“Who else is here?” Miller asked.
“Just some drifters that came in last night.”
“You’d better be telling the truth—get going!” He herded Frank back toward the front of the cabin. Zack had spotted George Ives standing in the doorway, his hands raised, the other men from the shack in like position, with guns aimed at them.
“What’s all this, Miller?” he asked.
“We’re taking you in, Ives.”
“For what?”
“You shot Nick Tybalt.”
Unimpressed, Ives smirked, “You’ll have a hard time proving it.”
One of the posse called out, “Let’s do the job here.”
Miller shook his head. “No, we’re taking them back to town. They’ll have lawyers and a legal trial.”
Ives glared at him, then at Winslow. “You two are on top now—but that won’t last long,” he warned.
When they hit Virginia City, they found the town alive with excitement. The miners had heard about the posse and had filled the saloons to overflowing as they waited. Miller, Zack and Beidler locked the prisoners up; then they left.
“The word is out that the toughs won’t let them be hanged,” Pfouts said as he and Simpson met Miller. “They’ve got a lawyer, but Simpson will prosecute for us. Tomorrow we’ll do it. The right time has come.”
“The miners may cry for them again, like they did before,” Zack offered.
“Makes no difference,” Miller said. “We’ve got to do it this time.”
Zack nodded. “I’ll be here.” He left the group and went to Steele’s office. The physician looked up from his chair and smiled. “I hear you got Ives.”
“Yes, and a few others. How is she?”
“She’s out of the woods, Winslow,” Steele replied. “The Indian woman and Lillian have taken good care of her. You know, I think this has helped Lillian. She’s done something for somebody else—and that’s always better than sitting around studying your own hurts.”
“Can I see Bron?”
“She may be asleep, but go on in.”
As Zack headed for Bron’s room, Steele asked, “You think Ives will be convicted?”
“He better be, Doc,” Zack said slowly. “If he’s not, every member of the posse and every man who has a hand in this trial will be shot sooner or later.”
Steele nodded. “I guess that’s so. But it’ll break the back of the toughs if we can do it. Go on in, Zack.”
When he opened the door he saw Lillian and Buck sitting near Bron.
“You get ’em, Zack?” Buck asked.
“Sure.” He glanced at Bron, then said to Lillian, “You look plumb wore out.”
“I’m all right,” she said, and smiled at him. “She’s so much better, Zack! She’s going to be all right.” Then she did something he’d not expected—ever. She came and put her hand on his arm, saying, “Don’t worry. I—” She stopped. Whatever she wanted to say, he could see that she was struggling. Finally she gave Buck a quick look, then said, “I want to thank you, Zack. I never have—for all you’ve done for me and the kids.”
He blinked in surprise as he realized the haunted look in her eyes was gone. Lillian smiled again. “Buck and I’ve had a lot of time to talk. He’s a pretty good talker, believe it or not.” She nodded toward Buck, then added, “I’ve given you a terrible time, Zack—and I probably will again—but, I feel much better now.”
“I’m mighty glad of that, Lillian—!”
“Come on, Lil,” Buck broke in. “Let’s go get something to eat. You’ll sit with her, won’t you, Zack?”
“Sure.” He looked after them with a puzzled expression, and then he heard Bron say, “Zack—?”
He swiveled around to find her eyes open, and rushed to her bedside.
She licked her lips. “They say—you’ve been here ever since I was shot.”
“I guess so.”
She was sleepy, but he could see that she had gained color. “I wish you hadn’t gone to fight with Helm. They told me how you killed him.”
He stood there, making no defense, and she shook her head. “I wish you hadn’t done it,” she repeated and dropped off to sleep.
He sat down heavily. She’ll never forget it. She begged me not to go—but I went anyway. The thought tormented him, and when Jeanne came into the room a short time later, he got up and left without a word. Jeanne was taken aback, and when Bron woke up, she said, “Did you and Zack have a quarrel?”
“Zacharias—was he here? I don’t remember,” Bron said with surprise.
