Atonement

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  “What have I done?” he asked aloud to no one in particular. Again he looked to the ranch. The sun was shining brightly for now, but in a few hours the sun would set. He knew all too well what would follow. Big Jim would let Charlie and the others have their fun with Emerson, and then they would execute him as an example to the townspeople.

  The mayor wondered what he could have done differently. There were too many scenarios to count. Had he always been such a coward? He remembered almost drowning in the river many years ago, as a child. His father dove in to save him and pulled him out. Russell had never gone swimming again. Was that when it started?

  “I failed,” he muttered. The mayor dropped the bottle. “I failed everyone.”

  “There he is!” someone shouted. Russell held up a hand to block the sun from his eyes. A group of people approached him on the road.

  The mayor recognized the people immediately. Landon Morgan, Rudolph Griffith, Tobias and Abigail Vincent, Sheriff Newton, and May Turner all huddled outside the general store. Everyone wore a look of worry. The two girls stared at him with accusing eyes.

  “What did you do?” May Turner demanded.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Russell insisted.

  Landon Morgan socked him square in the face, and Russell hit the ground. He stared up incredulously at the farmer and touched his face. For an old man, Morgan still packed a punch.

  “That was uncalled for, Landon,” Sheriff Newton said.

  “I saw you sitting on horseback with Charlie’s gang on the Vincent ranch,” May said. “Don’t try to deny it.”

  Tobias Vincent put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Russell, is this true?” he asked.

  “I did what was best for the town,” the mayor answered from the ground. He picked himself up and dusted off his clothes, looking to the sheriff for support.

  Newton looked away. “You handed him over to them.”

  Russell didn’t answer.

  “What did they do with Mr. Emerson?” Rudolph Griffith asked. The businessman’s voice was thick with concern. “Where is he?”

  “Is he dead?” Landon Morgan demanded.

  The mayor took a few steps back. “He was alive when they rode away. If he isn’t dead yet, he soon will be.”

  Tobias Vincent looked to Newton. “Sheriff, you have to do something.”

  “What can he do?” Russell said. “One man against the entire gang? He’d be killed before he ever neared the ranch.”

  “We could round up a group of men willing to fight,” Griffith said to the sheriff. “You could deputize them.”

  “I hate to say it, Mr. Griffith, but the mayor is right. Even if I could find enough men, it would take at least a day. I figure Mr. Emerson doesn’t have that long. Besides, everyone here is terrified of Charlie. You know how it is.”

  “This is your fault,” May Tuner said to the mayor. “He trusted you, and you betrayed him.”

  Russell did not protest.

  Tobias Vincent glared at the mayor. He grabbed him by the collar. “Those bastards killed my son. They tried to take my daughter. Emerson was the only man who stood up to them, and you turned him over. What thirty pieces of silver did Big Jim promise you in return?” He threw the mayor against the wall of the general store.

  “I did it for the town. Jim said he would call Charlie off. He promised there would be peace from now on.

  “Jim Markham is a liar,” Tobias said with disgust. “You of all people should have known that.”

  Landon Morgan stared into Russell’s eyes, his gaze full of contempt. “You’re through, Hale. When word gets out that you’ve been helping Big Jim, your life won’t be worth a nickel. Now get out of my sight, or I’ll fetch my rifle.”

  The mayor turned tail and ran.

  * * * * *

  Christian knew he was going to die. It was only a matter of when.

  The mountain air was cold and thin, making it painful for him to breathe. He was bound standing against a post in darkness that threatened to engulf the entire ranch, despite the full moon.

  Christian fought to stay conscious. It would be so easy to give in, to let the blackness take him, but he did not want to give the rustlers the satisfaction. He would face the end bravely and without fear, just as he had during the war.

  He coughed and tasted blood. He wasn’t sure if the taste came from internal injuries or the cuts on his mouth from the rustlers’ fists. His throat was parched. It felt like ages had passed since he’d last had water. At the moment, they were ignoring him. Christian counted the respite as a blessing. The gangsters had taken turns beating him since binding him to the post hours ago. Even some of Big Jim’s hands had gotten involved. Charlie Sheldon had yet to participate. The outfit’s boss merely watched the others from a distance. Evidently, he was waiting for something special. Perhaps he was hoping to break the man who had caused him so much trouble.

  Seeing that the rustlers were no longer paying attention to him, Christian began tugging at his restraints. It was no use. The ropes were too tight, and what was left of his strength deserted him quickly. His right eye was almost swollen shut. His clothes were torn, and his skin was cut and bruised. One man had even burned him with a poker from the fire that burned a few feet away. Christian let his muscles relax and his head hang forward. Although his body was bruised, the real punishment had yet to begin. Charlie made it clear that he intended to torture him before killing him in retaliation for the men Christian had killed.

  Christian remembered waking on the back of a horse, his hands tied behind his back. The rustlers spat and cussed at him, and Christian stared back with quiet defiance. They would not break his spirit―at least not while he lived. The end was coming though, no matter what fresh terrors the night brought with it.

  * * * * *

  Sometime before dark, Big Jim personally greeted him. The large man approached with a rare smile spread over his face.

