“So much death over a little parcel of land,” Abigail said sorrowfully. She gazed wistfully into the storm. “It was always going to come to this.”
The two stood in silence on the porch for several minutes. A short while later, another carriage rolled up to the bank. The crowd had long ago dispersed with the onset of the rain, so they had a clear view. Christian watched as the carriage’s driver opened the door for Big Jim Markham, who quickly entered the bank. A bespectacled man with a fidgety look about him accompanied the rancher.
What’s he planning? Christian thought, frustrated. Unlike the rustlers, Big Jim didn’t wield a gun. His power rested in money and corruption. Christian could handle Charlie’s outfit, but his guns offered no solution to the problems posed by a man like Big Jim.
Christian waited in the rain alongside Abigail Vincent, wondering what was going on inside the boardroom.
* * * * *
Big Jim Markham strolled confidently through the empty hall, his lawyer at his side. Thunder reverberated outside the bank’s thick walls and raindrops slid down the windows in steady streams. Although the sky was dark, the bank was well lit by a series of candles and oil lamps.
The big man moved with a sense of purpose. This was his moment. When he reached the boardroom, Big Jim removed his top hat and handed it to Weathers, the thin lawyer who accompanied him. The man took the hat without question and opened the door for his employer. All eyes inside the boardroom turned toward Big Jim, who looked down on them the same way a child might look down on an insect. His beady eyes darted across the room. They were all here, full of suspense. He had arrived late for this very reason.
Big Jim’s eyes moved to the clock. It was a few minutes past ten. “Are we ready to begin?” his voice boomed.
They were seated at a long mahogany table. The board’s chairman, a man named Tom Hartman, nodded in ascent. None of the board members looked particularly pleased to be there. Big Jim didn’t expect them to. Big Jim knew violence wasn’t good for business. That was why he usually preferred to use Charlie in more subtle ways. Unfortunately, neither Rudolph Griffith nor Mr. Emerson had left that option open to him.
“This meeting is now in session,” Tom said. The chairman looked weary, despite the meeting having just started. Tom was also the bank’s founder and president. Big Jim suspected the chairman privately resented him, but there was little Tom could do about it now. He had been happy enough to accept Big Jim’s investments years ago, which had helped build the very walls around them. Big Jim in turn had leveraged his influence to become vice-chairman.
“Then let us address the matter at hand,” Big Jim said, taking control of the meeting. He paced the room. “As you know, last year’s harvest was a very poor one for many in our community. These are tough times—times that require equally tough decisions.”
“Why don’t we talk about the two thieves that found their way in here yesterday?” demanded John Goodwin, who was sitting next to Tobias Vincent. Goodwin was a crotchety old man who had sold his ranch to Big Jim long ago for a handsome profit. In the time since, Goodwin had continually proven himself a thorn in Big Jim’s side during the board meetings. Big Jim knew better than to count on Goodwin’s vote.
“Although that matter was unfortunate,” Big Jim said, “the culprits were dealt with, and no money was lost. In the same way, what happened to the Dusty Traveler is also unfortunate.”
“We come to it at last,” Goodwin said. “You’ve wanted that land for years, Mr. Markham. I thought I knew how far you were willing to go to get it, but I never suspected you would stoop to arson and murder.”
“Enough. I will not dignify that with a response. In the future, I would warn you not to make accusations against my character. You may find yourself faced with unpleasant repercussions.” He silenced Goodwin with a dark glare.
Jim Markham studied the face of each man on the board. Despite their wealth they were still men of the West, where a fortune could vanish at any time. They were all hard men, but so was he. Big Jim hadn’t come from wealth. As a young man, he took work where he could find it. Eventually, he wound up working for a farmer in rural Indiana who needed the help. Over time, Jim gained his employer’s trust and found where he kept his money. Then one night, he killed the farmer, stole his money, and sold the man’s horses in the next town.
He invested the money in business opportunities, both legitimate and otherwise. Jim learned he had a knack for it. He grew rich beyond his wildest dreams, but he never forgot where he came from, and he never stopped wanting more.
“With Rudolph Griffith surely unable to afford to pay the bank after the destruction of the saloon, the time has come for the bank to cut its losses and foreclose on the property.”
“You’re wrong.”
The door swung open again behind them. Rudolph Griffith stood in the doorway, drenched in rain, a look of defiance on his face.
“Mr. Griffith, may I remind you that this is a closed meeting?” said Weathers, the lawyer.
“I believe it concerns me,” said he answered.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Big Jim said. “You can’t make the payments, and you have nothing to leverage worth the price of the land.”
“Who ever said I couldn’t make the payments?”
Big Jim’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
The shorter man laid a stack of bills on the table. “You underestimate the people of this town, Mr. Markham. This is what I was able to come up with in one day.”
Big Jim couldn’t believe it. “Think carefully on this. There are other ways the land can come into my possession.”
Griffith smiled, a look of triumph on his face. He held up a document.
“This is a copy of my will,” he said. “Should anything untimely happen to me, I’ve willed the land to Henry Best, an industrialist from Rawlins.”
Big Jim knew Best by reputation as a formidable businessman. Killing Griffith would only put the land further from his grasp. He bristled with anger.