****
Morning saw the crowds moving into town exactly as they had done for the trial of Stinson and Lyons. Simpson met with Pfouts, Miller, Beidler and Winslow to plan the trial.
Pfouts was doubtful of the outcome. “The toughs will want an open jury—and they’ll sway the crowd.”
“That was last time,” Miller said. “The miners were afraid, but now they’ll have to cooperate with the law.”
“I dug two graves for nothing then,” Beidler said. “We’ll have to fill ’em this time.”
“It all depends on the miners,” Zack commented. “I need to find Billy. I’ll be back.”
He searched for Billy Page, but couldn’t find him. When he stopped in at the Silver Moon, Ned Ray looked at him queerly, but gave no information. By midmorning Zack joined the others, who had adjourned to Pfouts’ store.
“We had a bad time getting a jury,” Miller said. “But we got it. Simpson, do you think we’ll get a conviction?”
“Ordinarily, I’d say yes,” Simpson replied. “But I’m afraid every tough in the territory is here. They may stampede the miners as they did at Stinson and Lyons’ trial.”
“Not this time,” Miller said roughly. “We’ve got to organize. San Francisco was cleaned up by a few vigilantes; we can do the same. Pfouts, you’ll serve as president.”
Pfouts looked surprised and tried to protest, but was overruled by the others. “All right, James, but you’ll have to be the executive officer.” They worked quickly, Simpson writing out an oath of secrecy; then several men were brought into the meeting. They had planned the strategy well, Zack saw. Now it was put into effect immediately. There were to be several companies, each with complete judgment and authority to pass sentence—death or banishment.
“We don’t know all the Innocents,” Miller said. “So we’ve got to move fast. As soon as the trial is over, we’ll hit hard. Now, here’s what we’ve got to watch—if the jury convicts Ives, the toughs will make a play. We can’t let them sway the miners.”
From their meeting they went directly down the Gulch to where a big Shuttler wagon had been set up in front of a two-story building as it had been for the previous trial. A semicircle of benches from an adjacent hurdy-gurdy house had been placed around a fire built in the street, and the clerk sat at a table near the fire. Behind the semicircle a place was reserved for a cordon of guards with their shotguns and rifles. Behind them, round on their flank, stood about fifteen hundred miners, teamsters, mechanics, merchants, and gamblers. It was a noisy crowd—shouting advice or insults at one another and at those in charge of the trial.
Zack took a place by Miller, who whispered, “We’ve got men stationed by the rope. If the toughs make a rush to set Ives free, we’ll have to make a stand.”
The trial began, and Simpson rose to present the case. He put Long John Frank on the stand first. Frank made a full and elaborate confession of how Ives had murdered Tybalt. Two others, Jen Romaine and Steve Marshland, also testified to the guilt of Ives. Immediately the toughs raised a riot, crying the witnesses down, shouting, “Those liars won’t be alive by morning!”
Simpson roared back, and began naming men who had been killed in their camp. His rhetoric had a visible effect on the crowd, and they quieted down. He continued calling witnesses, until finally he came to make his conclusion.
“George Ives is a murderer,” he said to the jury. “You’ve heard testimony enough to convi
ct a dozen men. He should be found guilty, and he should be hanged.”
The defense lawyer had been drinking heavily, and could only ramble for thirty minutes, saying that Ives was a fine fellow, that they shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He asked for mercy, then sat down.
“The jury will retire to Pfouts’ store to consider their verdict.”
In less than half an hour the jury returned, and when asked if they had reached a verdict, the foreman said, “Guilty.”
“No! We want a new trial! A new trial!” The toughs wouldn’t give up, but Simpson’s voice rose above the opposition: “I now move that the verdict of the jury be approved by the miners here assembled!”
A roar erupted through the crowd, and Simpson waved his arm for silence. “I further move that George Ives be hanged!”
Once again the roar of approval drowned out the cries of the toughs, and Judge Byam instructed two men to make the arrangements. When they were gone, single voices began to be heard. “Let’s have another trial!”
