Pete (The Cowboys)

by Leigh Greenwood

  “Give it to me,” Mrs. Dean said. “I’ll pack it in with my things. No one will think to look there.”

  “What am I going to do with these saddlebags?”

  “We’ll pack those up as well.”

  “I wish Ray had brought my clothes.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I instructed him to take them straight to my house. It was entirely unacceptable they should be brought here. Now, let’s go to sleep. We have a great deal of thinking to do tomorrow”.

  Pete had no illusions about what was going to happen to him. Bill Mason wasn’t about to let him get anywhere near Big Bend or the sheriff. Regardless of how much the evidence seemed to be stacked against him, Pete could explain how that same evidence made a very good case against Bill Mason. After all, the only proof Mason had that Pete hadn’t been telling the truth from the beginning was Mason’s assertion that he’d found Peter Warren’s body. If that wasn’t true, then Mason had nothing against him. To take him to the sheriff would be a stupid mistake.

  And Pete knew Mason wasn’t stupid.

  He had tied Pete securely, hands and feet. He refused to untie him so he could sleep.

  “Don’t worry,” Mason had said, taunting Pete that evening, “you’ll have plenty of time to sleep after tomorrow morning.”

  Pete knew what he meant. He didn’t expect anything less from a rich man who was willing to kill three people so he could gain possession of another ranch and be even richer. He was surprised Anne had been able to stop Mason from hanging him back there on the mountain.

  Anne. He’d tried not to think about her. If he could have gotten free, he’d have killed Mason before he let Anne marry him. He knew she didn’t love the rancher.

  But why had she talked as if she would marry Mason as a matter of course? He’d told himself over and over again that she did it to save him, that Mason would have hanged him on the spot if he’d had any idea Anne wasn’t relieved Mason had rescued her. He kept telling himself she’d find a way to see him, to let him know she still loved him and was trying to figure out a way for them to be together. He could see the house from where he was tied. All the lights had gone out. She hadn’t come to him.

  He told himself she couldn’t get away, that to be seen sneaking out of the house would have been suspicious. Yet for hours after the last light had disappeared from the window, he’d listened intently, confident that sooner or later Anne would find a way to come to him.

  When morning began to turn the sky shades of gray, he realized she wasn’t coming.

  It wouldn’t have done any good. At least one man had stood guard over him at all times.

  With the first realization came a second. Sometimes dying wasn’t such a hard thing. If you had nothing to live for, maybe it was a relief. At least he wouldn’t have to go back to the goldfields. He’d wasted too much of his life there, thrown away too much gold on women interested in him only for the money in his pocket and the whiskey he could buy.

  He used to like it, but everything had changed in the short time he’d known Anne. The freedom that had seemed so attractive to him, so necessary, had lost its appeal. He remembered the cold and the hard work, the miserable existence, the constant threats to his life.

  Most of all he remembered the loneliness. Looking back on it now, he wondered why he hadn’t left years ago, why he hadn’t realized his only true home, the only place that could give him a sense of belonging, was Jake’s valley in the Texas hills. He could have gone back to Texas years ago, could have had a ranch next to Sean’s, could have had a batch of his own kids.

  But he wouldn’t have met Anne.

  And he wouldn’t have gotten his neck in a noose for murders he didn’t commit. And he wouldn’t have fallen in love with a woman who seemed ready to marry any man who offered her a life of wealth and luxury.

  He told himself he was being unfair, but the angry voice inside him, the part of him that didn’t want to die, reminded him that Anne had married a man she hadn’t seen since childhood, had accepted a stranger in his place, and was now ready to marry the man who’d come out on top.

  He’d been certain when they left the mountains that she loved him, that she believed him. He had been stunned by the calm way she explained why Mason shouldn’t hang Pete, by her refusal to do more than glance in his direction. Her concern seemed to be more for Mason’s reputation than Pete’s life. He tried to tell himself she was doing it for him, that in some way he didn’t yet know, she was working to save his life. But after virtually hanging by his arms and feet for the last twelve hours, it was hard to keep believing.

