by Chloe Carley
“Jeremiah… Mr. Banks… he… he went off after the rustlers. I didn’t get a look at their faces, they’d masks on them, but they went off that way,” the ranch hand said, pointing out across the prairie. “I’ve been looking for him, but I can’t find him. The herd are on the stampede, though, those rustlers didn’t take them. They’re still here, but I don’t know where Mr. Banks is.”
Thomas shook his head, the thought that his half-brother may be responsible still foremost in his mind. He’d turned a blind eye to some of Harrison’s dealings, preferring to keep his own counsel when it came to his half-brother. But if Harrison was responsible for this and the other recent rustlings, which bore all the hallmarks of his father’s old outfit, then Thomas knew he could no longer stand by.
It might not be him, but he’s gotten bolder lately. Darn it, Thomas thought, glancing at Robbie and Amos and shaking his head.
“We need to find Jeremiah. Amos, you go round up the herd. Robbie and I’ll walk out over the prairie. You say he followed them that way?” Thomas clarified, pointing in the direction Amos had indicated.
“Yes, sir. But I didn’t see what happened next. He could’ve gone anywhere,” the ranch hand replied.
“You leave that to me, now, you look pretty shook up—the both of you,” Thomas said, and both men nodded.
“The second time in a week that we’ve risked our necks just to earn an honest wage, and yet these rustlers think they can just come and take what’s ours.” Robbie shook his head sadly.
“And I’m here to make sure they don’t get away with it. Come on, go round up the herd, Amos. Robbie, you follow me and keep your eyes open,” Thomas said as he led the way across the ranch yard and out into the prairie.
Harrison, if I find you’re at the bottom of all this, then it’s the last time I turn a blind eye, Thomas swore to himself as they began the hunt for Jeremiah.
In the distance, he could hear the sound of the cattle stampeding across the plains and the cries of Amos, the ranch hand.
“Mr. Banks,” Robbie called, his voice echoing across the vast grasslands that swayed gently in the breeze.
The sun was high in the sky now and there was a dry heat in the air, which made Thomas’ mouth feel rough and his forehead sweat.
“Jeremiah! Jeremiah, where are you? It’s Sheriff Redmond. The rustlers are gone, you’re safe now, come out,” Thomas called, but still the prairie grass swayed gently. No other sound but that of the distant cattle could be heard.
After around half an hour of searching, Robbie paused, sighing and throwing his hands up in frustration.
“It’s nae good, Sheriff. Mr. Banks is gone. What if they carried him off as a hostage? What if we get a demand for money? The ranch barely makes enough to pay our wages anyhow, let alone a ransom,” he said.
“They won’t want a ransom, Robbie. That’s not how these folks operate. They steal cattle, and they don’t kidnap ranchers. It’s more likely that—” But as he was speaking to Robbie, he tripped, making a grim discovery as he did so.
There, lying motionless with a bullet wound in his chest, was Jeremiah Banks. His face was contorted in a grim expression, his hands raised as though in self-defense. There was no weapon nearby, no sign of a struggle, only a bullet fired at an unarmed man.
Dear Lord, Thomas thought as he knelt by the lifeless body of his friend.
“Mr. Banks, oh dear Lord, Mr. Banks,” Robbie said, tears in his eyes, as he rushed to Thomas’ side.
“It’s all right, Robbie. Don’t look now, come on, stay back a moment. Go call for Amos, we need to get him back to the ranch house. Go call Amos, you hear me?” Thomas said, as the ranch hand stood shaking at his side.
“I… I… yes, Sheriff,” Robbie said, and he scarpered back across the prairie, calling out for Amos, as Thomas looked down at the grim discovery.
Harrison, this is too far, he thought, shaking his head.
There was no proof that his half-brother was involved, but Thomas had had a hunch that something was not quite right of late. The two men generally avoided one another, but Thomas always liked to know his brother’s whereabouts and who amongst the known criminals who passed through Lakestone paid his half- brother a visit.
“I’ll find out who’s responsible for this, Jeremiah. I promise,” Thomas said grimly, standing guard over the body of his friend while up above, the birds began to circle, attracted by the smell of death upon the plain.
***
It was with some difficulty that Thomas, Robbie, and Amos carried the lifeless body of Jeremiah Banks back to the ranch house. The sun was high in the sky now and they sweated and panted their way across the prairie, none of them speaking, for it was a solemn task which they now performed.
Back in the simply furnished ranch house, which had been Jeremiah’s home since his arrival in Lakestone some thirty years previously, they laid him on his bed. Amos was a Catholic, and he took his rosary beads from his pocket and laid them on the body as a sign of respect, crossing himself profusely as Thomas and Robbie stood with their heads bowed.
“Who do ye think did this, Sheriff? Will they come back? What dae we dae now?” Robbie said, as they stepped out onto the porch a short while later.
“Well, someone’s go to keep the ranch going. I’m sure Jeremiah would be glad to know it was in safe hands. You two can manage, can’t you?” Thomas said, and Robbie and Amos looked at one another uncertainly.