“Let’s hear from that jury!”
“Ives won’t hang!”
The voices came from different parts of the crowd, and were beginning to sway some of the miners. Ives saw his chance and jumped up. “Colonel Simpson, I would like to have some time to write to my mother and sisters.”
Simpson wavered.
“Wait!” All eyes turned to the voice on the roof of a nearby cabin: Dutch Beidler. “Simpson,” he called, “ask Ives how much time he gave Tybalt!”
Simpson’s voice carried over the noise. “You’ve heard the verdict and the response. The decision stands. We’ll give you more time than your victim got. Write your letter. Then we’ll carry out the sentence.”
As Ives got down the men assigned to find a proper spot for the hanging came back. “Can’t find a place.”
“This will do!” Beidler yelled. He climbed up on a cabin under construction and tossed one end of a top log down. The log’s high end made a projection over the street, and a rope was tossed over it. A man laid nine turns around the end, forming the hangman’s knot.
Judge Byam said, “Bring him up.”
A box was found for Ives to stand on, his hands were tied and the rope slipped around his neck.
A last desperate effort was made to save Ives when Jack Gallagher pushed through the miners, cursing and waving his gun. “You can’t railroad a man like that!” he yelled.
Zack pulled his gun as he and others made a cordon around Ives. Winslow’s eyes bored into Ives’.
Ives, his eyes wild, cursed, “I wish I’d killed you!” Then he lifted his voice, crying out, “I am Innocent!”
“That’s the signal!” Miller yelled. “Watch out!”
The toughs rushed forward, but Simpson called out, “Men, do your duty!”
Instantly the toughs were faced with a row of leaded guns. Someone knocked the box out from under George Ives’ feet. He gasped and his body went limp.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE POSSE
The hanging of George Ives took something out of Zack. It had broken the resistance of the toughs, at least temporarily; but as much as Zack had hated the man, there was no sense of satisfaction. On the contrary, he felt empty, squeezed out, and for three days he rode with the vigilantes, saying little.
On the fourth day, he told Miller, “I’ve got stock up at my place, James, and it looks like a bad snowstorm coming over those mountains.”
“Go take care of them, Zack,” Miller said. “Looks like we’ve scared the Innocents to cover. If something comes up, I’ll send for you.”
He found Pfouts and asked, “Do you think we could find a house for my bunch for a while, Parris? I’ve got to go take care of my stock, but it’s too rough to take children to the hills right now.”
“Let’s see what we can find,” Parris nodded.
Zack made his way to the hotel where Steele had moved Bron. When he knocked on the door, Lillian swung it open, wide enough for him to see a happy-faced Buck as well as Bron.
“Hello, Zacharias,” Bron smiled. She was wearing a white gown and sitting up in bed, her left arm in a sling. The bullet had caught her in the chest, but had gone upward and to the side, ending in the shoulder muscle. Though her head had not been injured, the shock had put her in a coma.
“You look fine . . . real good,” he said, standing by her side. There was a delicate air about her, her skin almost translucent, her eyes clear. He added, “I’ve got to go back to the place, but Parris is finding you a house for a while.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, touching his hand.
The touch made him feel odd, and he said, “Me? Why, sure.” He stood there, somehow speechless—
“Zack,” Lillian broke in, much to his relief, “I need a few clothes. Is it all right if I get some things from the store before you leave?”
“Get what you need, Lillian—and you too, Buck.”
“Let’s go, Buck!” When she reached the door, Lillian turned and looked at Zack. “Thanks. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
After the door closed, Bron raised her eyes to Zack. “Sit down, please.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got to go soon.” He searched for words, and asked, “Has Billy been up to see you?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“I think he must have gone on to Helena, like he said.” A silence fell between them, and he said awkwardly, “You gave me a big scare, Bron.”
“They told me you stayed for three days. It was kind of you.” She felt the strain, and added, “Zacharias, I’ll not be coming back to the cabin.”
