He nodded to them. Julian slowly opened his coat, and the main deputy reached into the pocket. The letter inside was a cream color and had an official look to it.
The deputy carefully opened it and read to the end. He looked up and then read it again.
"What does it say?" De Graaf asked impatiently.
The deputy handed him the letter.
"I suspect, as a fellow abolitionist, you will be duly impressed by my benefactor," Julian added in a quiet tone.
The men had no notion of what he meant. The Elders gathered around De Graaf as they all read it. De Graaf finished first and looked at Julian, shaking his head.
"My letter, please." Julian stood and reached out his hand.
De Graaf handed him back the letter. Julian returned it to his inside breast pocket and then threw a few coins on the table. "Thank you for the fine meal, sir," he said to the owner. He turned back to the deputies. "Get out of my way."
The deputies looked to De Graaf for direction. De Graaf said, "Let him go."
The deputies moved back and Julian walked past them. He stopped in front of De Graaf. "This is the last time I am going to allow you to get in my
way. I am going to avenge the murder of my uncle, and if you ever get in my way again—" He didn't finish the sentence. "This is between Mr. Brom Bones and me. Not you, your elders, your town, or any imaginary horseman. Don't make me have this conversation with you again."
Julian walked out of the tavern without anyone stopping him.
"What just happened?" one of the new deputies asked. "You appointed us as lawmen and then you let him walk out free. What did the letter say?"
De Graaf recited it from memory. "To whom it may concern. Mr. Julian Crane has been duly appointed as a provisional U.S. Marshal of the State of New York to investigate the murder of his family member, one Ichabod Crane. All local authorities are to render any and all assistance. Signed, John Jay, Governor of the State of New York."
Showdown
"I want Brom Bones dead!"
John Jay was not only the Governor of New York. He was one of the Founding Fathers, one of the fifty-six signers of the Declaration of Independence, one of the three authors of the Federalist Papers, the first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and the state's leading abolitionist, signing into law just the year before an act for the gradual emancipation of all slaves in New York, in the face of the continued growth of the institution in the new state. With a letter of such significance, Julian Crane was untouchable to them, and he was right—this would be a battle between him and Brom Bones, and no other.
Brom's posse would arrive in town at any moment. Julian settled his bill with the owner of the barn where he was staying. The fidgety man was anxious to get him out and away as fast as humanly possible. Everyone knew what was coming.
Julian looked at the bloody rag he pulled from his pocket. Dutch was the only one of the men who managed to hit him with any kind of blow, but it was minor. But looking at the rag he used to wipe the wound, it looked like he had wiped up a gallon of blood from his face. He couldn't stop staring at it. This was an unnatural place.
He turned and there she was waiting—Katrina Van Brunt.
Julian continued out of the barn but did not move closer to her.
"Morning, Mrs. Van Brunt."
She was annoyed he didn't stop. "You have about fifteen minutes to get on your horse and ride out of here for dear life before they arrive."
"Yes, they told me about the Brom Bones posse. Did you want to see my face one last time? Or are you going snatch me by the throat, as you threatened at your home, and hold me down until your husband arrives to kill me? Though the sun is out and I know he likes to do his evil deeds at night."
"Mr. Crane, what evidence do you have my husband killed your uncle? Because all I have heard from you is overblown talk. What evidence do you have that Ichabod is even dead? There are rumors that he's living in—"
Julian interrupted her. "Yes, he's living in upstate New York. He runs his own private school. He became a lawyer. He became a politician. He became a judge of the court. He went back to Connecticut or went to Kentucky where he wanted to take you as his wife. Or the state of Tennessee."
Katrina swallowed hard. Julian did seem to have knowledge that could only have come directly from Ichabod.
Julian continued. "Mrs. Brunt, I rode through every major town in Northern New York, Connecticut, Kentucky, and Tennessee before I rode here to Sleepy Hollow. I sent out queries to every lawman in every surrounding state, even though I didn't need to. My uncle Ichabod was fanatical about keeping his habits. In his eye, he probably knew no other states existed outside New York and Connecticut, and he fixated on Kentucky and Tennessee only because he met a fellow singing master from there and became enchanted with the accounts of the states. No, Mrs. Van Brunt, my uncle Ichabod is dead. I have no doubt of it in my soul."
"Mr. Crane, you have an idealized view of your uncle. He was a good man, a gentleman and a learned man, whose knowledge was only inferior to our late parson. But let's be clear. Ichabod was interested in my hand in marriage not for me, but to acquire my father's wealth. That's what his mind was fixed on."
"Mrs. Van Brunt, what do you think every admirer of yours in these parts was fixed on? I heard you had many. What do you think Brom Bones was fixed on?"
"Mr. Crane, out of all my admirers, Abraham was the only one not focused on my father's wealth, but me. But my personal affairs are not your business. Again, I ask, what is this supposed evidence you have?"
