by Maggie James
Exhausted, she finally slept, only to awaken with a start and a stiff neck at the sound of a horse approaching.
At first, she did not remember where she was and stared about wildly. Then it all came flooding back as she got to her feet and clutched the barred gate, watching the rider draw closer in the bright morning sun.
“Where’s Mr. Branson?” she asked the strange man, cringing at the way he grinned at her. He had beady eyes and a bushy beard and looked and smelled like he’d never bathed in his life.
“Oh, you probably won’t see him again till you go to trial,” he answered as he dismounted.
Untying the bucket hanging from the saddle, he brought it over to the gate and said, “Look around for a pan. There’s one in there someplace.
“And tell your partner to get his, too,” he added with a knowing smirk. “Or is he all tuckered out from last night? I’ll bet the two of you had a real nice reunion.”
“And I reckon you’ve got a dirty mind,” she fired back, surprising herself with her sudden nerve.
He snickered. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you haughty little strumpet. The whole town knows you two were in cahoots together. Now, are you gonna find a pan or do you want me to pour yours on the ground?”
From what Tess could see of the bucket’s contents—a brown-looking mash of some sort that smelled vaguely of beans and bacon—she was tempted to tell him to do just that, only it had been a long time since she had eaten, and she was starting to feel dizzy.
Glancing about, she spied a rusting pan among the rocks. Scraping the rust out with a stone as best she could, she slid it beneath the gate.
He had pushed a few of her clothes inside. “Worley thought you might be wantin’ a change in the weeks to come. Better be sparse, though, ’cause we don’t do laundry, and this is all you’re gettin’.”
“But I had a whole trunkful of clothes,” she protested.
“And Worley says he’s got a niece in Tucson who’s small enough to wear ’em, so be glad he was generous enough to let you have these.”
Tess thought of the wedding dress in the trunk. It had been her mother’s, who was a bit larger, so she had carefully taken in the seams and darts to wear it when she married Saul. It meant so much to Tess, and she’d hoped to one day hand it down to her own daughter—should she ever have one—to wear on her wedding day. It saddened her to know it was gone forever.
He was pouring out her portion when Curt Hammond appeared. Holding a pan, he said, without looking at her, “Give her as much as she wants, Skelly. She’s skin and bones.”
“That’s enough.” Tess drew back her pan. She wanted no favors from Curt Hammond.
“Any word on when the judge will be here?” Curt asked.
Skelly emptied the rest of the bucket in his pan. “You asked me the same question yesterday, and I’ll give you the same answer today—don’t nobody know when the judge is comin’. He just shows up.” He glanced slyly from Curt to Tess. “But at least while you’re waitin’”—he winked at Curt—“you can dip into the honey pot all you want.”
He left them, cackling to himself.
Tess had sat back down and was eating ravenously, having no choice but to use her fingers.
She had hoped Curt would take his food and disappear into the back of the shaft, but instead he sat down opposite her, darting glances at her every so often.
Finally, she could stand it no longer and, licking her fingers and setting the pan aside, declared, “Don’t get any notions about doing what that man said. You aren’t dipping into anything as long as I’ve got a breath left in me to fight you off, buster.”
He had just filled his mouth and nearly choked on his laughter before he managed to swallow and say, “I don’t think I could ever get that desperate, princess. I want to feel something when I touch a woman. Not get cut to pieces by bones. A soft woman, that’s what I want.”
“I don’t care what you want, Mr. Hammond, and quite frankly, I’m grateful you don’t find me appealing, because I certainly find you the most despicable man I’ve ever met in my whole life. You are a liar as well as a murderer. You tried to make me think you were my fiancé, remember?”
“I was desperate.”
“You’re a liar.”
“And what are you?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Why did they put you here? What did you do?”
“I told you that’s none of your business.”
“Well, I don’t give a damn, anyway. You’re on your own, princess.”
“And stop calling me princess,” she shouted after him as he walked away.
“Then stop acting like one,” he fired back. “Get off your goddamn throne, lady.”
Tess threw the pan after him, and it hit the rocks with a resounding clang.
He did not look back.
She felt like crying again but was too mad—not only with him but with herself as well, for not doing a better job of fighting back as problem after problem had arisen.
In the first place, she never should have left to marry Saul Beckwith. It would have been better to run away and find some way to support herself and then return for Perry as soon as she could.
Next, she never should have trusted Lulie, much less listened to her. Once Jake Harville had refused to give her the money, she had been a fool to try to take it by force.
Tess knew beyond all doubt that she did not belong in the West. But, as she reflected on her gullibility, anger began to replace her sense of helplessness.
She had no home to go back to now…no money to get there even if she did.
And it would be a waste of time to send her aunt a telegram asking for help. Aunt Elmina did not want her back and would, no doubt, tell her to look around and find another man to marry. After all, there were plenty of men out West looking for wives.
And they didn’t all want a soft woman, either, Tess thought with an indignant glance in the direction Curt Hammond had disappeared.
