Now he snickered, making her feel embarrassed and angry. He took the cigarette from his lips before answering. “Well, now, I don’t know about a woman, but you don’t exactly look like one to me. How old are you? Sixteen, maybe? And you look like you weigh all of a hundred pounds with your clothes on.”
Callie placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I am eighteen years old, mister. I don’t even know what I weigh, but I guarantee I’m a lot stronger than you know! Besides that, I’ve helped work a ranch and helped farm most all my life. I can wield a pitchfork, herd cattle, slop hogs, haul feed, drive oxen, harness a team of plow horses and walk behind them, ride good as any man, and I’m not bad with a rifle or even a six-gun! I’m not afraid of anything, and I’m no stranger to violence! I seen my pa get his head kicked in by a horse, and I seen my ma raped and beat up and then murdered! Don’t be calling me a kid, because I’m not! You can wipe that grin right off your pretty face and get serious. You’re a bounty hunter, and I’m in need of one. Plain and simple. You want a job or not?”
His eyebrows shot up in obvious surprise at her response. “You still haven’t told me what the job is.”
“Can’t you figure it out? I just told you I saw my mother raped and murdered. The men who did it rode off with some of our prize horses. I intend to find them and watch them all hang, unless you shoot them instead. It doesn’t make much difference to me, long as they’re dead and can’t do the same thing to some other defenseless, innocent woman, if they haven’t already.”
He took one more drag on his cigarette, then threw it down and stepped it out. He walked a few feet away, pushing back his hat and staring at the horizon as though lost in thought for the moment. “Is there a bounty on them?”
“No.”
“Then how do you expect to pay me?”
“I own a ranch. Ma and I worked it after Pa was killed. When she died, it became mine alone. It’s worth good money now that the railroad’s come. I’ll sign it over to you. Whatever you get for it is yours.”
He looked back at her without turning fully around. “Where does that leave you? How would you fend for yourself after that?”
“I’d find a way. I’m not afraid of hard work. Ten gets you one that I’ll manage on my own. I don’t intend to depend on a man for survival, that’s for sure. Not after—” She hesitated, again feeling the stabbing pain that always came to her insides at the memory of her mother’s murder. “Never mind. Will you take the job or not?”
He shook his head before finally facing her. “And you intend to go with me on this search?”
“That’s the only way to find them. I know their faces like the back of my hand. I’ll never forget them.”
“When did this happen?”
“A year ago. Nobody has been successful in finding anybody who might know the men who did it. They just seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, only I know they are out there somewhere.”
“And where do you intend to look for them?”
She folded her arms, hoping that he just might take the job. “The one place where the soldiers wouldn’t go, and neither would the U.S. marshal, on account of it’s too dangerous for lawmen.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not the Outlaw Trail.”
“Yes, sir. The Outlaw Trail.”
“You intend to go there?”
“I told you, I’m not afraid. And I can handle a gun. I trust you’re pretty decent with them two you wear.”
“Those two. Have you had any schooling?”
“Who cares?” She pouted.
“Not me. Just curious. Your use of the English language could stand some correcting.”
“What?” Callie could not resist light laughter. “You’re a bounty hunter, not an English teacher!”
He sighed, straightening his shoulders. “It just so happens I did used to teach.”
Callie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Lordy! Are you telling the honest truth?”
“I never lie.”
She sobered, dumbfounded by the admission. “How in heck does an English teacher become a bounty hunter?”
“That’s my business.” Now the blue eyes that had shown a small hint of friendliness and humor turned cold again. “And I don’t like the idea of a pretty little thing like you venturing out along the Outlaw Trail. You said you saw your mother raped and murdered. Something goes wrong out there, the same thing could happen to you.”
Pretty little thing? He thought she was pretty? “I’ll take the chance. And if you’re any good with them…those guns, I won’t have to worry about it.”
“A man has only one set of eyes, and they can’t see backward, which is where most murderers like to stand, behind a man instead of in front of him.”
“Yeah? Well, I have a feeling you can sense when somebody is behind you. You’ve searched out plenty of outlaws, and you’re still alive.”
He gave out another long sigh and turned away again, throwing back his head for a quiet moment, then pacing for another few minutes. “I need to think about this,” he finally told her. “And I want to see the deed to that ranch.”
“I’ll show it to you. I’ll take you out there tomorrow, in fact, after the hanging. You’ll see that it’s a nice place. Five hundred acres of good grazing land. It can be ranched, or it can be sold off to settlers for homes. Rawlins is growing pretty good now.”
“Sounds like it’s worth a lot more than the men we’re after.”
“’Course it is. But to me, finding them is worth ten ranches like mine. I just want them found and hanged, mister, no matter what the cost.”
His gaze moved over her appreciatively again, making her fold her arms a little tighter around herself defensively.
“And if you get any ideas while we are out at the ranch alone, or any other time, I’ll shoot you dead,” she added. “That’s a fact.”
For some reason, she suddenly could not look away from those intense blue eyes as he adjusted his hat. “Well, now, little girl, I don’t think you have to worry about that. Consequently, I don’t have to worry about getting shot.”
The remark made her feel like shooting him then and there. She didn’t want him to get any wrong ideas, but for him to say that was next to impossible made her angry. The obvious insult made her boil inside. She squinted in anger as she answered. “Are you saying you’ll help me?”
