Beneath the Tombstone (The Tombstone Series)

by Martin Cogburn

  “Why would she do that?” Susan demanded.

  “Because this is all my fault.” Jason began shaking. His face flushed a deep red.

  “Jason,” Susan spoke sympathetically, “we both know you shouldn’t have gone for that late night stroll, but that doesn’t make this your fault.”

  No reason to hide it anymore. “That’s not what we were doing out there.” He was silent for a few seconds. Susan just looked at him with a questioning gaze. “I knew our marriage was falling apart. I was desperate to get her attention. The purse thing – it was rigged. I got someone to steal it, so I could get it back and she’d be thankful, you know, um, and she was. Then after that night you invited us to church, well, things got bad again.”

  Susan was staring at him in disbelief, but he went on. “So I staged a fake attempted kidnapping on her… but somehow things went terribly real. I don’t know what happened – what went wrong. But what if she had found out beforehand?” he asked dryly then took a drink. “She might just be mad enough to do this.”

  Susan sat down beside him and they both stared into the fire. “Honestly Jason,” she spoke after a bit, “I never completely bought your waltz in the park story. Thank you for telling me the truth.”

  Jason pulled his gaze away from the fire for the first time and looked at her. “It’s as simple as that? No hittin’, yellin’, or screamin’?” Susan just shook her head, lost in some thought, transfixed by the dancing flames. Jason turned away from her, back to staring at the fire. “What’da you think? Think that’d make her mad enough to do it?”

  Susan sat in thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” she finally sighed. After a moment, she turned to him. “Why’d you take off your wedding ring?” she asked.

  “I don’t deserve it,” he whispered harshly. A tear ran down his cheek. “I don’t deserve her.” Hands shaking, he brought the bottle up to his lips and took a deep pull from it. “Whoever she’s found, she’ll be better off,” he added, bringing the bottle back down, corking it loosely.

  “Found?” Susan asked.

  Jason turned to her. “Yeah, two plane tickets, two passports, none of which I knew anything about.”

  “Jason, that’s…”

  “There was over twenty-thousand dollars in that account,” he interrupted in a slurred voice. “Why would she be keeping that money separate if she wasn’t planning a separate life… and where’d it come from?” he demanded.

  “We each inherited fifteen-thousand dollars from Grandma when she passed away last year,” Susan explained gently. “I used mine as a down payment when I purchased her old house from the estate. I never knew what Misty did with hers.” She paused. “And in regards to your first question,” she added, “maybe she kept that money separate because she was afraid you’d spend it.”

  Ouch. But she had a point. “Still doesn’t explain the plane tickets and passports.”

  Susan sighed and shook her head staring blankly into the fire through the glass front. Jason looked over at her. She looked sad. He didn’t want her to be sad. “Say Susan,” he spoke, sounding every bit as plastered as he was, “don’t be sad. I’m sad. You don’t need to be sad, too. Here – have a drink,” he said, offering her the bottle.

  Susan took the bottle and gave it a study. Then she rose to her knees, scooted over to the stove, opened the door and tossed the bottle into the flames. It landed cork-end down, wedged between two burning logs, the bottom of the bottle pointed up at the chimney.

  Jason’s eyes grew wide. Susan shut the door back and turned around to Jason. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  - - - - - -

  Tyler had mulled it over and over in his head, and now he was headed up the hill to Jason’s shack. He thought he had it figured out. Jason had been feeling down. When he got up from the table, he went into the bathroom then out the back door. Why go out the back door? – No reason… unless he had the whiskey. The stuff was one-hundred-one proof – over fifty percent alcohol. It wouldn’t take much to get him completely smashed. Plus the bottle had been almost full which leaves a lot of room for stupid.

  What to be done as punishment? – That was the main question. Couldn’t just let this… KABOOM! And explosion shattered his thoughts, and a split-second later, a fiery object shot out of the chimney of Jason’s shack up into the night sky. Tyler came to an abrupt halt. The flame went out. A few seconds later, he heard something plop into the grass nearby. Walking over to the spot, he knelt down and retrieved the smoking bottle. All of the paper had been burnt off of it but, yep, that was his whiskey bottle.