So it was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and think about how she was going to get out of the mess she was in. The first step was conquering her fear of her surroundings.
Daylight spilled through the opening of the shaft for perhaps fifty feet. Debris littered the floor—bones, too small to be anything but chicken, a few more pans, and an empty bucket. But no blankets.
During the night, she had heard the sound of running water and she soon located the source—a trickle running down the rocky wall to a narrow stream. She was able to drink and bathe and found a private place on the other side for personal needs.
She paced about restlessly as thoughts whirled through her head like dandelions in the wind. Would the judge believe her when she told him Lulie had loaned her the horse, or would he sentence her to hang? Dear Lord, even though her life seemed hopeless she did not want to die. She wanted, needed, a chance to prove she could make it on her own, because, as the hours slowly passed, she became more and more determined to survive, to make up for being such a ninny.
Finally, because she was bored as well as lonely, she dared to venture deeper into the shaft, into the darkness.
She moved cautiously, sliding each foot forward slowly to feel for a hole or a drop that might send her plummeting into the bowels of the earth.
She could hear no sound save for the trickling of yet more water running down the rocky ledges above.
And it was cold. The farther she went, the deeper the dampness and chill.
Rounding a curve, she could see light flickering against a distant wall. Venturing closer, she realized it was a fire and flared with sudden jealousy that Curt Hammond was able to stay warm while she was freezing. She had no matches and knew nothing about rubbing sticks together to make sparks. And where had he found the wood, anyway?
Her hand touched a supporting beam, and she cried out as a splinter dug into her flesh.
Curt stepped in front of her, holding a torch aloft.
“I might’ve
known it was you.”
“Well, who else would it be?” Her hand was hurting something fierce.
“A bear. Or a tiger. Maybe an alligator. You can’t ever tell.”
He was being unbelievably sarcastic, which frustrated all the more, and she fired back, “All of which I would prefer to you. Snakes and scorpions, too,” she tartly added.
“Actually, I thought maybe we had company.”
He sounded less cocky, so she asked, “You mean our jailers come inside the shaft? I didn’t know—”
“No, I didn’t mean them. I thought maybe they’d brought another prisoner. I’ve seen enough traces of former occupants to tell this place has a lot of business. And since there’s nobody else here but us, I figure the judge came by recently to clear it out.”
“Which means we’ll be here awhile.”
“Exactly.”
Silence fell and Tess turned to go, anxious to get away from him. He might think she was looking for him, God forbid.
“Why did you cry out?”
“I…it’s nothing.”
“It might be. Did something bite you? I wasn’t making it up about the scorpions. They like the damp and cold. Believe it or not, it gets real hot during the day on the outside so they come in here to get out of the heat.”
“It’s a splinter. Now I know where you get your wood for your fires from the posts.”
She could see his smile in the flickering glow of the torch. “Yeah, and I’m trying not to think about the poor devils who’ll be here when the whole place collapses because I’ve torn so many down. But I don’t suppose it matters. From all I’ve heard, the judge gives everybody the rope, so they’ll die one way or the other.”
Tess shuddered, but not from the chill that seemed to penetrate all the way to the very marrow of her bones. She was thinking how if she hanged, no one would ever know what became of her. Her aunt would not care if she never heard from her again, but Perry would think she had deserted him.
“Want me to try to get the splinter out?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
He held the torch closer. “Then why are you gritting your teeth? You know, it’s probably a good thing your fiancé got himself killed. It spared him having to put up with a piece of fluff like you for a wife. Whatever made you think you could cope with the rough life out here?”
“I didn’t have any choice,” she said without thinking, and could have kicked herself. Then, venting her anger at herself, she lashed out, “And why do you keep nosing in my business? Seems to me you’d be more concerned with yourself, seeing as how you’re going to hang for murder.”
“And what are you going to hang for?”
“I’m not. I’m—”
“You’re going to cry in front of the judge, aren’t you? You think he’ll feel sorry for you with your golden curls and big blue eyes, dressed up in ribbons and lace like a baby doll.” He laughed and shook his head. “Maybe it happens that way back east, princess, but not out here.”
Blinking her eyes furiously to hold back her tears, she ground her teeth together so tightly her jaw ached. “I won’t cry. And damn you, Curt Hammond, for the scoundrel you are, I swear you’ll never make me. I hate you, and if they do hang me, I just hope it’s after they hang you so I can watch, and—”
Her hand flew to her mouth, and she gasped to think she could have said such a horrid thing. “I…I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I really didn’t mean that. I don’t want you to die. I truly don’t, and—”
“And you’re lying. The truth is, you don’t care about anybody but yourself. That’s why you wouldn’t help me…wouldn’t give me a chance to explain. I could’ve made you see how it was, that I had no choice but to kill that son of a bitch, and—” He threw up his hands. “What difference does it make? What did you come back here for, anyway?”
He was looking down at her with disgust and loathing, and Tess felt strangely guilty. Maybe she should have given him a chance. And maybe he was right about her being too weak to survive in the West.
