Atonement

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  With that, he struck Griffith hard in the face with the butt of his gun. The heavy man lost his footing and fell to the ground. Charlie motioned for the Pennington brothers to stop beating Finley, who was now covered in blood and dirt.

  Griffith shook his head and rubbed his temple. He watched as the four men walked toward the building with torches. “No,” he muttered weakly. “Stop.”

  The rustlers didn’t even pause. Instead, they smashed their way through the saloon, lighting the building on fire as they went. Griffith climbed into a sitting position and watched as the Dusty Traveler went up in flames.

  The rustlers mounted up once more, joined by a fifth man. They rode for the mountains, leaving a trail of mocking laughter and dust in their wake. Griffith didn’t pay them any heed. He could only look on in horror as his saloon burned to the ground.

  * * * * *

  Hours later, as the Morgans’ wagon and Christian’s horse neared town, Christian noticed a column of smoke rising above Casper. His heart sank, and he spurred his horse onward.

  The smell of smoke filled his nostrils. Christian saw Rudolph Griffith sitting in the dirt, surrounded by a crowd of people. Finley lay on the ground, breathing shallowly. Pieces of debris floated in the wind. Embers burned brightly in the early evening sun.

  “No,” Christian muttered. He was too late.

  The Dusty Traveler was gone. In its place was ash.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I should have been here. I knew Charlie was up to something, Christian admonished himself.

  The sound of the wagon echoed behind him. He saw Landon and Rebecca Morgan staring on in disbelief. Christian dismounted and made his way over to Sheriff Newton, who was covered in black soot.

  “What happened here?”

  “Charlie rode into town while you were gone,” the sheriff muttered. “He freed the man you captured and burned down the saloon.” Both men surveyed the damage. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”

  The fire had all but demolished the Dusty Traveler. Several people in the crowd continued to pour river water on a few pockets of remaining embers. The blaze had largely diminished, though a pillar of smoke still rose to mar the blue sky. Even without the fire, the summer day was consumed by searing heat.

  “Thank God the fire didn’t spread,” Newton said.

  Christian followed his gaze to the storage barn behind the ruins of the saloon. It was the closest building to the Dusty Traveler, and from the look of things, it had largely been spared from the flames. Christian realized the townspeople must have rallied together to put out the fire, but it had been too late to save the saloon.

  Rudolph Griffith looked utterly defeated. Christian started to walk over to him, but Newton laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Give him time,” the sheriff said. “There are other people who need our help.”

  Christian’s eyes turned to Finley. The young man was badly beaten. Christian felt a surge of anger toward Charlie Sheldon.

  “Send someone to fetch Doc Brooks,” he said. “Finley needs care, as does Landon Morgan.” He motioned to the wagon, where blood seeped through the makeshift bandage he had fashioned for his boss. Newton nodded and sent a boy in the crowd down the street to Brooks’ house.

  Christian helped Finley to his feet. The young man was barely conscious. Morgan followed shakily, weakened from the loss of blood. The old man leaned on Rebecca’s arm for support. Christian carried Finley to Doc Brooks’ Apothecary, to the small room in the back of the store where Brooks treated patients when the need arose. He set Finley down on the room’s solitary bed, which sat across from the table where the rustler Christian shot had died not so long ago. All traces of that night had been wiped clean. Though gone, the filthy rags and buckets of water polluted with blood were seared into his memory.

  Morgan took the rocking chair near the wall on the other side of the room and waited impatiently for Doc Brooks to arrive. Christian and Rebecca stood by his side until Brooks appeared several minutes later. By that time, Morgan’s cantankerous spirit had started to return. He kept muttering about the harvest and insisted on returning to the ranch even as Doc Brooks bandaged his wounded shoulder. Christian put his foot down and made it clear there was no way that was going to happen in the considerable future, harvest or not. White as a sheet, Rebecca Morgan held her husband’s hand and remained silent throughout the ordeal.

  Finley had finally lapsed into unconsciousness. His left eye was already swollen shut, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises. The rustlers had inflicted quite a beating on him, but Christian suspected it was the young man’s pride that was damaged the most. In a brief moment of relief on Finley’s behalf, Christian sighed with gratitude that the boy had sent May away to Abigail’s so that she hadn’t witnessed the beating outside the saloon.

  Sheriff Newton found his way inside the cramped space a short time later, which caused Doc Brooks to complain the room was becoming too crowded. Christian excused himself and stepped outside with the sheriff.

  “Charlie used the robbery to lure you away from the saloon,” Newton said. “That was his plan all along.”

  Christian shook his head in disgust. The idea sounded too calm and calculated for a hothead like Charlie―more like something Quinn might contrive―though he couldn’t be sure.

  “At least he spared Finley and Mr. Griffith.” That was something to be thankful for.

  “That’s Charlie’s way,” Newton explained. “Sometimes he’ll kill someone just for looking at him funny. Everything depends on what mood he’s in at the time. And this time, he got what he came for. They’re all likely back at the ranch now.”

  Albeit with three fewer men, Christian thought. He reckoned he had put a sizable dent in the outfit’s numbers, with some help from the late Mark Forrester.