  - - - - - -

  “You’re not thinking about, um, you know, quitting are you?” Susan asked Jason gently, not the least bit phased by the violent explosion she’d just created.

  “Quitting?” Jason asked. “What do you mean by quitting?”

  “Um,” Susan spoke uneasily, “you know, like ending it all or, or giving up on life.”

  “No,” Jason scoffed. “The Tombstone’ll take care of that. Misty’ll get the half-million. She can use it to start her new life. I owe her that, at least.”

  “If it is her,” Susan spoke cautiously, like she didn’t believe it, “what if she’s doing this just to see if you’re willing to be a real hero to her?”

  Jason looked up. He hadn’t thought of that. He felt a little excited. He leaned towards Susan, getting his face within an inch or so of hers. “Yeah!” he exclaimed. “Maybe if I climb it, she’ll see I really have changed! The tickets are for the day after my climb – Maybe if I climb, she won’t go!”

  Susan leaned away and wrinkled her face up in disgust. “Oh Jason!” she exclaimed. “Your breath is awful!”

  Jason leaned back against the bedroll and shook his head. “Want to know what’s ironic? Few weeks ago, I snubbed my nose at a drunk man. Now I am one.” He turned and looked at her. “Oh yeah, you remember; you were there.”

  “Yes Jason, I remember,” she replied. “But don’t be too hard on yourself; judgment is a thing we all cast too quickly, from time to time.”

  “Did you know he was a business owner and, and his wife was beautiful, and they were in love, and she was killed in a car wreck?”

  “No,” Susan replied, ignoring the fact that he was rambling. “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “So sad,” Jason spoke, shaking his head.

  Just then the door opened abruptly, and Tyler stepped in. “Jason,” he spoke, sounding a bit perplexed as he held up the charred whiskey bottle. “What happened to the whiskey?”

  “Oh, hi Tyler,” Jason said, giving a limp-armed wave. “Half down the hatch, half up the stack.”

  “Why the half up the stack?” Tyler asked, no less confused than before. Jason didn’t answer. He just turned to Susan. He had been wondering that very thing himself.

  She just shrugged and said, “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  Suddenly, Tyler smiled. “Bet’cha couldn’t do that again. Not in a thousand years. It was worth the wasted whiskey just to see that bottle shoot out tha’ chimney like a bat out of…” he caught himself, “um, well, you know… hades.” He furrowed his brow. Didn’t have near the same effect. He turned back, shrugging it off. “Well, anyways,” he started to go on but stopped when he took a closer look at Jason. “Man, you don’t look so good.”

  In all honesty, Jason didn’t feel so good either. The room seemed to be running laps around his head.

  Tyler studied him. “That FBI agent must’ve had some bad news.”

  Jason didn’t answer. Instead, he staggered to his feet and rushed towards the door. Wide eyed, Tyler jumped out of the way, not out of fear of Jason, but because he knew what was coming and didn’t want to be a part of it. Jason slammed his shoulder into the doorjamb, but the pain barely registered.

  Making it to the edge of the porch, he fell to his knees and doubled over. Arching his back like an angry cat, the nights drinking binge
came back to haunt him. Finally, he sat up and used one of his sleeve covered, shaky arms to wipe his mouth. Falling back against the outside wall of the cabin, he just sat there and trembled.

  A moment later, he felt a strong hand on his arm. “Come on, Tiger,” Tyler spoke, a touch of caring in his voice. After being hauled to his feet, Jason stared at Tyler until he felt someone else grab his other arm. He turned to Susan and smiled his gratitude; honestly, it was more of a huge drunken grin, but he was sure she got the message, all the same.

  He turned back to Tyler and gave him the same sincere smile. Such good friends. A man couldn’t ask for better friends. Tyler was like John Wayne. Big cowboy. Oops, was that out loud? And Susan… she was nice too. Real nice. You know, they were so nice that nice wasn’t even the best word for it. What did nice really mean, anyways? Different things. Why invent words that mean different things? Why not come up with a whole brand new word?