  When he heard Mason shouting for the men to wake up, that they had a hanging to go to, he knew it didn’t matter what he believed.

  He was sorry there wasn’t some way he could tell Jake and Isabelle what had happened to him. It would make them unhappy—he hoped it wouldn’t provoke Sean into looking for revenge—but he would have liked for them to know. At least he was certain they loved him. He wished now he’d taken more pains to let them know how much he appreciated what they’d done for him. Almost all the other orphans had gone back to Texas, returning to the one place they had been wanted, but he’d held out, preferring to be on his own.

  Now he wondered why. It wasn’t good to die alone.

  Mason threw open the barn doors. It was impossible to see his expression with the light coming from behind him, but he seemed eager to get to his business.

  “It’s a beautiful day outside,” he boomed, waking the man who’d had the last watch. “We’ve got a chinook wind that’ll melt this snow in two days. We won’t have to use an ax to get you into the ground.”

  “I’d be glad if you’d wait long enough to be sure of that,” Pete replied. His throat was so dry, he could hardly talk. He hadn’t had any food or water since they’d captured him.

  Mason laughed as if he enjoyed the joke. Pete didn’t see anything funny about it.

  “You won’t have to worry,” Mason said. “If it turns cold again, we’ll put you in the icehouse until spring. You may be a filthy murderer, but I wouldn’t let the wolves get you.”

  “I don’t figure it that way,” Pete said. “In fact, I figure you’re the filthy murderer.”

  For only the briefest moment did Mason show any fear of what Pete might say, but Pete was certain it was there. It was all the admission of guilt he needed.

  “It won’t matter what you figure,” Mason said. “You’ll be dead in ten minutes. Cut him loose,” he ordered the guard.

  “I figure you started rustling Tumbling T cows the day Carl Warren had his accident. In fact, I figure you were behind his accident. You thought rustling would give you a way to kill Carl and his heir with no questions asked.”

  “Hurry up with that knife,” Mason ordered the sleepy cowhand. “I want to see him swinging.”

  “But you needed an informant. I figure you tried to use Belser at first, but you soon realized he was just as determined to have the ranch as you were. So you got someone else. Eddie.”

  “Shut up. I won’t have you slandering the reputation of a dead man.”

  Pete was encouraged to see that several of the cowhands were listening to what he was saying with heightened curiosity. A few even glanced surreptitiously at their boss.

  “What did you tell him—that when Peter Warren lost the ranch, or got shot by your rustlers, he’d be out of a job? That Belser would fire him the moment he gained control? Did you guarantee Eddie he could keep his job? Maybe you even offered him a partnership.”

  “Drag him out here where we can get a rope on him,” Mason shouted.

  “Then you hired two men to kill Peter Warren.”

  Pete held on to the stable wall when they tried to drag him out.

  “But you made one mistake. You hired greedy men. When you wouldn’t let them take anything from Peter, they shot and robbed me, left me for dead. Only I didn’t die. I trailed them back here. That’s when you knew you had to get rid of me, so you had Eddie kill Bel
ser in his sleep so the murder would be blamed on me. That would get rid of the two people who stood in your way all at once.”

  Mason hit him across the mouth. “Shut up. Drag him out of that stall, you weak fools. Can’t you do anything right?”

  Pete held on desperately.

  “Then you had to get rid of Eddie so he wouldn’t talk. So when you rustled my herd, you told your men to shoot in the air, not to kill anyone. But you shot Eddie with a rifle. I saw the wound. Anybody could tell it wasn’t made with a pistol.”

  The cowhands had become virtually motionless. Pete didn’t know whether they believed him or not, but he was certain he’d started them wondering. But were they unsure enough to back away from hanging him?

  “If you lazy fools can’t get him out of that stall, I can,” Mason said.