“It matters not,” Big Jim stammered, trying to think of a reason why it wouldn’t. “I move we vote on foreclosure immediately.”
“You can’t foreclose on a man who is making his payments,” Tobias Vincent said.
“And you can’t buy me out, either,” Griffith said. “There’s more money out there if you try.”
“We will have this vote,” Big Jim insisted. “All those in favor of foreclosure?”
He raised his hand, along with Tom Hartman and Percy Druthers.
“All those against?” Three men raised their hands. Finally, Tobias Vincent raised his hand to break the tie.
Big Jim gasped. He’d lost the vote. “Think about what you’re doing, Mr. Vincent,” he urged. “Think of what happened to your son.”
“I am,” the man said firmly.
Big Jim’s face turned red. He stormed out of the bank, followed quickly by his lawyer. They will all live to regret this, he thought. He’d given them the chance to give him what he wanted without further bloodshed. Now it was time to let Charlie get it for him, by any means necessary.
Chapter Fifteen
An ocean of dark clouds lingered over the mountains, remnants of the deluge that ended hours ago. Faint moonlight filtered through, causing cliffs and ridges to cast eerie shadows on the moist earth below. Although the rain had gone, the thunder continued to roar over the ranch tucked away in the mountainous terrain.
Russell Hale slowly made his way on horseback up the mountain trail. He felt small against the backdrop of the sprawling landscape, but then again, he always felt small. Russell did not relish making the trip―for a host of reasons. He moved cautiously, careful to avoid falling to his death as he passed over narrow ledges on his way to the ranch. He peered over the cliff and stared into the abyss below.
He felt eyes f
ollowing him up the mountain, probably belonging to predators in search of food. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Russell gripped the reins tightly with whitening hands. It might have been more prudent to make the journey in the daylight, but he wanted to avoid being seen. He needed this conversation to take place away from prying ears. No one could know what he was about to do, or he would be run out of town.
After what seemed like ages, Russell reached the end of the trail over halfway up the mountain. He saw the lamps burning outside Jim Markham’s ranch. Gunmen and farmhands alike sat outside in the cold air, warming themselves by several fires. Each man watched him with a harsh glance as he rode past. Russell averted his eyes to avoid their gazes. When he reached the homestead, he paused before dismounting and going inside.
He found Big Jim waiting for him in the den. Charlie was with him, as were Quinn Blackwell and a few more rustlers.
“Come in,” Big Jim said, seated in his easy chair. “We’ve been expecting you. Have a drink.” Charlie Sheldon stood behind him, his hand touching the back of the seat.
There was a bar in the corner of the room. One of the rustlers walked behind the bar and poured the mayor a drink. Russell hesitated and took it.
“I got your letter,” Big Jim said. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the adjacent sofa.
Russell opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was too dry. He tugged at his collar and took a gulp from the glass. The drink did nothing for his nerves.
“I heard you had some trouble in town today.”
Big Jim stared toward the fireplace. “Griffith,” he muttered, venom in his voice. “I told you I would have that land, Russell, and I aim to take it.” He cleared his throat. “But Griffith is not my only concern.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” Russell found his voice, and Big Jim’s beady eyes returned to him. He noticed Charlie’s stern eyes boring into him intensely, and the mayor stopped for a moment.
“Go on,” Big Jim prompted.
Russell turned his focus to the man in the chair. “I’m determined to do whatever is necessary to stop the attacks, Jim. Things were peaceful before Emerson got here. He told me he was planning to move on, but that’s obviously not the case.”
Charlie snarled at the mention of Emerson’s name. “I’ll take care of Emerson,” he whispered, his voice fiery with rage. “I’ll burn the whole town down if I have to.”
Russell’s eyes widened in alarm. “I’m hoping to avoid that.”
“What are you saying?” Big Jim asked.
“The town has been through enough. All this destruction is bad for business, Jim. You must know this.” Russell switched his attention to Charlie. “If I can deliver Emerson to you, alive, will you call off your men for a season?”
Charlie’s face betrayed no sign of emotion. Even so, the mayor could tell that Charlie badly wanted Emerson dead.
“How do you plan to do that?”
“I don’t know. He trusts me, I think.” Unable to meet either man’s gaze, he looked at the ground.
“What good is that to me?” Charlie snapped. There was a slight pause in the conversation filled by the crackling fire. Thunder rumbled outside the homestead.
“Killing Emerson won’t solve my problem with Griffith,” Big Jim interrupted. “You need to find a way to force Tobias Vincent to vote my way.”
Quinn Blackwell stepped forward from the corner of the room, his mouth curled up in a thoughtful grin. “Maybe there’s a way to do both at the same time,” Quinn said. The three men looked to him for an explanation. “Tobias Vincent has a daughter, doesn’t he?” Russell nodded. Quinn looked to Charlie. “You already killed his son. I bet he’d be reluctant to part with his last surviving child.”
“I don’t understand,” Russell said. The idea of harm coming to Abigail Vincent was not what he wanted. He was here to make a deal to get rid of Emerson in return for guaranteeing the town’s safety. It was a devil’s bargain, and he felt every inch the coward he was, but it was the only way.
