“Yes, sir, it is,” said the colonel on the general’s right.
“Defendant Howie Ryder is charged with the mutilation and subsequent murder of Colonel Eligh Jacob, late of the Second Army of the Western Expeditionary Force of the United States Army, this action having occurred in or about the state of Colorado. Is this a true and valid charge?”
“Yes sir, it is a true and valid charge.”
“So noted, then. Said defendant Howie Ryder is also charged with the murder of Senior Administrator Harriver Mason, this action having occurred in High Sequoia, in California state. Is this a true and valid charge?”
“It is a true and valid charge, sir.”
The general closed his folder. “Said defendant Howie Ryder has been charged and tried on two counts of murder; these charges have been deemed true and valid. Therefore I declare this hearing closed.”
The general stood. The two colonels rose quickly and came to attention. The three officers turned and walked stiffly out of the room. Troopers entered at once and removed the table and the chairs. The soldier closed and locked the barred door and disappeared, and Howie was alone once again.
Howie tried not to think. There wasn’t a whole lot to think about. They had caught him red-handed, there wasn’t any way out of that. The trial was over and done, though why they’d even bothered, Howie couldn’t say. Except the army liked to write things down.
The business with Colonel Jacob—that had surprised him somewhat, but not a lot. They’d caught him for killing Mason, and while he was out cold, some trooper or officer who’d been in Colorado had recognized his face and the missing eye. Probably got a promotion for it, too. Better than what the trooper who’d spotted him in Alabama Port got for his trouble, Howie thought.
That little problem had worked out fine. Only this time, Ritcher Jones wouldn’t likely walk in and get him off with a bribe. Even if he did sit right next to Lawrence at supper. Lawrence wouldn’t forget who’d brought a killer into High Sequoia, and someone would have to pay for that.
Howie didn’t look forward to facing Jones. Saying he was sorry for the trouble he’d caused wouldn’t do a lot of good. The thought suddenly struck him: Lord, what was Lorene going to think? Finding out the man she’d been loving every night was a man she didn’t know.
The thought of Lorene brought Howie a sense of sadness and regret. He’d thought about them maybe going off somewhere, dreamed about it, anyway, thinking how it might turn out to be true. Would she cry a whole lot when he was gone? Dying was supposed to be a fine thing to do, the Church had taught her that. But he figured that she’d cry some, too.
Somehow, knowing it was going to happen soon didn’t bother him at all. Dying just hadn’t hit home. It likely would, he decided, when they took him out under a tree. A bunch of troopers with a rope would get a man’s attention quick.
No one had bothered with windows in the place, and Howie had no idea if it was daylight or dark. Sometime after the officers left, the Brother who’d stuffed a gag in his mouth came back and took it out. He fed Howie soup and another cup of water, and checked to make sure the ropes weren’t cutting off his blood. Howie said he appreciated that; he didn’t think it looked right for a man to have a case of gangrene when they took him off to hang. The Brother paled at this remark and hurried quickly from Howie’s cell.
He tried to stay awake, but the dull, throbbing presence in the back of his head seemed determined to pull him under. He dozed off again and again, waking each time with a start. His head felt heavy, as if it might be full of sand. The light from the lantern was fuzzy, strangely indistinct. He wondered if the blow had done something real bad to his head, maybe damaged vital stuff inside. He’d been hit once or twice before, and the hurt had gone away, so maybe this was temporary, too.
He caught himself and tried to laugh. The effort sent a sharp surge of pain through his skull. What the hell difference does it make? Howie thought. I’m temporary all over, it ain’t just in my head.
He drifted off again, then came awake abruptly as a key clicked sharply in the lock of his cell. Howie looked up, blinked, saw the blow coming and couldn’t jerk away.
“Damn your filthy soul, boy!” Brother James struck him again across the face. Howie sucked in a breath.
James grabbed him by the throat and brought his face close to Howie’s. “God’s mercy, what have you done to me? I’ve nothing to do with this business!” His voice trembled with rage. Howie could smell his sour breath, count the beads of moisture on his flesh.