He dropped his head. “I figured you wouldn’t.” He thought of a few things he might say that would perhaps make her think better of him, but they all seemed trivial. The barrier between them seemed higher and more formidable than ever, and he knew no way to tell her how empty he felt. Finally he said heavily, “I’ll see that you and the kids have a good place. Don’t worry about that.”
“What’ll you do with Sam?”
“Why, Jeanne will take care of him.” He stared at her, perplexed.
With a touch of pity she said evenly, “She and John are getting married. You didn’t know?”
Everything is falling apart, he thought. He shook his head. “No. I’ve been gone with Miller for a few days.”
“She told me last night. I think she dreads telling you, Zacharias. She’s afraid you’ll think she’s doing you a bad turn.”
He got up slowly. “He’s been in love with her since he laid eyes on her.”
“Yes, I think he has.”
He thought about it, then asked, “Does she love him? I never saw that in her—but I’m pretty slow.”
Bron gave him a strange look, started to say something, then changed her mind. Finally she said gently, “She sees he loves her—and that’s enough for now. In time, she’ll love him in another way.”
He was confused, and ran his hand over his face. “I’ll have to find someone to help with Sam. I can’t handle him by myself.”
“Jeanne said to tell you she’ll be moving to John’s claim. She said she’s taken Sam with her and will be glad to care for him as long as you want.”
“Well—” He released a deep of relief.
He turned to leave. “Parris will help you find a place.”
“Wait,” she said. “Do you know why I’m not going back with you?” Excitement rose in her green eyes.
“Why, I guess I do, Bron,” he answered slowly. “And I don’t blame you. I wish you all the best, though.” He turned and left.
As soon as the door closed, tears leaped to her eyes. She clenched her fist and began to beat the bed with short rhythmic blows, whispering, “You fool! See how dull you are!”
Parris came in two hours later, so absorbed in his good news that he didn’t notice the dullness in her eyes. “I’ve found a house, Bron,” he said as he sat down. “It’s got to be fixed up, but it’s big enough for you and the youngsters.” He began to d
escribe it to her, but soon saw that her mind was someplace else. “You worried about something, Bron?”
“Oh, no, Parris. I’m just down a little.”
He thought of Winslow, and noted that he, too, had seemed depressed. Putting the two together, he asked quietly, “Are you sad about leaving the cabin?”
“No. It had to come to an end. I’ve always known that.” She shook her head and then looked out the window. She could not see the mountains, but she thought of the cabin and all it had meant—some grief and sadness, of course, but also joy . . . the long winter nights around the fire and the full table with laughter and fun. She turned to him, saying, “That part of my life is over, Parris.” Something leaped in his eyes, but before he could speak, she added, “Not feeling too well, I am. I’ll sleep a bit.”
He swallowed the words he wanted to say, and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.
She closed her eyes, her heart heavy—not from the pain of her wound, but the pain of having loved and lost something precious.
****
Miller wasted no time, for he soon received word that some of the gang were holed up at Deer Lodge. He rounded up five men, and thought of sending a man after Zack, but was afraid the gang would get wind of the posse and split up.
The posse made their way down the Gulch, passing the makeshift miners’ cabins. After riding awhile, the weather got worse, something less than a blizzard, but impossible to travel in. They stopped at a friend’s cabin, and as soon as the weather cleared, they hit the trail again. The bad weather may have helped them, for when they arrived at the Lodge, they crept in silently, and caught Red Yeager and Jed Moore.
Yeager began to curse. “I know what you’ve come for, Miller,” he spat bitterly. He glared at them while they took the vote, which was unanimous.
Moore began crying for mercy as the posse tied their hands. Yeager snarled, “Shut up, Jed!” They were led outside to a tree. Yeager took one look at the ropes and said, “Get on with it.”
Miller said slowly, “Red, I admire your nerve. It won’t help you any, but you’d be doing a good thing if you’d say who the others are.”
The Wounded Yankee Page 29