  “Why does nice mean different things?” he asked, posing his dilemma to Tyler. “Like – hey babe,” he wiggled an eyebrow, “you look nice.” Tyler looked more worried than nice. “Or, you know, like one girl friend to another… Hey,” he raised the pitch of his voice, turning to Susan, “how was the first date? Oh, he was too nice,” he sang. “The first one, he’s saying she’s ah lookin’ hot, but they can’t both mean the same things because there’s no such thing as lookin’ too hot… am I right?” he asked as he bobbed his head from one to the other. Judging by their faces, he wasn’t sure they saw his point. Oh well, couldn’t make it any plainer than that.

  After being helped inside and over to his bed, Jason plopped down, sinking into the mattress, causing the box-spring to squeak loudly. He fumbled with his boots until he finally got them off. Stretching out, he let out a deep, I-don’t-fell-so-good sigh. Tyler brought in a metal bucket and set it on the floor beside Jason.

  Then, squatting down at the bedside, he tipped back his hat with his index finger and sighed. “We gotta be over at Irwin’s before sunup. Helpin’ him brand a few. Meet us down at the saddle shed at four.”

  Jason groaned. “I’ll try. If I’m not there, don’t kick me out, okay? Just come dump water on me or something.” With that the room faded into darkness. Once during the night, he woke up just long enough to use the metal bucket by his bed then passed right back out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jason felt someone shaking him. Drawn from his blissful state of oblivion, he pried his eyes open. After several forceful blinks, he looked up. Tyler stood looking down at him, holding a burning lantern.

  “You alive?” Tyler asked.

  “No,” Jason replied, but it was mostly just wishful thinking.

  “Come on,” Tyler coxed as he grabbed Jason’s arm. “Get up.” After a bit of struggle, Jason was sitting up at the edge of his bed. “We’ll be staying overnight, so you might want to pack some extra clothes.” Jason just sat there motionless, staring blankly across the room. “Jason,” Tyler spoke loudly. “Come on, man. We’re pulling out in ten.”

  “I don’t feel good,” Jason moaned.

  “Why?” Tyler asked like he knew the answer but just wanted to make a point.

  “I drank too much.”

  “Yep,” Tyler responded. “You got that right. Be out at the truck in ten minutes.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.

  Eleven minutes later found Tyler driving and Rye sitting in the passenger seat as they pulled out onto the dirt road and headed down towards Irwin’s ranch. The middle seat in the front was empty. “How’s Jason?” Rye asked. A low moan came from the back seat. That was the only response given. Jason, feeling like a ship lost at sea, was being tossed side to side, and up and down as the truck bumped and shook its way along.

  “So you think Susan can hold the fort down ‘till we get back?” he overheard Rye ask.

  “Yep,” Tyler replied. “I’ve been very pleased with the job Susan’s doin’.” There seemed to be no doubt in his mind that she could keep things going until they returned.

  Jason passed out and didn’t awaken from his bone jarring ride until he felt the truck come to a halt as Tyler announced, “We’re here.”

  When he sat up, Jason saw a light was on in the saddle shed. Tyler led the way through the early morning darkness. Irwin was pouring himself a cup of coffee when they walked in. “How you boys doing this morning?” he asked, giving them a happy greeting.

  “Makin’ it,” Tyler replied as the two men shook hands.

  “Jason,” Irwin smiled. “We meet again. So good to see you, my friend.”

  “Good to see you, too,” Jason responded in a groggy voice.

  “What happened to you?” Irwin asked, a hint of surprise showing through his usually unreadable features.

  “I drank too much,” Jason answered bluntly.

  “I didn’t know you were a drinking man,” Irwin commented.

  “I’m not,” Jason replied.

  Understanding, Irwin reached up and put his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I know you’re under a load, but drinking’s never the answer to life’s problems.”

  “Thanks,” Jason said, feeling uncomfortable with the rancher’s sincerity.

  Thankfully, Irwin didn’t linger on the subject. “Good to see you, Rye,” he said as he turned his attention to the younger horseman, extending his hand.

  “Likewise,” Rye responded, stepping forward with a nod, giving Irwin’s hand a firm shake.

