The Hen House

by Sharon Sala

  Several times she was forced to slow down. The land through which she was riding was wild, and at night, dangerous. The valley was wide and long, nestled between two snow-capped peaks. But her instincts led her to keep following the creek that wound through the middle, believing that, when the killer decided to make camp, like anyone else, he would want easy access to water.

  Sometime around midnight she dismounted to water her horse and give him time to graze. When she swung out of the saddle and put her boots on the ground, her strength and willpower faded into nothing. The bloodstains on her clothes had long since dried and looked black in the moonlight. When she finally laid her hand on the dark stain across her breast, she dropped her head and sobbed. It was a sobering fact to know that his blood was the only thing of him she had left.

  T-Bone’s ears were on point—his nose was to the wind. The hair on his back had been raised for the better part of an hour, and ever so often he let out a low, warning growl. Letty wouldn’t let herself think of the wildlife that might be watching. She didn’t have time to be afraid of a four-footed devil when the one for which she searched walked upright.

  She had taken a cold flapjack from the pack Alice had made for her, and was absently feeding it to T-Bone while listening to the sound of her horse eating grass. There was a repetitive crunch as the horse bit down, then a tearing sound, as it pulled off a bite of the thick, lush growth. The grass around the creek was already over ankle high. Letty knew that it would be higher than her waist by mid-summer. It was a fine country, rich in all the things that counted, including that damnable gold.

  Only once, when she heard a sudden high-pitched scream, did she panic. Even though it sounded like the screams of a dying woman, she knew it wasn’t human. It was a cougar, and still some distance away. Nervously, she reached toward the butt of the rifle. It wasn’t until she felt the warmth of the wood beneath her fingers that she calmed.

  T-Bone growled what she assumed was another warning. She reached down and patted his head, murmuring softly until she felt the hair on his back finally relax.

  And so time passed. She didn’t know how long she’d been smelling wood smoke when it finally sank in, and then her heart skipped a beat. Everything around her, from the sound of the wind in the grass, to the water running in the creek beside them faded in the background of her consciousness.

  She stilled, and then closed her eyes, concentrating on nothing but her sense of smell. Adrenaline heightened every sensation. She began to slowly turn in a clock-wise direction, intent on locating the direction from which the smoke was coming. When she felt the wind on her face and the smoke up her nose, she suddenly realized what had happened.

  Somehow, in the dark, she had ridden past the killer’s camp. The scent of smoke was faint. And from the way the wind was blowing, there was no telling how far back the camp had been made, but she was going to find out. She mounted quickly, whispered a command to her dog, and began to backtrack.

  A short while later, the scent of smoke was growing stronger. Within minutes, she’d ridden close enough that she could see the flames of a campfire through the trees. At that point, she stopped, dismounted, and tied her horse to the branches of a tree along the creek bank, then pulled the rifle from the scabbard and put her hand on T-Bone’s head.

  The pup sensed her anxiety and whined softly. She felt the muscles of his back trembling beneath the palm of her hand and gave him a quick pat. With her rifle in one hand, a knife in her boot, and her dog at her side, she walked into the camp.

  The light from the fire was so much brighter than the moonlight by which she’d been traveling that she saw everything quite clearly. The shape of the man lying beneath an old blanket was long and large. From where she was standing, she could see the end of a rifle barrel beneath his blanket near the back of his head.

  Since she’d walked in from the backside of the fire, she had yet to see his face, but it didn’t matter. She was almost positive as a person could be that this man was the killer she’d been tracking—but she needed to make sure.

  The man’s horse was tethered some twenty yards away, but when she noticed that it was standing on three legs and favoring the front hoof on the right—the one that was missing a shoe—she knew she’d found her man.

  She took a deep breath, and without giving herself time to panic, pointed at T-Bone. Although he never moved his gaze from her face, he sat down, quivering with tension, but sensing the need to obey.

  Letty moved quietly, taking care with every step, until she was only inches from the sleeping man’s head. Her eyes narrowed as she reached down and silently slid his rifle from beneath the blanket. Then, clutching his weapon in her left hand, she backed up until she was out of the circle of light and laid the gun in the grass. The man was snoring loudly, completely unaware he was no longer alone, yet she could barely hear the sounds for the thunder of her own heartbeat in her ears.

  She eyed the layout of the camp, noting a large stack of firewood that he’d obviously gathered before bedding down for the night. Tightening her grip on her rifle, she picked up a large stick, and from where she was standing, tossed it into the fire.

  It hit the flames with a thud, scattering sparks and burning embers into all directions, including the man’s hair and blanket.

  “What the hell?” he shouted, as he sat up in his bed, and then began beating at the blanket, trying to put out the flames.

  He didn’t know Letty was there until he heard something growl. Believing it to be a wolf or a bear, he went for his rifle, then saw Letty Potter at the same time he realized his rifle was gone.

  She looked like something out of a nightmare, with the flames from his campfire highlighting the bone structure of her face. Her gaze was as steady as the gun she had aimed at his heart. But it was the bloodstains on her clothes and the glitter in her eyes that told him he would not see tomorrow.

