by Hatch, Marcy
A glance at the sky told him it would be a while before the weather improved. He was almost grateful because if the sun had been shining, it would be sending white shards of agony through his head right now. The slow rocking motion of his horse didn’t help and he had to remind himself to breathe so not to be sick in the saddle like a baby. It had been a while since he’d had a whole bottle all to himself, and it had not agreed with him.
They plodded on, neither of them with too much enthusiasm until mid-morning when Tommy suddenly stopped.
“Lookit there,” he said, pointing.
Will glanced up, red-eyed, and managed to focus on the horse, a chestnut with white socks, grazing off to the left of the track. A horse all by itself out in the middle of nowhere.
Tommy’s eyes lit up and a slow smile spread across his features. “Well, ain’t you a pretty thing,” he said quietly, slipping down from his horse and handing the reins to Will.
He drew out the rope at his belt and clucked his tongue. The horse raised its head, ears pricking. Tommy held out his hands, cupping them as if he had something. It wasn’t a nice trick but it worked and the horse came trotting over, no doubt expecting something better than the prairie grass he’d been munching on. Tommy slipped the rope over the horse’s neck before it had a chance to see the ruse
Guess we got ourselves a horse,” Will said, smiling.
“I wonder where it came from?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah, I wonder,” Will said.
“Are we close?” Tommy asked.
“Close to what?”
“Anything.”
“There’s a town up this way, but I don’t think anyone lives there anymore.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know.”
They rode on, and the day began to warm up and dry out. After a bit Tommy ventured, “Maybe the horse came from there. Maybe somebody does still live there.”
Will frowned, trying to remember the last time he’d come this way. Had there been any homesteads along this route? He thought there might be, but what kind of farmer would have a horse like that? Maybe the boy was right. Maybe someone had taken up residence in that town—temporarily. He turned to the boy.
“Listen up, Tommy,” he said. “This is what we’re gonna do.”
❧
The rain had tapered to a light drizzle by morning. Katherine woke to the sound of it tap, tap, tapping away. She was not feeling well at all. Contrary to what she told Jack she seldom drank, and when she did could count on a hangover. And lord, did she have a hangover. Her stomach was queasy, her head a vast echoing chamber, and she would have sold her soul for a cold glass of orange juice.
Jack was awake, watching her with what bordered on a smile and munching on beef jerky. He held a strip out to her but she quickly shook her head and looked away. She couldn’t think about eating. Merely watching Jack eat was enough to make her nauseated.
“I’d like to use the outhouse,” she said.
He hopped off the table and followed her out, untying her hands without a word and waiting in the rain until she was through. In the kitchen Katherine made use of the toothbrush she’d found while Jack paced a few feet away from her, still chewing on the beef jerky. It would have been nice to have toothpaste, she mused, and soap. If she ever got home she promised herself to be grateful for the little things. It was amazing how many there were: pillows, blankets, hot water, proper undergarments that didn’t pinch . . . she sighed and turned to Jack, holding out her hands once again.
“Go ahead,” she said with resignation. “Tie me up.”
Jack did so, giving her a doubtful look, as if he wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic.
She forced a smiled through the drumming in her head. “Now what? Are we just going to sit here and wait?”
“For a while,” Jack answered. “When the rain stops we’ll head back to Leavenworth.”
A protest formed on Katherine’s lips at the thought of walking all that way—until she reminded herself that she wanted to head in that direction. That’s where the key was, and if she had to walk so be it. At least being closer to it offered a better chance of escaping this place altogether. Heading the other way meant death for sure.
“ Why don’t we start now?”
“Because in an hour you’d be complaining because you’re wet,” Jack said. “No thanks. We’ll sit right here until it clears.”
Katherine sighed and walked to one of the windows, rubbing away at dirt until she could see. The rain still fell and the street was dark with mud. She’d sink up to her ankles if she went out there.
“Talk to me, Jack,” she said. “Tell me something.”
“Such as?” Jack frowned.
“Tell me what will happen when we get to Abilene.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” she answered quietly.
“Well, you’ll be put in jail, of course,” he said. “But they’ll feed you better than what I’ve got. And you’ll be more comfortable.”
“Yes, for a short while,” Katherine agreed. “And then the trial, yes?”
“Yes, the trial.”
“Will I get a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“But . . . but he won’t do me any good, will he, Jack? Not with your testimony.”
“Probably not,” Jack admitted.
“And I shouldn’t expect any leniency, correct? After all, I’ve killed people, right? How many?”
“Five.”
“Then they’ll find me guilty and sentence me to death,” Katherine said, feeling fear crush her at the thought. “Will they hang me or put me before a firing squad?”
“Hanging. Firing squad is only for soldiers.”
Katherine closed her eyes, picturing the gallows, trying to imagine what it would feel like when they put the rope around her neck and let loose the trap door. Would she go willingly or fight them tooth and nail?