  “You know Charlie better than I,” Christian said. “Do you have any idea what he’ll do next?”

  “Charlie Sheldon is a tough man to predict. If I know Big Jim, he’ll have Charlie on a short leash now that the saloon has been burned down. At least until Big Jim takes control of the land.” The sheriff bid farewell and walked away.

  It wasn’t long before Finley’s father rode into town, looking for his son. Christian remembered him from the night the young man assaulted him in the saloon. Mr. Mason regarded him coolly, and Christian chose to remain outside the store as the father attempted to collect his son. Heated voices carried outside, with Doc Brooks arguing against moving the young man. Christian didn’t interfere. It wasn’t his place.

  A few minutes later, Doc Brooks successfully convinced Mr. Mason to leave and return after a couple of days. Once outside the store, Finley’s father angrily turned to Christian.

  “You put him up to this,” he said accusingly.

  “No sir,” Christian replied. “I suspect it would be a mighty task indeed to put that boy up to anything.”

  Mr. Mason snorted and nodded. “I’ll be back for him when he’s healed.” The man’s expression softened. “See that no harm comes to him,” he requested.

  “I’ll do my best,” Christian said honestly.

  When he returned inside, Christian found Finley still fast asleep, showing no sign of waking. Doc Brooks agreed to keep the young man overnight. He added that while he couldn’t make any promises, Morgan would probably be fine, barring infection. Christian sent Morgan and his wife to get something to eat while he searched for a place to put them up for the night, perhaps longer.

  The task proved more difficult than he expected. With the saloon gone, there was no longer an abundance of rooms to rent. Most of the townspeople, even ones Christian knew somewhat well, appeared reluctant to house the couple. They feared giving one of Big Jim’s enemies a place to stay would bring the wrath of Charlie Sheldon down upon them. In that respect, Christian couldn’t blame them. Th
e rustlers had terrorized Casper for so long that the entire town feared almost the very mention of Charlie’s name. Unlike Finley, very few people were willing to risk doing anything about it.

  He temporarily abandoned the task of finding a place for Landon and Rebecca Morgan to stay when he spotted Rudolph Griffith wandering the streets alone.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  Griffith sighed and offered a weak smile. “I haven’t felt like this since my wife took a train to parts unknown.” The businessman stared at the nearby river. Soon it would be sunset.

  “I’m sorry,” Christian said. “I know the saloon meant a lot to you.”

  “The Traveler was my chance to start again. As was this town. When I arrived here eleven years ago, Casper didn’t even have a general store.”

  “I know it’s hard to hear now,” Christian said, “but this doesn’t have to be the end.”

  Griffith nodded. His clothes were covered in soot and sweat. “I suppose I will soldier on,” he said. “The same can’t be said for Mark Forrester or Matthew.”

  “Or Abel Morgan,” Christian added.

  As the two men surveyed the river, a determined look set upon the businessman’s face.

  “I won’t give in,” Griffith said at last. “As long as I draw breath, I won’t let Big Jim get away with this.”

  Christian admired the man’s grit. If only everyone in Casper shared his force of will, they might have driven the rustlers away ages ago.

  “Do you have a safe place to stay?” Christian asked.

  “My house is near the end of town. That’s where I’ll be staying. I’m in no immediate danger. I pose no threat to Big Jim now, at least for the moment.”

  “I don’t suppose you would allow Mr. Morgan and his wife to bunk with you?”

  “Of course,” Griffith said. “After all you’ve done for me, I am in your debt for life.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.” Christian thought of how close he’d come to deserting Casper when the town needed him most. Christian now knew he had made the right choice.

  “What about you?” Griffith asked. “Where will you stay?”

  “Someplace I can keep a lookout.” He already had a place in mind.

  Christian parted ways with Griffith and made his way to the diner, where Morgan and Rebecca were waiting for him. The couple had already eaten in his absence. Christian couldn’t blame them―he too was famished. He sat down to join them and ordered some food for himself before he informed them that he’d found a place for them to stay. Morgan reluctantly agreed to remain in town until the trouble with the rustlers was sorted out, though the specter of an indefinite conflict troubled both men. As Christian waited for his food, he spoke with the couple at great length about what inspired him to return to Casper and what he planned to do next.

  When he was finished eating, Christian said farewell to the pair and watched them walk down the street, presumably toward Griffith’s home. He then returned to the post where he had hitched Galahad.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he muttered to the chestnut. “It’s been an eventful day.” Christian briefly remembered being pursued by the rustler who had attempted to ambush him on the way to Morgan’s ranch earlier that day. Without Galahad’s tenacity, he would have been done for. He unhitched the horse and led the animal into the storage building behind what was left of the saloon.

  One side of the building was charred from where it had been threatened by the fire before the flames were fully extinguished by the townspeople. Christian stood under the darkening sky for a moment, looking at the smoldering ruins. This was what happened when good men did nothing. Evil had spread like a cancer through Casper for too long.