And maybe, she thought with a sob caught in her throat as she turned and fled, she deserved to die for being such a weakling.
Returning to the front of the shaft, she sat down on the ground to bathe in the warmth of the sunshine and once more considered her plight…realizing how it was no one’s fault but her own.
The day wore on.
And with each passing hour, Tess became more and more determined that if she should by some miracle be given a second chance at life, nothing about her would be the same.
She would make herself strong.
And never again would she cry.
Shadows fell, and just before she was once more swallowed by darkness, Skelly came with food. Though far from appetizing, the fare of boiled beef and potatoes with a slab of bread was better than the breakfast gruel.
“Where’s your man?” Skelly asked when Curt did not appear.
She was quick to respond, “He’s not my man. I don’t know where he is, and I don’t care.”
He flashed his toothless grin. “Lover’s spat. Don’t worry. You’ve got lots of time to make up.” He set the pot down just outside the gate. “I shouldn’t leave this, but it’ll just go to the hogs if I take it back. He might show up later.”
Tess hoped not. She did not want him groping around in the dark anywhere near her, and she was too frightened to do anything except stay right where she was. At least it was in a clearing, with a straight path to the stream, and she did not have to worry about getting lost or falling into a hole.
When Skelly had left, she curled up on the ground, her back pressed against the wall. It was cold. Her teeth were chattering, and she was shaking all over. It seemed she would never fall asleep.
But sleep came.
The night passed.
And in the morning, as the first warm rays of the sun touched her face, she awoke…then, startled, she sat straight up.
The pot Skelly had left outside the gate was empty.
And someone had covered her with a blanket.
Chapter Six
Tess grew braver, mustering the courage to explore, and she found a recess behind a big boulder that kept her from having to hover near the entrance.
She did not want to talk to Skelly, for she was repulsed by his crudeness.
And she also wanted to avoid Curt Hammond.
She spent a whole day worrying the splinter in her finger, finally getting it out. After that, there was nothing to do except think.
And think she did.
In her mind, she planned a new life. She would learn to ride and shoot like a man. She would teach herself everything necessary to survive in the West…or anywhere else, for that matter.
She lost track of time but grew bolder as her fantasy of a new, stronger woman locked into her mind. She ventured from her hiding spot to pull rotting wood from support beams and, after endless tries, was finally able to start her own fire.
How proud she was as she huddled before the warmth in the damp chill of the night. Still, she was distressed to think how different things might be had she been more self-reliant in the past.
One morning she was roused by Skelly calling out, “I ain’t leavin’ no more food till you show your face, woman. Worley’s orders. Gotta make sure you’re still alive and kickin’. Wolves or bobcats might be eatin’ the grub.”
Distasteful as the food was, Tess knew she had to have it and made her way to the gate.
“Ha! There you are,” Skelly cried in triumph. Then, eyes moving over her, he said, “Gawd, you just get skinnier and skinnier, don’t you? They’ll have to hang you by a string. Rope’d be too thick. Still pretty, though. A shame to hang somethin’ so fine.”
Tess held out her tin pan. “May I have my food, please?”
He dished out what looked like oatmeal but tasted like soap. Tess doubted she would be able to eat it. So many times the food made her sick. “Any word on when the judge will be here?”
“N
aw. Heard he was in Gila Bend two weeks ago. Usually takes him three more weeks to get here after that. Guess you’ve got to wait a while longer to die,” he said, and cackled.
For an instant she thought that death might be a relief, but quickly reminded herself she was now a fighter. “Who says I’m going to die?” she shot back at him. “I get a trial, don’t I?”
His grin was smug. “Yeah. That you do. But I ain’t never heard of no horse thief goin’ free. You’ll swing, little lady. Be it from a rope or a string. You’ll swing.”
He left, and Tess tried to eat the oatmeal but wound up throwing it through the gate. Let the bugs have it. Maybe it would kill them, and she would not have to be constantly slapping them off her.
To wile away the time, she bathed in the water, then, after changing into a clean dress, she washed the one she had taken off. That done, there was nothing to do except allow herself to daydream about what might have been…what might yet be, if she was truly strong and believed in herself.
She was sitting in the sunlight, eyes closed and head pressed back against a rock, when Curt Hammond’s voice snapped her to attention.
“So you’re a horse thief.”
Stunned, she could not find her voice for a few seconds, but was finally able to deny, “No. No, I’m not. Where did you—”
“I heard what Skelly said earlier.”
She bristled. “You were eavesdropping…and spying.”
“No.” He lowered himself to sit opposite her. “I was coming to get my food, but I hung back, like I always do when I see you waiting for yours. I know you don’t want to be around me, so I wait till you leave.”
She allowed the barest wisp of a smile to touch her lips. “Then what are you doing here now?”
“I thought you might be lonely.”
“Not that lonely.”
Something akin to amusement twinkled in his eyes. “So you still hate me and can’t wait to see me swinging from a rope? My, my.” He shook his head. “Is this the thanks I get for giving you my blanket?”