“Will it hurt?” she asked in a whisper, opening her eyes.
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether . . . whether—Christ, do we have to talk about this?”
Katherine turned, seeing the discomfort on his face. “What’s wrong? It’s what I deserve, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me. I want to know.” Her voice turned hard, seeming to come from someone else, someone she didn’t know.
“It depends on whether it’s quick or not,” Jack said, staring back at her. “If you’re lucky, your neck will be broken instantly.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then you’ll struggle.”
“And it will hurt?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Have you ever seen a hanging?”
“Yes.”
“Both kinds?”
“Yes.”
“Will you watch mine?”
“Yes,” Jack said again, scowling now.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“It seems only fair. It would be rather hypocritical if you were willing to bring me to my death but too cowardly to stay and watch.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there,” Jack said grimly.
“Have you ever watched a woman hang?”
“No.”
“I wonder if I’ll be as brave as a man.”
“Lots of men aren’t brave. I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“Hah! That’s easy for you to say. You’re not me. You’re not the one who’s going to hang.”
Jack made no reply, and Katherine faced the glass, watching the rain as it dripped from the roof to the ground below. Puddles were scattered about the street, running into one another and crea
ting miniature rivers. Far off she could see the skies brightening to a paler shade that might hold a hint of blue. It will be nice to see the sun again, she thought.
Behind her Jack paced, from one end of the room to the other, and she had a feeling she’d gotten to him with her talk of death. Maybe not a lot, but enough to make him think. Serves him right, she thought, glaring out the grimy window at the ghost of a town.
Movement caught her eye and for a minute or two she watched the dot off in the distance as it grew closer, heading their way. The dot became two at which point she turned to Jack.
“There’s someone coming,” she said.
“What?” Jack dropped the saddlebags to the floor and came to the window. There, coming into town, was a boy riding a spotted horse and leading Jack’s chestnut.
“It looks like he’s got your horse.”
The two of them watched the boy approach, his face half hidden by the hat he wore. He stopped at the well, but it didn’t take him long to discover the missing bucket.
“Come on,” Jack whispered, taking her by the arm. “Stay behind me.”
“He’s just a boy,” Katherine said.
“Yeah, well, he’s got my horse.”
“The horse was running loose. What would you have done?”
“I don’t know.”
“For Heaven’s sake, Jack.”
“Listen,” Jack said quietly, “maybe he is just a boy and maybe he isn’t. But I know I don’t like it.”
“You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“Nope, I sure don’t.”
They went to the swinging doors in the saloon where Jack pushed Katherine behind him.
“Stay there,” he whispered. “Don’t say anything, don’t do anything. If you do, I swear to God I’ll hunt you down and hang you myself.”
He moved out through the doors, stepping down onto the street, one hand moving to rest on the gun at his belt. The earth gave beneath his boots like a sponge. Katherine moved up to peer through the missing slats on one door.
“Hey,” Jack called out. “I think that’s my horse.”
The boy looked about for the voice then focused on Jack, squinting and grinning nervously. He was young, Katherine saw, spotty.
“This one here?”
“Yeah, he got away in the storm.”
“You sure, mister? This horse ain’t got no mark sayin’ he’s yours.”
“Listen, kid, it’s my horse,” Jack said, taking a step toward the boy while his eyes swept over the street. “He’s got a scar along his left flank if you want an identification.”
The boy glanced at the horse’s hindquarters and shrugged. “Well, maybe he is yours,” he said. “Come get him then.”
Katherine shivered, wishing she could rub the goose bumps from her arms.
The boy looked like any other boy; sandy blond hair falling down into his eyes, and that hat tipped too far forward, as if he wasn’t quite comfortable wearing it yet. A faint smile played on his lips, and Katherine realized it bothered her. Why was he smiling?
Something glinted and she pushed the door open to see, forgetting Jack’s warning. A man leaned out from behind the smithy’s shed, the gun in his hand glinting as a ray of sunlight broke through the haze to land on the tip of the barrel.
“Jack!” she screamed.
The shot rang out before her cry registered, and Jack crumpled and spun at the same time, drawing his own gun and aiming at the noise as he fell. He hit the ground with a curse.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” he yelled.
The boy wheeled his horse away, and Jack took aim again. His shot went wild, and he fell back as a bullet whizzed by his head. He scrambled toward the hotel but it was tortuously slow going, his knees and hands sinking into the sodden earth.
Katherine ran out into the street and grabbed hold of Jack, trying to pull him toward the shelter of the hotel. He knocked her hands away, and the gun went flying, landing a few yards away in the mud.
“You bitch! You knew he was coming, didn’t you?” he accused.
“Shut-up, you fool! I’m trying to save you,” she hissed, reaching for him again. A shot slammed into the ground at her feet.