“I haven’t done nothing to you,” Howie said. “You ain’t even—”
James hit him again. Howie groaned and thought his head was coming off.
“What have you told them?” James said. “What did you say about me?”
“I didn’t say a thing about you. Why the hell should I?”
“I am not involved in this foulness of yours,” James said. His hand closed tightly about Howie’s throat. “My name … must not be spoken. It will not be spoken by you.”
“I told you, dammit. What the hell’s the matter with you, mister?”
“You have spoken to no one about our—little agreement?”
“No, honest. I—”
“I think F shall have to make certain of that.” James showed Howie a terrible grin. “I think I must be sure.”
James brought both his hands to Howie’s throat. He pressed his thumbs hard, cutting off Howie’s breath at once. Howie tried to cry out. Bright spots of light began to dance before his eyes. He strained at his ropes, knowing it would do him no good. The face before him began to fade. An odd, almost comical expression appeared on Brother James’s face. His eyes rolled up, and one corner of his mouth twisted awkwardly toward his jaw. He released Howie’s throat, backed away a step, and tried to turn around. Something happened to his legs and he collapsed to the floor.
Howie gasped for air. Ritcher Jones stepped over James. Concern spread over his features; he found a cup of water and brought it to Howie’s mouth. Howie threw up half of the water, and drank again.
“Thank the Lord,” Jones said. He wiped Howie’s face with the edge of his robe. “Are you all right, son?”
“I reckon so,” Howie said. His voice sounded like a frog’s. “Thanks—for getting here.”
“You’re going to be just fine,” Jones said. He turned and spoke over his shoulder. “You’d best take him out the east door. Use Samuel and Micah.”
Howie looked past Jones and saw Brother Michael. He held a pistol in his hand. Something long was attached to the end of the barrel; it looked like a piece of black pipe.
“You won’t need me here?” Michael asked.
“No. Tell Samuel to come back when you’ve disposed of James. Tell him to stay here, outside the room.
Michael nodded and disappeared. Ritcher Jones turned to Howie.
“You came rather close, I’d say. We’ve been trying to find Brother James. I had no idea he’d turn up here.” Jones looked curiously at Howie. “Can you tell me why he did come to you? Why he was so interested in your silence?”
“I don’t have any idea,” Howie said. “He just came in here and—”
“No.” The preacher shook his head. “I want the truth now, boy. I must know what passed between you two.”
Jones turned as two Brothers came into the room, picked up the limp form, and left.
I have to know this,” Jones said gently. “It is very important to me.”
Howie looked at the floor. “He caught me doin’ something once. I ain’t going to say what it was. It don’t matter. He—wanted me to tell him what Brother Michael said. Whatever he said to Lawrence.”
“Ah, I see.” He shook his head and laughed quietly to himself. “And he enlisted you in his scheme. Poor Brother James. What a tragic mistake.”
“I don’t know nothing about any schemes,” Howie said.
“No, of course you don’t.” The preacher let out a breath. “I fear our dear Brother had delusions of
higher station. He wished to take Michael’s place. We knew about it, of course. And you’re right. It had nothing to do with you or your own … intentions of violence here.”
Howie’s mouth felt dry as dirt. He forced himself to look at the preacher. “I don’t guess nothing I can say is going to help. I’m sorry I brought trouble on you. I didn’t want to do that. It’s just I had to do what I—”
“You had to kill Harriver Mason,” Jones interrupted. “Yes, I know you did, boy.” He paused and studied Howie a long moment. “You owe me no apology, Howie Ryder. None at all. You did what you had to do. The Lord spoke, and He delivered your enemy unto your hands. His will is done, and you have served Him well.”
Howie stared in disbelief. “What the hell are you trying to say? You don’t care? You don’t think I did nothing wrong? I kill a man and mess up your peace talks, and that don’t bother you at all?” He laughed aloud at Ritcher Jones. “I hope you’ll tell them army bastards out there that God said everything’s all right. I got an idea they haven’t thought about that!”
Jones sighed and looked at Howie. He found a stool in the corner and brought it around before the chair.