  “You!” Letty muttered, shocked to learn that it was George Mellin who she’d been trailing all along, and yet at the same time, it began to make a sick kind of sense.

  She wanted him dead now—she wanted to see him take his last breath, just as she’d watched Eulis die. But she needed him to suffer, too—to know that his physical pain was as sharp as the one in her gut.

  George was frozen in fear.

  Letty knew he was scared, but it wasn’t enough. Without talking, she picked up another stick from the woodpile and threw it into the already blazing fire.

  Again, the sparks flew outward, this time singeing George’s hair and skin, and burning more holes in his blanket. He cried out in pain and terror, and began to beat at the flames, when Letty stopped him with a warning.

  “If you move again, I’ll shoot you where you sit.”

  George’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “I’m on fire,” he cried.

  “Not yet, you’re not… but you will be,” Letty promised.

  George writhed beneath the blanket as a small fire began to spread near his feet.

  “Please,” he begged. “You don’t understand. You shouldn’t a done what you did. No man deserves to be whipped like a dog in front of his friends.”

  “No man does to his family, what you did, you bastard… you coward… you sorry-ass, back-stabbing son-of-a-bitch. But the flogging wasn’t about your wife, Alice. She’s a grown woman. The way I looked at it, she could have spoke up for herself. It was about your baby. She died in my arms. Died before she had a chance to live. That’s why I whipped your ass, and I’d do it again.”

  George groaned. The hole in the blanket was burning a little larger as it continued to spread. He felt the heat catching onto his pant legs and knew it was just a matter of time before he burst into flames.

  “Please,” he begged. “You can’t do this to a—”

  Letty lifted the rifle to her shoulder.

  “Shut up,” she said softly.

  George groaned as his bladder gave way.

  Letty took a step closer.

  �
��You should have killed me, too,” she said softly, then pulled the trigger.

  The scent of gunpowder was suddenly up her nose as the kick of the rifle made her stagger.

  When the echo of the shot had faded away, George Mellin was still sitting, with the burning blanket in his lap and a bloody hole between his eyebrows.

  She shuddered, and took several steps backward until she felt the bark of a tree at her back. She slid downward with a sigh; sitting flat on the ground, with the rifle at her feet.

  A few yards away, the blanket finally burst into flames. She watched it catch on George’s pants, then his shirt, then watched his face disappear behind a column of swiftly rising smoke.

  Mellin was aflame.

  Nearby, his horse whinnied nervously. The smell of burning flesh sent it into a panic. It reared backward on the rope, then suddenly tore free from its tether and disappeared into the night at full gallop.

  ***

  Robert Lee’s horse was lathered—its breathing hard and labored. Ever since he’d come off the mountain into the wide, verdant valley, he’d been riding in fear. When dark came, he began to fear he would ride past Letty’s body, lying somewhere out of sight in the grass. He couldn’t get the dark, blood-stained earth at the Potter house out of his mind, and kept imagining he could hear the sound of her screams.

  Eulis Potter had been a good man—better than most. Robert Lee owed him in a way he’d never owed a man before. He’d been hired to protect the Potter mine, but had been unable to protect the Potters. That dug at him like a burr beneath the skin, pushing him on, when good sense bade him stop for the night.

  He had been in the valley, for what seemed like hours, hearing nothing but the sounds of his horse’s breathing, and the steady rhythm of its hooves upon the ground. His body was tense, his eyes burning from trying to see what the night was hiding.

  Only a short while earlier, he’d stopped long enough to water his horse at the creek, and mounted back up as soon as the horse had drunk its fill. He was riding without caution, flying through the moonlit valley as if he could see in the dark.

  Suddenly, a shot rang out in the night, echoing within the valley until the sound was too distorted to discern its origin.

  He reined in his horse, his heart hammering, frantically searching the darkness, waiting for another round to be fired, but there was nothing. Then, within a minute or two of the shot, he became aware of another sound—one he’d heard plenty of times before—but usually at his back.

  A horse was running toward him, coming this way fast.

  He drew his gun, wrapped the reins around his hand a little tighter, and waited. The horse came out of nowhere and was upon him before he could react. With nothing but moonlight by which to see, he could tell the horse was running from fear. Its head was up, the nostrils widely distended. As it came upon them, the horse squealed out a warning. Robert Lee’s horse squealed back, and it was all he could do to stay seated as the runaway horse dashed past.

  In those few seconds, seeing that the horse was without a rider only heightened his panic.

  Once he had his own mount under control, he rode forward. Within a couple of minutes, he could see fire, and the closer he got, the more his horror grew.

  He rode into the camp at a gallop, dismounting with his gun drawn, and landing in a flat-out run. Letty’s dog came out of the darkness, barking and growling. The campfire was ablaze, but he wouldn’t look in it for fear of losing his night vision.

  He dropped to a crouch, scanning the area for signs of a struggle, and at first, saw nothing. The dog was still growling.

  “Hush boy,” he said. “You know who I am.”

  At the sound of Robert Lee’s voice, T-Bone went silent. Robert Lee glanced toward the fire, saw the body within it, then finally at the woman beyond, sprawled lifelessly on the ground and leaning against a tree.