“Hold it right there!”
Katherine froze.
“Stand up, turn around, nice and easy!”
Katherine obeyed and found herself staring at a man whose face matched the harsh voice. He was older than either she or Jack but still handsome despite his ragged appearance and threads of silver running through his dark hair. For an instant he reminded her of someone she had seen in an old film; but the name eluded her and his dark eyes bore into hers, holding her in place. Katherine trembled, her heart beating a million miles a minute.
“Alanna,” he said, stopping some ten yards away and smiling. “Take his gun, darlin’ and do the honors.”
Katherine stared at him, cold dread making her knees weak. Jack groaned behind her and the boy grinned stupidly. No, she thought, not another one.
“Do it, unless you want me to.”
Katherine turned and blinked at Jack who glared at her with all the hatred of the first night he had seen her. She looked back at the man, shaking her head.
“Do it!” he yelled. “Or I’ll put a bullet through you as well!” He raised the gun and aimed it at her.
Katherine bent down and picked up the gun, her hands shaking. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath before opening them and facing Jack.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hot tears running down her face. She raised the gun. It shook in her hands and Jack flinched. “You have to die now,” she said, trying to see through the tears, forcing her hands to remain steady as she told herself over and over: do not hit Jack.
Jack closed his eyes. The shot was like the roar of a cannon.
Katherine turned back to the man, her hands limp at her sides, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“Now throw it away,” he said.
She flung it from her, tears streaming down her cheeks. The man grinned and turned to the boy.
“Get her,” he said.
Katherine shook her head, telling herself this was not real, this was not happening to her! It couldn’t be! The boy got down off his horse and came at her like a clumsy, eager puppy. His hands reached out to her and she began to scream, unable to help herself.
The boy’s smiling face clouded over and he gave her a sharp slap across the face, immediately silencing her. Her mouth dropped open in shock, but he gave her no time to think or talk, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her along after the man.
He took the two horses as well, leading them all toward the smithy’s shed where the man waited, already mounted on an old mare who bared her teeth at their approach.
“Where’s the saddle and bridle?” he asked her.
“Inside the saloon,” Katherine said answered dully.
“You got anything here?” he asked Katherine.
Katherine stared at him, hating him more than she ever imagined hating Jack. She wanted to spit in his face but his dark eyes grew darker and his lip curled.
“Don’t mess with me, Alanna,” he said. “Tell me now or I’ll beat it out of you.”
“In the kitchen,” she answered coldly.
“Bring it all, Tommy,” he ordered.
“Sure, Will.”
And that was when Katherine became truly afraid.
Chapter Nine
Right Church, Wrong Pew
Jack waited until the hoof beats had faded away before opening his eyes. He was alive, he told himself, hardly able to believe it. A second thought rushed in on top of the first, pushing it rudely aside.
This was the second time she hadn’t killed him.
She was
not Alanna. But how? How in God’s name could there be two women who looked so alike? Were they related but unknown to one another?
He shook his head, pushing the questions aside. It was enough to know she’d been telling the truth. And her name probably was Katherine. But now he had to focus his attention on the hotel. He had to get inside and stop the bleeding, he had to clean the wound, he had to . . . the world spun madly, making him dizzy and sick.
He stopped, breathing in deeply until the feeling passed. Then he began to move toward the hotel, inch by painful inch, using his hands to pull himself through the mud. His leg screamed in agony, and he clamped his teeth together. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, rolling down the sides of his face.
He was in the saloon now, only a dozen yards or so to go. He stopped once more as the room began to swim. He took a series of deep breaths. Oxygen, he needed oxygen. He had to breath. He couldn’t pass out, not yet.
Jack began to crawl again, dragging his wounded leg behind him and leaving a trail of red mud along the hotel floor. By the time he reached the kitchen his entire body was soaked with sweat, his jeans wet with blood. He fumbled for the canteen and tipped it to his mouth, drinking sparingly. Then he reached up to the table and found the remains of Katherine’s petticoat. He tore a strip off and tied it around his leg, gritting his teeth together as he pulled it tight.
The room began to fade but he fought against it, breathing deep, reminding himself that now was not the time to pass out. He clamped his jaw and reached for the knife at his belt, intending to cut away his jeans and have a look at the wound. But the darkness closed in and swallowed him whole.
❧
The wind woke him, a warm breeze that came in across his face. The pain was there, hammering away at his leg like a hot drill. He almost wished to pass out again. But no, not yet.
As gently as he could he released the tourniquet, feeling the blood rush down into his calf. He counted out loud through gritted teeth, waiting until the pins and needles had passed and there was only the stabbing pain of the gunshot. He found the knife where he’d dropped it and cut his jeans away from the wound, finding the heavy material stuck. He debated for a while whether to leave it that way or try to clean the wound out.