  “Mr. Emerson. We meet again.”

  Christian’s body retained just enough strength to struggle against his restraints and reach for the rancher.

  Big Jim took a couple steps back, his smile fading. “You should have just left town. Now everyone in Casper knows what comes from standing up to me.”

  “Tell yourself what you want,” Christian whispered. “Underneath your money and your power, you’re nothing, Markham. Without Charlie Sheldon behind you, you wouldn’t last two days in this town.”

  Big Jim sneered. “I made Charlie Sheldon,” he said. “And I helped build this town. Casper belongs to me now.” He reached up toward Christian’s face, and the prisoner flinched. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to strike you. I’ll leave that to the others.” He touched the cut on Christian’s mouth. “Tonight, Charlie will have his fun with you. Your screams will carry down from the mountain, and they will be loud.”

  Big Jim pressed his finger into the wound, and Christian cringed from the pain.

  “In the morning, you will hang. Your body will be left hanging from the noose for days to bloat in the sun. Then the men will cut you down and drag your corpse in the streets of Casper for all to see.” Big Jim stepped away and gazed into the fire. “Goodbye, Mr. Emerson.” He turned his back on the beaten man.

  “Markham,” Christian called out. Big Jim turned around, and Christian looked him directly in the eyes. “I told you when we first met―men like you always come to the same end.”

  Big Jim clenched his jaw. “You won’t live to see it,” he spat, turning to one of the rustlers. “Lester, give Mr. Emerson a lesson in manners.”

  * * * * *

  Time passed until his encounter with Markham felt like hours ago. Christian suspected Big Jim had already retired to bed for the night, like most of the men.

  “It looks like he’s still got some life i
n him,” a voice said.

  Christian looked up weakly. He recognized two of the rustlers from the shootout outside the saloon. The two men took turns beating him, and Christian had to fight to stay awake. He could do nothing aside from glare and grimace in pain.

  One of the rustlers pulled out a gun and held it against his face. The cool metal caused a shiver to run down Christian’s body, gooseflesh painfully pricking his many wounds. The man dragged the gun along Christian’s cheek.

  “I wonder how much he’d pay us to put him out of his misery,” the rustler asked his friend.

  “Not enough,” the other man replied. “Charlie would kill us.”

  The rustler nodded and returned the gun to his holster. He made his fist into a ball and punched the prisoner in the jaw. Christian’s vision blurred. He heard the sound of laughter, and the two men left.

  Christian shook his head vigorously, trying to remain conscious. His eyes searched the darkness for rustlers. He was alone. The campfire closest to him continued to burn long after the other fires were reduced to embers. He shivered from the cold, wishing he were closer to the warmth of the fire.

  A shape moved in the dark. Christian found himself aware of a presence in front of him. A large man, distorted by the firelight, hovered over him like a spectral presence.

  “We’re not supposed to kill you,” the man said simply. His words were muffled. There was something familiar about him, though Christian wasn’t sure why.

  Christian’s eyes moved down to the large man’s side. In his hands, the rustler held a knife. The blade shimmered in the light of the fire.

  “Charlie’s planning on waiting until morning, when you’re spent. But you hurt me.” It was then that Christian recognized the rustler. It was Brock, the man from the saloon who had threatened May Turner. By stepping in to protect her, Christian had inadvertently started a war with Charlie Sheldon and his men. But if he had it to do over again, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. Some things were worth dying for.

  The man plunged the knife into Christian’s shoulder. Christian started to scream, but only a weak sound came out. The man ripped the knife out. He held it at eye level. Christian’s blood glistened in the moonlight.

  “Nobody hurts me,” he whispered. Then he slid the blade into the prisoner’s side.

  Christian had never experienced such pain in all his life. He cried out in a whisper, scraping his throat raw. Brock pulled out the blade and left him like that, bleeding and bound to the post. Christian knew he had to keep focused to remain awake, but the pain and loss of blood proved too much for him.

  Before his world faded to darkness, he thought of a girl he loved in another life, before the war had changed his world forever.

  Emily, Christian thought weakly. He pictured her dark hair and fair skin. A part of him had always believed he would see her again.

  He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Morning seemed so long away. It would not be that long before death claimed him.

  * * * * *

  In the dead of night, the ranch appeared like a husk under the black sky. The moon was hidden behind a wall of clouds. The rustlers and the ranch hands had abandoned the outdoors in favor of their beds hours ago, leaving the unconscious man strapped to the post exposed to the elements.

  The fires had all but gone out. Everything was quiet. Christian remained tied to the post, waiting to die. He was alone on the forsaken mountain.

  Except he was not alone.

  A small figure trudged up the mountainside, cloaked in shadow as he climbed ever higher toward the ranch above. The man wore two silver-tipped pistols strapped to his sides.

  Finley kept his gaze trained on the ranch as he traveled the winding trail. His legs burned from the climb, but he continued on, undeterred. He was determined to rescue his friend, even if no one else would come to Emerson’s defense.

  It hadn’t taken Finley long to put the pieces together after May told him that she saw Russell Hale with Charlie’s gang at the ranch. By the time Finley returned to Tobias Vincent’s ranch, Emerson and the rustlers were long gone. It was then that the young man spotted Emerson’s pistols. He retrieved the weapons and sat in silence for several minutes, unable to decide what to do next.