“Aye, we shall. But what about the body? It must be buried properly. Mr. Banks was very particular about his prayers,” Robbie replied, and Amos nodded.
“I could ride down to the Franciscan Mission at Dewey Creek and bring one of the priests back,” Amos suggested, but Thomas shook his head.
“I’ll speak with Pastor Warren. Jeremiah didn’t hold with the Catholics, Amos. I drank with him enough to know that. I’m heading back to town now. Keep your wits about you, and if you’ve any more trouble from those rustlers, you shoot first and ask questions later—you hear me?” Thomas instructed, and the two ranch hands nodded.
He climbed onto Scout, patting the horse’s mane as they rode out of the ranch yard and onto the trail back toward Lakestone. His mind was racing with theories as to what had just transpired.
Even Harrison isn’t that stupid, surely, and what did they gain from it? No cattle stolen, no money—just a dead rancher and two scared ranch hands. It’s hardly a successful raid, he thought to himself as he rode.
When he came into town, he reined Scout in, pausing by the doors of the Last Chance Saloon. It was busy, filled with ranch hands and cattle herders, alongside men passing through town on their way down the western trail and those who came to Lakestone for its diversions and entertainments.
He’ll be in there, I’d wager a $100 on it, Thomas thought, peering through the doors for any sign of his half-brother, though wishing to appear as though he were simply passing the time of day.
But there was no sign of Harrison, or any of the likely suspects which Thomas’ half-brother was often seen in the company of. The sheriff sighed to himself, knowing that the next few days and weeks wouldn’t be easy.
You’ve got a job on your hands, Thomas, a mighty fine job, he thought as he led Scout back to the sheriff’s office. I just hope I’m up to it.
Chapter Two
Sammy was sitting on the piano. It was his favorite place to sit in the mornings, when the sun streamed through the front parlor window and created a pleasingly warm place for the cat to curl up. He was a large tabby, who, at six years old, had been Aline’s constant companion since her teenage years. He purred as she stroked him, arching his back and letting out a long, plaintive meow as she ruffled the scruff of his neck.
“There, now, that’s what you like, Sammy. Isn’t it?” she said, and it seemed the cat was in full agreement.
Aline sighed, looking around the parlor of the home she’d occupied with Damon until his tragic death two weeks previously. She was dressed in her black mourning dress,
though her Aunt Miranda had advised her that it was now acceptable to remove her veil, at home at least.
The house felt empty without Damon there, though that was more because she was no longer shouted at and berated at every given opportunity. She’d shed tears for him, but they’d felt like tears of duty rather than genuine sorrow.
I should feel something more than this, she thought, though simultaneously realizing that she’d had a lucky escape.
On several occasions, his anger had overcome him, and she’d felt his hand. At other times it was his snide comments, his constant diggings and criticisms of everything from her hair to the way she poured tea at teatime. As the past two years of their marriage had passed, Aline had become used to such treatment. So used to it that now, with Damon gone, she felt devoid of any feeling toward him, any feeling at all, except for guilt that she might eventually be glad of his passing. She simply felt numb, and there was little she could do about it—a numbness which left her feeling cold inside, and empty.
“At least I’ve got you, Sammy,” she said, just as a knock came at the door and the maid entered with a pot of tea.
“Ma’am, your Aunt Miranda is here to see you; I brought you both some tea. May I show her in?” the maid asked and Aline smiled.
“You may do, Sarah, thank you,” she said, and she picked up Sammy from his place on top of the piano. “You and Aunt Miranda, that’s who I’ve got,” she said, holding the cat close as he purred.
A moment later, her aunt entered the room in her usual bustling manner. She was a lifelong spinster and Aline loved her dearly, for despite having not two pennies to rub together, she’d always been generous with her kindness. Over the years, Aline had done her best to help with the small allowance Damon had permitted her, but now she wondered if perhaps she might help her further, for surely the inheritance was now hers.
“Aline, dear. You’re looking much better than when I saw you yesterday. Your cheeks are rosier,” her aunt remarked and Aline smiled.
“I’m not sure I feel any better, Aunt Miranda. I don’t feel anything at all. Shouldn’t I be sorrowful? Shed a tear? But I feel nothing,” Aline replied, shaking her head sadly as Sammy purred in her lap.
“That man was nothing but wicked toward you, Aline. I wish I’d stepped in to prevent you from marrying him,” her aunt said, and Aline poured out the tea.
“But you remember how it was, Aunt Miranda. What choice did I have? Damon had such influence, he was a powerful man,” she replied.
“And now he’s dead, and good riddance to him,” her aunt replied, raising her tea cup as though in a toast.
Aline made no reply. It was wrong to speak ill of the dead—at least, that was what her dear mother had always said. Aunt Miranda had always been one to speak her mind, though, and Aline remembered her making it very clear that she’d no love for Damon Hale, nor it seemed did she have any respect for him in death.
“Well, at least the inheritance is mine now,” she replied, stroking Sammy along his back, “and I can help you, too, Aunt Miranda. Why, you could even move in here! The two of us would get along just fine, I’m sure.”