“There is much here you don’t understand, young man,” Jones said. “I know you cannot mean the things you say. You mock the Lord’s words, because you lack the knowledge to know them. You are His instrument, son. You were brought here by Him to do this deed, and no power on earth could have stopped you.
Jones leaned in close to Howie. “Why do you think the Lord placed me in Tallahassee, exactly at the moment you yourself would be there? He did, and He lifted the veil from my eyes and I knew you. I knew you had to be Howie Ryder. These things do not happen by chance, they are willed by the Lord.”
Howie felt cold all over. “You—knew who I was? You knew right then? But how could—”
Jones shook his head and smiled. “A great many people know who you are and what you look like, Howie. You are quite a legend in some circles. Most especially those who fought on either side in Colorado. I should think you would know that, from your venture in New Los Angeles.”
“Goddam, what are you pullin’ on me?” Howie blurted.
“Word reached me soon after you left for town. I was most concerned, Howie. You had the Lord’s plan to fulfill, and I didn’t want you to come to any harm.”
The preacher’s words struck Howie like a blow. “You— you brought me here. You son of a bitch, you wanted me to stick a knife in Mason!”
“1 was only an instrument, like yourself.”
“Don’t give me no Church talk, mister,” Howie said. “Just tell me why. It don’t make any sense. If you wanted the bastard dead, you could’ve had him killed yourself. Why’d you need me?”
Jones looked pained. “What good would that have done? Harriver Mason dead by any hand but yours would serve no purpose at all. Howie, I don’t pretend to know why you killed Anson Slade—yes, I know you did it, though I didn’t see it done. But I did see the plain look of murder in your eye when you saw him, when I told you his name in the tavern. I knew the truth of what happened at Silver Island, and I guessed, at that moment, that you knew as well. Later, of course, I saw your aversion to meat. But that instant, that moment when you first saw Slade—there could be no other reason for your obvious hatred of the man. I knew then, Howie, that the Lord was speaking clearly to me. That His Light would show me the way. If you hated Anson Slade, if you were driven by such a need to see him dead, then you would certainly wish the same for Harriver Mason. By the way, the Loyalist people here know nothing of Slade. I saw no reason to add another murder to two. Two is quite enough.”
Ritcher Jones paused and frowned thoughtfully at Howie. “Who was it, boy? A girl you knew, a brother or a sister who went to Silver Island?” He waved the words away. “No matter, and that is not my business, now is it? That’s a personal matter with you.”
Howie wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in his belly. “It ain’t right,” he said, squeezing his eye shut. “It don’t make sense. Dammit, you can’t do stuff like this to people. Just—using them for something.”
“It is right, son. God’s plan is always right, whether we see His way clearly or not. It was all written plainly in His hand, waiting to be read. Before I left California, I knew, from things I heard from important men in the Loyalist camp, that Mason was out of favor. He had risen too high, and wished to rise higher still. And more than that, he was becoming an embarrassment to the Loyalist cause. A secret is hard to keep, and too many of Lathan’s Rebel officers knew of Silver Island, and disapproved of what had taken place there.”
Jones spread his hands. He seemed to be looking at some wonder far away. “Do you see it all clearly now, Howie? How the Lord saw a need, and brought this all to pass? Mason stood in the way of peace. The Loyalists would shed no tears at his passing, but they dared not do the deed themselves. Mason still has friends in high places, including the President himself. But if an outsider should kill Mason, a man already wanted for the murder of one of their own, Colonel Jacob … Do you see how the Lord works His will? I knew, soon after we met, that you would play a part in His work. And you have, boy. A very important part. When the Loyalists announce that Mason is dead, the Rebels will he pleased, and more amenable to bringing about the peace. They won’t have to know who did the deed itself, only that it was done. There are certain—incidents they desired as well, and the Lord has provided for their needs. That doesn’t concern you, of course, but I will tell you that all has been achieved. High Sequoia means to bring about the peace. And you must not, in any way, Howie, feel that you have damaged the upcoming talks. Dear boy, you have helped to make them work. The Lord has blessed you, son. I hope you see that He—”
You goddam fool!” Howie exploded with such a fury that Jones rose from his stool and backed away, forgetting that Howie’s ropes bound him to the chair.