  No one had scaled the mountain before. No one dared challenge Big Jim or Charlie Sheldon, at least not until Emerson set foot in Casper. When Finley first started riding toward the mountain, his heart pounded with fear. As darkness settled in and he began the climb on foot, the young man’s courage grew. He would not abandon Emerson to die on the mountain, no matter the risk.

  Eventually, he came to the end of the path. The lights of the ranch came into view. As Finley crept toward the homestead, he kept his eyes on the barracks for any sign of life. When he spotted Emerson, his heart sank. His friend wasn’t moving. He looked bad.

  Finley moved as quickly as he dared to close the distance between them. He kept one pistol drawn. The young man was prepared to fire if necessary, but he knew doing so would wake every man within earshot. He quickly took in the lay of the land. Big Jim’s homestead stood nestled against the mountain. There were several buildings on either side of it. Finley spotted a barn filled with horses. He slipped into the barn and led one of Big Jim’s horses from the stall for the trip back down the mountain. He cautiously led the horse toward Emerson, who was barely visible in the darkness. The prisoner was a little over forty yards away, exposed. There was no way for Finley to keep out of sight. If anyone emerged now from any of the buildings, he was done for.

  When he reached Emerson, the young man took out a knife and started cutting through the ropes.

  “Wake up, Mr. Emerson,” he whispered. “It’s me.” His eyes moved down to the knife wound in Emerson’s side, and Finley saw that he was badly hurt.

  His friend stirred for a few moments. “Finley?” he asked weakly. Before Finley could respond, Emerson moaned and lost consciousness once more.

  When Finley cut through the last of the ropes, his friend’s body slumped forward against him. Emerson was heavier than the young man expected. He turned and started to lift him onto the horse when he heard a pistol click behind him.

  “Don’t move,” a cold voice said. “Turn around slowly.”

  In that moment, Finley thought they were both going to die. He turned around and found himself staring into the face of Quinn Blackwell.

  “I’ll be,” Quinn said. “You’ve got grit, boy.”

  Finley returned his gaze with a resolute expression.

  Quinn studied him contemplatively, his gun trained on the young man. Finally, Quinn lowered the gun.

  Finley’s eyes widened.

  “I was never here,” the rustler said. “Got it?”

  Finley nodded. He had no idea why Quinn would choose to spare them, and at the moment he did not particularly care. Quinn slipped into the night. By the time Finley mounted the horse with Emerson in the saddle, Quinn had disappeared.

  Finley stared at the winding trail leading down the mountain. He prodded the horse and started on his way.

  “Just hold on, Mr. Emerson,” he whispered softly. “A little farther.”

  * * * * *

  It was a short while after first light that the rustlers realized there would be no hanging. One of the hands discovered the abandoned post to which Emerson had been tied and ran back inside to alert the others. The bell rang loudly, causing ranch hands and rustlers alike to spill outside to see the cause of the mayhem.

  Quinn tried his best to act surprised. He could have easily killed the stable boy before the young man freed the prisoner, but what would that have profited him? To be sure, letting them live was a gamble, but Emerson was the only man who had a shot at bringing down Charlie from the outside. Quinn had sensed his opportunity and took it. Now it was time to let the chips fall where they would.
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  He heard an angry roar from the abandoned post, which he recognized as Charlie’s. Quinn searched out his boss. There was murder in his eyes.

  “How did this happen?” Charlie questioned. No one answered. He kicked the post in his rage, spit flying from his mouth. Charlie walked to the edge of the cliff and stared down from the mountain.

  Quinn found his way to Charlie’s side.

  “They took him,” Charlie whispered. He glared over the town of Casper with murderous intent.

  Quinn had rarely seen him this angry. He started to speak, but stopped. Better to let Charlie finish.

  “They’ll pay for this,” Charlie said bitterly. “Mark my words, Quinn. The waters of the Platte will run red with their blood.”

  Before Quinn could open his mouth, a loud voice boomed behind them.

  “Where is he?” Big Jim demanded. The rancher’s beady eyes scanned the area before eventually settling on Charlie Sheldon. Charlie turned and saw their employer approaching.

  “You let him escape.”

  Charlie’s expression darkened, and Quinn took the opportunity to back away.

  “Not now, Jim,” Charlie hissed.

  “You little fool,” Big Jim spat. “You had dozens of men at your disposal, and you let him get away?”

  Charlie’s face shook with silent rage.

  “You utter failure,” Big Jim said, continuing to berate him. “I should know better than to trust someone like you.”

  Charlie’s pale face had turned an aggravated shade of red. He breathed heavily, his hand balling into a fist.

  “You aren’t fit to run this outfit, you illiterate. I’m through with you.”

  Charlie’s face abruptly took on a look of unnerving calm. He inhaled deeply and stared again at the town below.

  “We are through,” he echoed with a nod. Charlie’s dark gaze fell upon the rancher. Big Jim swallowed and took a few steps back. Charlie advanced on him slowly, with evil intent.