Her aunt laughed.
“That’s mighty kind of you, Aline. But you don’t need an old woman like me rattling around here. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Why not use the money for something you want to do?” her aunt replied, just as a knock came at the door.
“A gentleman to see you, ma’am. A Mr. Priestly, I have his card here,” the maid said, presenting Aline with the card.
“Stockbroker? I don’t know any stockbrokers,” Aline said, looking puzzled and passing the card to her aunt.
“If you please, ma’am, he said it was the master who employed his services. He is here to discuss the… the legacy,” Sarah replied.
“Then send him in, Sarah. This little lady needs to know what she can salvage from that mess of a man,” Aunt Miranda said, and Aline blushed as the maid curtsied and went to show the stockbroker into the parlor.
“Damon was not all bad, Auntie. At times he could be…” Aline began.
“You think the occasional nice word and an apology was enough to cover up his crimes toward you, Aline? You’re far too forgiving, or perhaps I’m far too bitter. I, for one, am glad he’s dead,” her aunt said, just as Sarah showed Mr. Priestly into the room.
He was a tall, wiry man who wore a black frock coat, his grey hair in a mass of curls upon his head. He bowed low to the women who stood and curtsied, Aline offering him a seat and a cup of tea.
“No tea for me, thank you, madam. I’m afraid I come bearing bad news and I find it is best to break such news immediately, rather than exchange pleasantries beforehand,” he replied, fixing Aline with a grave expression.
“My husband is dead, Mr. Priestly. I’m left a widow at the age of twenty. There is little more you could tell me to lessen my humor,” Aline replied, glancing at her aunt, who shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“Does he owe some money?” her aunt asked, and Mr. Priestly nodded.
“In a manner of speaking, madam. Your late husband was the executor of your parent’s estate, Mrs. Hale. That money should rightfully be yours, but the young age at which you married meant that it was held in trust—a trust administered by your late husband,” the stockbroker said and Aline nodded.
“That’s correct. I was told that the money was still mine, though, but that my husband would see to the oversight. I’m not versed in such matters and it seemed far better for him to take care of things on my behalf,” Aline replied.
“Mrs. Hale, I think you would’ve been far more versed in such matters than your husband. You could hardly have failed to do worse,” the stockbroker replied.
“What do you mean?” her aunt asked and Mr. Priestly sighed.
“I mean that all the money is gone. Everything. This house that you are sitting in, its furnishings—everything in it is gone. Your husband was bankrupt, Mrs. Hale, and now his debts must be settled,” he replied.
For a moment, Aline failed to understand what being said to her.
It can’t possibly be gone. My parents left a fortune. My father’s mine, my mother’s inheritance. There was enough to last a lifetime, she thought, her whole body feeling numb at the words the stockbroker had just delivered.
“All of it?” her aunt echoed, and Mr. Priestly cocked his head to one side.
“Well, I had to liquidate most of the assets into bonds. The debts are settled, for the most part. You won’t receive any unwelcome visitors, as Mr. Hale did in his final days. But I’m afraid all that remains is an old ranch out in Montana, a place called Lakestone, if I’m not mistaken. And your dear cat there, of course, I doubt he’d fetch very much,” Mr. Priestly said.
Aline sniffed, holding Sammy closely to her. The stockbroker’s words were beginning to sink in. A ranch in Montana? My father never mentioned a ranch in Montana. How can that be the only thing left, the whole fortune gone?
“So, I have nothing? He left me nothing and he gave me nothing,” she managed.
Her aunt murmured an unrepeatable word under her breath and shook her head. “Squandered, that’s what he did,” she said.
Aline felt anger building inside her. All those times she’d defended Damon despite his treatment of her, the times she’d made excuses for him and tried to find the best in him.
“Well, then, I think I can take this off,” she declared, pointing to her black dress, and her aunt nodded.
“You should never have even put it on, Aline,” her aunt said.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of such news, Mrs. Hale, but I find in these situations it is better to reveal the truth than hide it,” Mr. Priestly said.
“The bearer of bad news is not the one to blame for it, Mr. Priestly. But I must decide what I’m to do now,” Aline replied, stroking Sammy along his back.
You don’t have a care in the world, Sammy. But it seems now that I do, she thought, as her aunt continued to offer
her opinion of Damon Hale.
“I must take my leave of you two ladies,” Mr. Priestly announced a short while later, rising from his chair and bowing to them both.
“You’ll receive your fee, sir,” Aline promised, for she’d no intention of not paying her debts.
The stockbroker thanked her and a moment later, she and her aunt were left alone. Aline looked around her at her parent’s house. Its fine furnishings and pretty portraiture now felt alien to her, since she knew that now, none of it was hers.
“How could someone stand up in church and make vows of love then do this to a person?” Aline asked, sighing and sitting back in her chair.
“Folks’ll say anything for money, Aline. Damon Hale knew he was onto a good thing with you and he took advantage. I blame myself for not stepping in sooner; I could see he was trouble from the moment he started asking me about your father’s old business interests in the west,” her aunt replied.