  He led his horse into one of the stalls and closed the door. He fed Galahad an apple before scaling the ladder to the hayloft. Even in the pale light, he could still see the bloodstains where Mark Forrester had lain. Christian reloaded his pistols and Forrester’s rifle, which he propped up against the wall. From this height, he would be able to see anyone riding into town for an ambush in the dead of night. The prospect wasn’t likely, but he wanted to be prepared in any event.

  He settled in the hay only a few inches from where he’d found Mark Forrester’s body the day before. Finding sleep in such a place might have troubled another man. As a soldier, Christian had spent nights in the company of the dead before, and dwelt in places consumed by death. He turned on his side toward the wall opposite the bloodstain, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

  No one rode into town that night, rustler or otherwise.

  In the morning, Christian went to check on Finley. It was unseasonably cold when he awoke, especially for summer. The weather looked ominous. When Christian arrived at the apothecary, Doc Brooks was gone, and the store was quiet. To Christian’s surprise, he found the young man sitting in a chair in the back room, staring out the window.

  “I imagined you would still be sleeping. You were far gone last night.”

  Finley shook his head forlornly. Although he looked considerably better, his face was rather swollen and his body was still covered in ugly bruises. “I’m too sore to sleep for long,” Finley muttered. “I didn’t know that was possible.” He shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair.

  “Don’t look so downcast,” Christian said. “You did the best you could.”

  Finley stared at the floor with an angry expression. “I didn’t even get a shot off,” he confessed. The Pennington brothers just beat me in the street for all to see.” He buried his face in his hands.

  “I saw your father yesterday.”

  “I’m sure he wants to fetch me back to the ranch. So everyone can see me run.”

  “Enough,” Christian said.

  Finley looked up, and his eyes met his friend’s steely expression.

  “You’ve more than won your spurs, Finley. Count yourself lucky to be alive. Even the best men get licked from time to time. It’s what you do afterwards that matters.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Finley mumbled finally.

  “I know I’m right,” Christian replied. He patted the youth on the shoulder. “Your time will come, Finley. Be ready when it does.” He left the young man to think about what he’d said.

  The sky had darkened considerably in the short time Christian had spent consoling Finley. Christian heard the faint rumblings of distant thunder. The heavens had been threatening rain for several days, and it seemed the day was finally here. He glanced toward the remnants of the saloon. If the storm had come one day sooner, it might have put out the fire before it consumed the Dusty Traveler. He walked down the street, intending to see how Landon and Rebecca Morgan passed the night.

  Christian instead found his attention drawn to the bank. A crowd of people waiting outside in the cool wind swarmed what was the site of an attempted robbery only a day ago. Sheriff Newton stood outside the doors, preventing any of the townspeople from entering.

  Christian spotted Pete Hodges watching from the diner. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “They’ve closed down the bank for the rest of the week,” the old soldier answered. “The board has called a meeting to discuss how to handle Mr. Griffith’s land.”

  “I reckon Mr. Markham is on the board,” Christian said flatly.

  Pete nodded, and Christian joined the crowd, trying to get a closer look at what was happening. To his disappointment, the curtains were drawn on the bank’s windows, and there was nothing he could see from the outside. Newton permitted only the board members to enter the bank, careful to keep the entrance barred to all others.

  A carriage pulled up to the bank. Out stepped Abigail Vincent and her father, Tobias. Christian remembered hearing from Mrs. Kays that Mr. Vincent was on the town council and a member of the board. Abigail was wearing a white dress an
d hat. The exposed strands of her blonde hair blew in the wind. She looked to her father.

  “I’m going to the school now,” Abigail said. “I expect to return before your business is complete.”

  Tobias Vincent looked reluctant to part with his daughter. Thunder echoed again in the threatening sky.

  “If you must,” he said. “Be careful,” he whispered into her ear. Abigail squeezed her father’s hand and left him to enter the bank.

  Christian slipped out of the crowd and greeted her, hoping to discover more about the board’s meeting.

  “Hello, Miss Abigail,” he said politely. “Would you allow me to escort you?”

  She looked up at him with a pair of bright green eyes. “Certainly, Mr. Emerson,” she said. “Father doesn’t want me out alone. He worries for me.” Together, they strolled toward the school.

  “I can understand that,” Christian said. “This town hasn’t been a very safe place the last few days.” The thunder grew louder.

  Abigail nodded. There was a look of resignation on her ordinarily cheerful face. “That’s why he’s kept me at the ranch,” the young woman said. “I haven’t been to see Mrs. Kays in over a week. I’ve had May Turner to keep me company, but I miss the children.”

  “You care for them very much,” Christian said. “I can see it in the way you smile at them.”

  “I do,” Abigail confessed. “One day I hope to be a teacher in my own right.”

  Raindrops began sprinkling the earth as the pair neared the schoolhouse. They reached the school just before the downpour started. Inside, the students listened to Mrs. Kays while entranced by the sound of the rain. Abigail and Christian stood outside on the porch under the cover of the roof so as not to interrupt the lesson.

  Christian looked toward the bank. “Word has it that they’re going to vote on Mr. Griffith’s land,” he said.