  Pete tried to dodge Mason’s fist. But the very position that had allowed him to remain in the stall despite several men trying to remove him kept him from being able to move quickly. Mason’s fist landed squarely, dazing him. A second blow knocked him nearly unconscious.

  “Drag him out here while I get a rope,” Mason shouted.

  Pete tried to hold on, but he was too weak. Two cowhands dragged him from the stall.

  “You’re helping a murderer hang an innocent man,” he said. “He wants to kill me so I can’t tell the sheriff what I know. He wants to force that woman inside to marry him so he can take her ranch. He’ll kill her, too, when he gets it.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” one cowhand said, but Pete could tell he was unsure.

  “People out here aren’t going to stand for murdering a woman. When it all comes out, and it will, because I’ve written it all down, you’ll be held responsible, too.”

  “We didn’t kill nobody,” the other cowhand said.

  “You’re about to hang me without evidence. That’s murder.”

  He could feel them hesitate, but it wasn’t enough to make them go up against a man like Mason. He had to come up with something fast, or everything he knew would die with him.

  And Anne would be forced to marry a monster.

  “I dare you to let me tell my story to these men,” Pete said when they dragged him outside the barn.

  “They don’t want to hear your lies,” Mason said.

  “They don’t want to be accessories to a murder either. You men have no right to hang me,” Pete shouted. “You’re not a court. You have no judge, no prosecutor. You have no evidence. You’re acting on the say-so of one man.”

  “My word’s enough,” Mason said. He was so angry that he missed when he tried to throw the rope over the hoist used to raise hay to the loft.

  “I defy you to give even one piece of evidence to back up your claim.”

  “I don’t have to give any evidence.”

  “Why? Lawyers in court do. I think it’s because you don’t have any evidence. And you know why—because you’re lying. You had Peter and Belser killed. Then you killed Eddie yourself.”

  “Maybe we ought to leave him to the sheriff, boss,” one of the men said. “I don’t want no part in hanging an innocent man.”

  “He’s not innocent, I tell you. He killed Peter Warren. I found his body.”

  “You couldn’t find Peter’s body,” Pete said as he dodged an attempt to put a noose around his neck, “unless you knew where to look because you killed him.”

  “It was simple,” Mason said. He grabbed hold of Pete’s head and held it still. “All I had to do was follow your tracks back to the wagon. It was easy. It hadn’t rained in a month.”

  “You’re lying,” Pete said as Mason put the noose over his head. “I didn’t bury Peter Warren anywhere near where your killers left him. I knew somebody wanted him found, so I made sure he wouldn’t be.”

  Mason didn’t bother to answer. He tossed the end of the rope over the hoist. “Here,” he said to one of his men, “tie this to that horse.”

  “Boss, I don’t think we ought to—”

  “I said tie this to that horse.”

  “I’m quitting right here,” the man said. “I ain’t taking part in no hanging.”

  “Me neither,” said another cowhand.

  “Nobody quits me,” Mason said, pulling a gun. “Now get on that horse and tie the rope to the pommel.”

  “Boss, you can’t do that,” his foreman said.

  “I sure as hell can,” Mason said.

  “You do, and I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  They all turned, shocked to see Anne standing not ten feet away holding a pistol on Mason. He broke out laughing.

  “You won’t shoot me. I don’t think you even know how.”

  “But I do.” Mrs. Dean stood behind the cowhand who refused to get on the horse. “I’m an army officer’s wife. I probably know more about firearms than any of you.”

  She was holding a shotgun. Pete doubted whether anyone present was willing to test her resolve or her knowledge. To the stunned surprise of all, she raised her shotgun, braced it against the fence, and fired at the hoist. The blast shattered the rope and tore large splinters off the hoist. Pete wasted no time in pulling the noose from around his neck.

  “It won’t do you any good,” Mason said as he pulled his gun. “I’m going to kill you where you stand.”

  “Put that gun down, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  They all spun around to find themselves facing the sheriff, two deputies, and Ray.