"Your husband tormented my uncle along with his gang of delinquents, vandalized his schoolhouse. I heard your husband even trained some scoundrel dog to follow him about and whine every time he spoke. Brom Bones, your husband, bragged that 'he would double the schoolmaster up and lay him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse.' Mrs. Van Brunt, on the night after my uncle's disappearance, supposedly taken by this imaginary horseman, your husband saw the local blacksmith. Why don't you ask your husband about that?"
"I don't have to, Mr. Crane. I know why he was there."
Julian smiled. "I always can tell when someone lies to me. Have a good day, Mrs. Brunt."
Katrina watched him. Her expression of solidarity with her husband changed to doubt. Sounds of commotion grew in the streets, and she ran out to the main street.
It was about to begin.
One of the Van Brunt barns was turned into a convalescent room for Dutch and his men. It was wide open, with just enough light, and airy, but when it was closed up, it could keep in the heat well. The doctor exited the structure with a black bag in hand to a waiting Mr. Jansen and Mrs. De Paul.
"How are they Mr. Tennant?" Jansen asked.
"Five of the men suffered severe concussions, and two of them were lucky to have been knocked out cold and spared the beating the rest received. They will all survive their injuries, and with simple rest, they'll make a full recovery."
"How could this happen?" Mrs. De Paul asked. "Mr. Dutch is Mr. Van Brunt's top man."
"If I can be presumptuous, sometimes the top man can be the most careless because he starts believing everyone telling him that he's the best."
"Such a savage attack must be answered for," Jansen said.
"And your employer has set out to do just that, though I fear my services will not be needed for the aftermath of the encounter between them and this man calling himself the late Ichabod Crane's nephew. No, I fear that the undertaker's services will be the ones needed."
"I hope this bad business will be over after today," De Paul said.
"We all do," the doctor answered. "Sleepy Hollow and Tarry Town can do without this kind of excitement." He checked his medical bag again. "I have done all I can for the men."
"We'll follow your instructions for care exactly," De Paul added.
"Yes, I know you will. Though I feel their pride will be more wounded than their bodies."
"Then that damage is considerable," Jansen said. "Based on the bloodied and blackened state they were in when they were hauled here, but I suspect you are correct, knowing Mr. Dutch as we do."
"We'll have your horse brought 'round, Mr. Tennant," Mrs. De Paul said as she motioned to one of the field boys.
The boy nodded and ran to the adjacent barn.
The two head servants walked with the doctor as the field boy appeared again with a brown horse in tow.
"Thanks again, doctor," De Paul said.
"You are both welcome."
"Mr. and Mrs. Van Brunt would be here themselves to thank you personally," Jansen said.
"Yes, I know they are already in Tarry Town. I most likely will see them on my way back."
Mrs. De Paul noticed something in the barn and called the field boy back.
"Willie?"
"Yes, Mrs. De Paul."
"Where's the new pony?"
The field boy looked as he ran closer to the barn. His head bobbed left and right as he looked around.
"I don't see him, Mrs. De Paul." He turned to another field boy. "Where's Gremlin?"
"Gremlin?"
"The new pony."
"He was right there in that stable before."
; "He's not there now."
Both boys looked around together.
"Mrs. De Paul, we don't know where the pony could be. No one else rides him so no one would have taken him."
"Oh no!" Mrs. De Paul yelled out in panic.
De Graaf stood in the center of the road with a worried look on his face as they came. A cloud of dust followed the approaching riders. He counted at least two dozen before the image of the lead rider came into focus—a determined Brom Bones. His hand rose and the posse came to a stop about a foot from the man.
"Mr. Van Brunt, please. Please don't do this. The town council knows your quarrel with this stranger is legitimate. We only ask that you wait for the marshal to arrive and then we do this in a lawful way. This is not the old frontier days when we made up the law as we went. We're a civilized town now. The stranger isn't going anywhere. Let's wait for the marshal."
"Why? Before we got to town, I was told that this supposed Julian Crane is in fact a marshal himself, and we all know they'll probably stick together like thieves and I won't get any kind of justice from the law."
"Mr. Van Brunt, we have big things planned for these parts, you and I. We are past this kind of behavior. Wait for the marshal, and you'll have everyone's support in Tarry Town, including mine."
"I know you evacuated the town. You are predictable in your efficiency. He lies, accuses me of crimes, steals my men's horses and now he's savagely beaten my men and strung them up to hang from Major Andre's Tree. The marshal isn't here, but I am. Get out of the way, or we will ride over you."
De Graaf quickly moved to the side as the posse galloped past.
"Find him," Brom yelled.
The riders fanned out through the town. Brom remained sitting on his horse, a gun in each hand, in the center of the main road. It was not his favorite horse, but this one would do.
Inside the main store, the Elders watched the posse scatter throughout the town with Mrs. Van Brunt beside them.
Hollow Blood (Sleepy Hollow Horrors, Book 1) Page 6