“All that talk you fed me about having a future at High Sequoia, how you wanted me to do something with my life. And all the time what you had in mind for me was dying. You didn’t want me to be anything except dead!
Jones looked startled, as if Howie had somehow betrayed him. “But I meant what I said to you, boy. Every word. I wanted you to have a part in High Sequoia, to achieve your goals here. And you have. Don’t you see? This is what I wanted for you, to do something with meaning, something that would bring you true glory. What does it matter if you gain that glory on this side of life or on the other? God Himself put the words in your mouth at supper last night, Howie. When you said you felt a sorrow at Camille’s passing. And He spoke again through Lawrence to bring you the answer—that the Lord has far greater tasks for us on the other side. You have done your work here, and you shall receive His glory for it. I envy you, Howie. How I yearn to stand before Him!”
“Let me loose from this chair and sure as hell send you on your way.” Howie said.
Jones smiled. “If I can offer any further spiritual guidance before it is—time, I would welcome the chance.”
“You can get your ass out of my sight,” Howie said bitterly. “I had about all the damn sermons I can take.”
Ritchey Jones straightened his robe and moved to the door of the cell. He stopped then and looked at Howie.
“You haven’t mentioned the matter, Howie, but I know it’s on your mind. While Sister Lorene’s attentions to-ward you were initiated at my request, her—feelings for you became quite real. I assure you this is so. She is a most loving person, full of God’s Joy and Light.”
“Get out of here,” Howie shouted. “Goddamn you, get out!”
Howie yelled at the preacher’s back, cursing him long after he disappeared. And when rage gave way to sorrow and the hot tears scaled his cheeks, he knew he didn’t ever want to know, that he didn’t want to face Lorene and search her eyes, and see if he was there, or maybe learn there was nothing there at all….
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Moments after Ritcher Jones left, a brothe
r came in and let Howie loose from his chair. Another stood guard, just outside the bars, a rifle held loosely in his arms. Once Howie’s bonds were gone, the Brothers who’d cut him free retreated quickly from the cell, and the pair disappeared down the hall.
Howie had to laugh at the gun. They’d had him in the chair maybe eight or ten hours—even with the ropes cut away he couldn’t move. His whole body felt dead. Gripping his knees, he tried to stand up straight. Pain tore down the length of his spine; he choked back a cry and fell helplessly to the floor. He didn’t try to move again; he lay quietly in the dirt, cursing Ritcher Jones and everyone else at High Sequoia.
He tried to bring it all back, think what he might have done to make it turn out different from the way it had. It was shameful to think how simple it had been to draw him in. Jones had played him for a fool from the start. Once he’d found out who Howie really was, the rest had been easy. The preacher had simply held out Mason as bait, then hooked him with Lorene. After that—
No, now that ain’t right, he told himself quickly. I would’ve come anyway. I did it for Carolee. To get even for her. It didn’t have nothing to do with Lorene…
Only it did, he knew that. It was too damn late to start denying what was true. And the cold truth was, he didn’t care what she’d done or why. He wanted her again, wanted desperately to hold her and love her as hard as he could. Touch her all over just once before they took his life away. Maybe Jones had lied. Maybe Lorene was just doing what he’d told her to do, and she didn’t feel anything at all. Hell, Jones had lied about everything else.
That didn’t matter anymore. Feeling bare flesh next to his was a hunger he couldn’t put aside. And Ritcher Jones knew it, too. He knew Howie Ryder better than Howie knew himself. The thought brought a sudden burst of anger and shame. Ritcher Jones knew. There wasn’t a son of a bitch alive knew more about sin, and what it could do to a man. He knew Howie had to have Lorene. And if Lorene wasn’t there, why, Marie would do as well. That was the worst part of all. That the preacher could look inside his head, and see stuff Howie didn’t want to see himself.
Neal Barrett Jr. Page 23