“It’s simple. Tomorrow, we will lie in wait for Miss Vincent outside her father’s ranch. Then we’ll abduct her and hold her captive here at the ranch until her father agrees to Mr. Markham’s demands.”
“What has that got to do with Emerson?” Charlie demanded.
“This is where the mayor comes in.” Quinn nodded at Russell. “You will tell Emerson of our intentions, and only him. Lead him to the Vincent ranch. I’ll handle it from there.”
“Will it work?” Big Jim asked.
“This isn’t our first kidnapping,” Quinn said. “We’ve done it before.”
Charlie snorted. “As I recall, that ended with the girl dead, and us without the ransom and chased by the marshals.”
Quinn shrugged. “It only has to last long enough for us to get what we want.”
“Very well,” Big Jim said. “This is what you will do. Russell?”
All eyes in the room turned to the mayor. Russell swallowed hard and took another sip of his drink. Emerson was a good man, a man who had tried to do well by the town. He was a man who believed in doing the right thing, even though he took pains not to show it.
Almost everyone in town had called Russell a coward, either to his face or behind his back. Emerson was the one man who always treated him with respect. Now Russell was going to betray him.
It’s the only way. He swallowed another gulp to drown the bitter thought.
“You can count on me,” the mayor answered weakly. He had never hated himself so much as he did in that moment.
* * * * *
It was a brilliant day. All traces of the storm had vanished, leaving behind a clean canvas for the sunlight to paint a new portrait. Fields of grain swayed under the steady breeze, which tempered the pleasant warmth across the Vincent ranch.
Tobias Vincent owned one of the largest ranches within a day’s journey from Casper. The property, which included farmland, pastures, and a dense forest, far exceeded even Big Jim’s ranch in size. Unlike the struggling operations of farmers like Landon Morgan, Vincent ran a proper ranch. Near the end of summer, his hands usually drove several hundred head of cattle to the closest railhead for sale.
Abigail Vincent basked in the warmth of the sun as she strolled through the fields. The girl waved to the farmhands as she passed. Each man warmly returned her smile. On particularly hot days, she made the workers lemonade using a recipe Mrs. Kays taught her. She wore a plain dress, in which she could roam the ranch in comfort, as did May Turner, who walked alongside her.
Although Tobias Vincent was a wealthy man, he did not particularly show it. He often worked with the hands when unfettered by business concerns, and he dressed in simple clothes, unlike the tailored finery of men like Jim Markham. He was known to lend aid or money to those in need. Abigail learned long ago not to hold herself above anyone from town. Like her father, she treated every person with kindness and respect. For this reason, the Vincent family was beloved in Casper.
Over the last year, following the death of his son, the rancher’s disposition had changed considerably. He largely withdrew from public life, retiring to the solace of the ranch. He became very protective of his remaining child, who was his only family left in the world. For her part, Abigail continued to be a light to the people of Casper, though at her father’s request she limited her time spent in town. Tobias had grown especially concerned when the rustler called Brock attempted to assault May in the saloon. On Finley Mason’s advice, May had come to stay with them while the chaos that gripped Casper threatened to rage on eternally.
The two young women walked down a path through the fields that led away from where Abigail and her father lived in a large two-story home that sat upon a tall hill.
“What news is there from town?” May asked.
“More of the sam
e, I fear,” Abigail replied. “Father says the meeting went poorly. Neither Mr. Griffith nor Mr. Markham seem set on giving in.”
“I am afraid for Mr. Griffith,” May said. “I would hate to see him come to harm.”
Abigail nodded. She knew of her friend’s loyalty toward the saloon owner, who paid her far more than he should for her to sing, likely after he learned that she was an orphan. Abigail studied May’s soft expression and tried to reassure her with a smile. Some found it odd that the two girls were such good friends. Abigail was sixteen, and the daughter of one of Casper’s wealthiest men. May, who had been parentless for six of her twenty years, was shier and less trusting of strangers.
“Father isn’t sure how much longer Mr. Griffith will be able to resist,” Abigail said. “Both Mark Forrester and Matthew were killed in the gunfight.”
May swallowed. “Matthew was always kind to me,” she said. “What of Finley?” The young woman’s voice betrayed her concern.
“He’s on the mend, according to Mr. Emerson.”
At the mention of Emerson, the older girl smiled. “Thank God for Mr. Emerson,” May said. They walked down by a wide pond on the outskirts of the forest. “Did he ask after me?” May asked after a time.
Abigail sought out her friend’s brown eyes and grinned. “May Turner, I do believe you have a crush!”
The two girls laughed together, the town’s hardship temporarily forgotten in favor of the seeming trivialities that made life worth living. “You cannot deny he is handsome,” May said.
The younger woman nodded. “But, May, what about Finley? You know how he feels for you.”
May shook her head. “Whatever intentions Finley Mason may have, he has never spoken of them to me.”
The two girls walked along the edge of the forest, talking and reminiscing about old times. Abigail cast a glance toward her house.
“We should turn back,” Abigail said. “Father warned me not to stray too far from home.”
Atonement Page 17