  “You boys want some coffee?” the elder horseman asked. “Got some breakfast over there, too,” he added, pointing to plate full of foil wrapped burritos. Coffee sounded great. Food sounded terrible.

  As the others were eating and Jason was drinking his second cup of coffee, Irwin began laying out the day’s plan. “We’ll gather the bottom section this morning. Throw them in groups of about fifty into the far side of the branding pen… work them from there. Should be finished early this afternoon.” He paused and took a sip of his coffee. After wiping his mouth with the backside of his hand, he continued. “When we get finished, we’ll load our stuff on the horses and pack mule; see if we can get to the north section and set up camp before dark.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Tyler said with a nod before taking another bite of his burrito.

  After breakfast, the men saddled up and rode off into the darkness. They began gathering the herd, and a little while after sunup, Jason was standing beside Tyler in what he assumed to be the branding pen.

  Irwin was on horseback headed towards the herd, which they had gathered up against the far side of the pen. Rye sat holding the herd of momma cows and their calves in place as the elder cowboy walked his horse gently into the bunch.

  “You’ll be the rope-man,” Tyler said to Jason with a nod. “Irwin’ll rope a calf by its hind legs and drag ‘em to us. Stand over there,” he said, pointing to a spot several yards away. “He’ll go right between us. You grab the rope, I’ll grab its tail, and we’ll pull in opposite directions, bringing the calf to the ground… hopefully,” the tall cowboy said with a hint enthusiasm dancing in his eye. “Get the rope off and secure its hind legs by grabbing the top one and pulling while shoving the bottom one up towards the calf’s stomach with your legs.”

  About that time, while Jason was still trying to process the given information through his muddled mind, he looked up and saw Irwin trotting towards them with a fighting, bawling calf in tow. The elder horseman passed between them and came to a halt as Jason grabbed the rope and Tyler grabbed the tail. Doing his best, in spite of his hung-over state, Jason pulled the rope bringing the bawling calf down with a plop. Taking a seat in the dirt, he attempted to follow Tyler’s instructions in securing the yearling’s powerful hind legs. But his reflexes and movements were more sluggish than usual. The calf jerked a leg free, kicked the rope off and, somewhere in the midst of it all, slammed a hoof into Jason’s stomach.

  “Get ahold of him!” Tyler ordered sharply from his position on the yearling’s neck.

>   Jason felt a hoof slam into his face. He fell back. “Get up and get ahold of this thing!” Tyler yelled.

  Jason rose to his feet, dropped on top of the little bull’s back half and grabbed the top leg once more. Squeezing it for all he was worth, he yanked it back like his life depended on it as he sank to the ground and jammed its bottom leg forward with a forceful shove.

  After a few seconds, the yearling quit struggling and lay still. “Good job,” Tyler said, looking up with a pleased smile. “A few days of this ought’a toughen those hands up.”

  “Yes sir,” Jason said and nodded his head in agreement.

  While Jason and Tyler had been wrestling with the little bull calf, Irwin had trot over to where Rye was holding the herd and switched places with the young horseman who had then ridden over to the branding fire, jumped off his horse and grabbed the branding iron from the flames. As he walked over towards the calf, Jason nervously eyed the iron. It glowed a bright orange.

  “Hold ‘em steady,” Tyler ordered as Rye prepared to apply the glowing hot iron. Smoke curled and the calf bawled, trying hard to kick loose as the iron burned proof of ownership into its hide.

  “Bring the nippers,” Tyler ordered. “He’s got some nubs.” Rye placed the brand back into the fire and returned with a piece of equipment made for removing the beginning of horns from a calf’s head… and that is exactly what Tyler did with them. As soon as he was through with the nippers, Rye handed him two syringes filled with vaccination shots for the yearling.

  As Tyler was administering the shots, Rye hurried back over to his horse and jumped into the saddle just in time to hold herd as Irwin entered it. Tyler finished with the shots, recapped the needles and stuck the syringes into a pocket on his chaps before he and Jason let the calf up. They had no more than gotten to their feet and into place when Irwin went between them with their next victim.

  As they were working the next calf, Tyler looked over at Jason. “So I never got a chance to ask… what’d that FBI lady want yesterday?”