  “Drop it, Mason,” the sheriff said when Mason seemed to be considering his chances of killing Pete and living to tell about it.

  “Maybe I can convince him,” Mrs. Dean said. “I still have one shell.”

  Not even Mason was foolish enough to argue with a shotgun. He holstered his pistol.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I’m so sorry,” Anne said to Dolores. “I didn’t know you loved Eddie.”

  “Nobody knew,” Dolores said. “I wasn’t sure myself until he died.”

  “I should have come with you.”

  “You couldn’t have helped, and I had Mrs. Dean. As much as I dislike the woman, I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

  Anne continually found herself feeling the same way. True to her word, Mrs. Dean had installed Anne in her own home as soon as they reached Big Bend. Though she strained against the restrictions Mrs. Dean put on her, Anne had to admit that no one else could have compelled the local women to meet her with at least the appearance of acceptance. Anne couldn’t make Mrs. Dean understand that she didn’t care what the women of Big Bend thought. She was only concerned with Pete.

  But Mrs. Dean had been very firm on that score. She admitted that the money did give credence to Pete’s story. She also agreed that Bill Mason’s eagerness to hang Pete made it look as if he had something to hide. But she was adamant that the process of deciding who was telling the truth and who was lying should be left to the sheriff. It wasn’t proper for a woman to interfere.

  Anne didn’t agree, but so far she hadn’t found anything she could do to help.

  “If I had gone with you,” Anne said to Dolores, “I wouldn’t have been caught in the mountains during a blizzard, and Pete could have been halfway to Arizona by now.”

  “You love him, don’t you?” Dolores said.

  “With all my heart.”

  “Even though he’s not Peter?”

  Anne had talked Mrs. Dean into letting Dolores share the guest room. They relied on each other for company and support.

  Anne had never seen a room like Mrs. Dean’s guest room. She’d never seen a house that was less like her house.

  It wasn’t as big as the Tumbling T ranch house, but it was wonderfully proportioned, elegantly furnished. The house seemed to be swathed in lace and rose silk. Where it wasn’t silk, it was damask, satin, velvet, or some other luxurious material. The furniture was just as wonderful. The table next to their bed was made of black walnut with a white marble top. The table by the lounge was inlaid with
exotic woods of different patterns and colors. Anne was afraid to touch it. Everything gleamed and glistened with a patina that could be achieved and maintained only by two maids driven to heroic efforts under Mrs. Dean’s eagle eye.

  Anne wondered if she’d ever get back to the ranch and her own familiar surroundings. Unless she received confirmation of her marriage to Peter, she would have no claim on it. She would have nowhere to go. One thing was certain. She didn’t intend to stay with Mrs. Dean.

  “I think I fell in love with Pete because he wasn’t Peter,” Anne told Dolores. “I thought I loved Peter, but now I’m certain that was only a little girl’s thankfulness for someone who never cared that she was part Indian or a weak, useless female.”

  “And you don’t think he killed Peter?” Dolores asked.

  “No. I never really did. I was shocked when he told me what he’d done. I think not believing him was a way of getting back at him for hurting me. It seems rather mean and vindictive when I think about it like that.”

  “Maybe, but it’s understandable.”

  “But Pete wouldn’t kill Peter. I don’t say he wouldn’t kill anybody. I’m quite sure he would if he or someone he loved was in danger.”

  “Like you?”

  “I think he would have killed Mason if he could. I don’t think that would have bothered him at all.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “I was ready to kill him myself if he hadn’t taken that rope from around Pete’s neck.”

  “How could you fall in love with a stranger so quickly?”

  “I already thought I was in love with Peter. His letters had been so sweet. His agreeing to marry me even though I knew he didn’t love me made me want to love him, made me feel I should love him. I was prepared to fight everybody to protect him.

  “Then Pete arrived, and he was everything I’d hoped for and more. He knew about ranches. He took charge from the moment he got here. He threw my uncle off and told him never to come back. He faced Belser without a blink.”