  “Lord, Lord,” he said softly, and walked toward her.

  He couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead. Her gaze was fixed, her face expressionless. The large, black stains on her clothes were obviously dried blood but no way to tell if it was hers. His legs were shaking as he knelt at her side. When he reached out and touched the side of her face, she didn’t blink, but she was warm—blessedly warm—and her skin was soft—so soft to the touch.

  “Letty, it’s me, Robert Lee. Are you hurt?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He moved closer, then slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against his chest. Her hair was in wild disarray—her clothes covered in dried blood and dust—and yet because she was alive, she seemed beautiful.

  Her pup was back beside her now, lying silently at her feet with a paw on her knees, as if pleading with her to get up. If only the dog could talk.

  Robert Lee cradled her head against his forearm, then pulled her into his lap. He wouldn’t look at the fire—trying not to think of what she’d been through—or what must be going through her mind—then wondering if she had a mind left with which to think. He’d been afraid a few times before in his life, but never as scared as he was at this moment.

  “Letty… darlin’… you got to talk to me now. I can’t help you none if you don’t say where it hurts.”

  He felt her shudder, and then heard her moan. When he looked, tears were rolling down her face. She blinked—so slowly that at first he thought she was falling asleep. Then she shuddered again, and this time when she blinked, he saw her eyes come into focus.

  ***

  The first thing Letty saw was the fire before her. A cold, almost satisfied expression came and went on her face, then she looked up, unaware that she was weeping.

  “Robert Lee? Is it you?”

  He cupped her head gently as he began brushing the hair from her forehead and her face.

  “Yes, ma’am, it’s me. Are you hurt?”

  Her features crumpled.

  “Oh, Robert Lee… he killed Eulis… my Eulis is dead.”

  Tears burned at the back of Robert Lee’s throat.

  “I know, girl… I know.”

  Her hands curled into fists as her gaze shifted once more to the flames.

  “He’s burning in hell, Robert Lee.”

  The rage in her voice made him shiver. This woman who held his heart would make an incomparable ally, but a formidable enemy. He was suddenly grateful they were on the same side.

  “I see that.”

  To his surprise, she pushed out of his arms and dragged herself up. Swaying slightly, she moved back to the stack of firewood and picked up another stick. One after the other, she threw them all on the burning pyre until flames were higher than her head, sending wild, renegade sparks flying up, up, up, into the darkness.

  He didn’t intervene. He understood the need for revenge. God knows this woman had done a hell of a job getting hers.

  It wasn’t until she’d thrown the last stick on the fire that he moved to her side, and laid a hand on her shoulder to let her know he was there.

  She turned and the look on her face was one of calm resolve.

  “Letty.”

  “What?”

  “Did you know him… the man who shot your man?”

  “George Mellin.”

  Robert Lee froze.

  “You talkin’ about Miz Alice’s husband?”

  “Yes.”

  He stared back into the fire. The implications of this revelation were such that it could drive someone mad—if that same someone was assigning the blame.

  If he’d never walked out into their valley looking for work, they might have never moved into town to the hotel. And if they hadn’t been in that hotel, they would have never known Alice Mellin, or gotten involved in her tragedy—or felt the need to intervene on her behalf.

  George Mellin would have continued on his way. Letty would never felt impelled to take a bullwhip to the man, and the grudge the man obviously bore her would never have evolved, and Eulis Potter would not be dead.

  Robert Lee’s father had often
said that if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, but he’d learned long ago that wishing for something didn’t change the truth.

  There was nothing more to be said.

  PROMISES KEPT

  Letty kept the fire going all night, dragging limbs, dried brush, and anything she could find that would burn. The higher the flames, the easier it became for her to breathe without wanting to scream. Her hair was singed at the ends, and her eyes were raw and red-rimmed from the heat and burning ash. Her hands and arms were so bruised and scratched, they looked like she’d fought a bear and won, but she was impervious to pain. No matter how many times Robert Lee tried to coax her to rest, she refused to stop. He finally gave up the fight and followed the creek to where she’d tied her horse and walked it back to George Mellin’s camp.

  T-Bone shadowed every step Letty took, from going into the trees after more firewood, to standing watch at the fire as it burned.

  When Robert Lee came back with her horse, Letty staggered to the saddlebags and dragged out the food that Alice had packed for her. She pulled a piece of jerky from the pack and handed it to Robert Lee, then dropped to her knees and began feeding the last of the cold flapjacks to T-Bone.

  Robert Lee was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to make of this woman. She was in shock, so weary she could hardly put one foot in front of the other, and yet she was still taking care of those around her.

  “Letty… ma’am… please. I sure wish you would eat somethin’, too.”

  “No food,” she said shortly, and handed T-Bone another piece of flapjack.

  “You could at least rest a bit.”

  “I can’t rest. The fire will go out.”

  “No. I promise I won’t let it.”

  Letty dropped the last of the flapjack in front of T-Bone and then stood up, wiping her shaky hands on the legs of her pants as she turned toward the fire. If a person hadn’t known there was a body was in there, it would have been impossible to tell. But Letty knew it, and in her mind, she still saw him, sitting there breathing when her Eulis was dead.