After another long gaze he turned. “I’m saying I’ll think about it. Where’s your ranch?”
“North of town. We’ll take the Old Mountain Trail about a mile west of Rawlins and then go north. After about three more miles there’s a gate with a sign on it—two C’s cutting through each other. My pa named the ranch after me and him. His name was Clayton Hobbs. I know he always wished I was a boy, but I’m what he got, and I’ve worked just as good as a son would have.”
“No siblings?”
Callie frowned. “What are siblings?” Again she felt embarrassed when she sensed he wanted to laugh at the question. He was forcing himself to stay serious, she just knew it.
“Siblings are brothers or sisters,” he answered.
She looked down to hide her embarrassment at not knowing the meaning of the word. “No. Just me.”
“Well, it appears you turned out just as good as a son.”
Callie shrugged. “I tried.” She looked away. “That’s why I didn’t have much schooling, except what my ma taught me. Farming and ranching take hard work. That doesn’t leave time for what Pa called fancy schooling.” She looked straight at him again, holding her chin higher. “But I can read and write and spell pretty decent. And I know my numbers.” Why on earth was she explaining this to a complete stranger who killed men or brought them in for hanging—for money? She still could not quite believe that was the man she looked at now.
“Seems like you’ve done well, considering. And your pa was wrong to think you didn’t need schooling.”
“Well, that doesn’t much matter now. You coming out to the ranch, then, for sure?�
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He nodded. “I’ll come after the hanging.”
“Fine. I intend to watch it myself.”
He was already walking away. “See you then, Miss Hobbs.”
Callie watched him leave without another word. She had more questions, but apparently he’d said all he meant to say for then. She shook her head. Christian Mercy sure wasn’t anything like she’d imagined he would be. What the heck was she getting herself into?
Chapter Three
Callie was glad she took a room in town the night before. That way she could be one of the first ones at the hanging platform and assure herself a front-row view. She sat on the boardwalk in front of Hank’s Supply watching the town come alive as peddlers rolled up the canvas flaps of their wagons and again displayed their various wares. Whole families began to gradually gather, taking their places around the platform area. Most women dressed as though going to church, their children cleaned up the same way, many men wearing suits.
Callie again wore a simple, short-sleeved calico dress. She really didn’t have anything fancier. She was aware that some women thought short sleeves on a dress were too revealing, but those were mostly women who’d come to the area from the East. Anybody born and raised out here, or at least here since a baby, didn’t worry much about what was proper and what wasn’t. The only thing you worried about was being comfortable, and sometimes that even meant wearing pants instead of dresses when you were running a ranch. She’d done that too, and she didn’t care what anybody thought about it. She’d led more a boy’s life than a girl’s anyway. This calico dress was about as fancy as she’d ever dressed, and there were no ruffles or frills about it.
She never did learn how to put her hair up fancy. Today she had simply brushed it out, pulling the sides back with combs. Nothing more. She didn’t even own a frilly hat, not even a straw one. Her only hats were regular wide-brimmed hats for riding the range. She’d tried on one of her mother’s fancy straw bonnets once and felt silly in it.
“Callie dear, what on earth are you doing here?”
Callie stood up to greet Betty Sooner, who helped her husband run Hank’s Supply. Betty and Hank had both been good to Callie since her mother’s death, giving her wholesale prices on supplies whenever possible and always buying any eggs and potatoes she brought to them.
“I came to watch the hanging,” Callie answered, “just like everybody else.” She noticed that Betty, too, was dressed up for the occasion. She wore a lovely brown taffeta dress trimmed with white lace at the shoulders, the bodice, and at the ends of the sleeves. A flowered hat was perched on her head, hiding most of the woman’s graying hair, which Callie knew was twisted into a knot on top of her head. Betty always wore her hair that way. She noticed that today the woman even wore white lace gloves.
Betty put her hands on Callie’s shoulders before she spoke again. “Honey, you shouldn’t do this. You’ve been through so much. And when are you going to sell that ranch and come live with us, where you’ll be safe?”
Callie reached up and took hold of the woman’s hands. “I might do just that. And I thank you for always offering, Betty. Fact is, I might be giving up the ranch in a couple of months. I’ll explain after the hanging. We’ll have more time to talk then.”
Betty squeezed her hands. “I’m glad you’re finally considering it. We worry about you out there all by yourself, especially after—”
“I know.” Callie let go of her hands. “I just couldn’t bring myself to leave right away. That ranch meant so much to my folks, and they’re both buried there. It wasn’t fair to neither one of them, how they died. And Pa always meant for me to go on living there, except he thought it would be with a husband, someday in the future. He never thought he’d die so young. Ma neither.” She turned to watch the building crowd. “I guess life just doesn’t turn out like anybody plans it.”
Betty patted her shoulder. “Well, I don’t know what your plans are now, but you be sure to talk to us before you make any big decisions. Promise me that.”
Callie knew Betty and Hank would both disagree passionately with what she really planned to do, but she also knew she’d have to tell them so they wouldn’t wonder what had happened to her once she left with Christian Mercy. “I promise,” she replied.
“And do come with us after the hanging,” Betty added. “We’re going to have a picnic with the Reeses—fried chicken, biscuits, and lots more.”
Callie faced her again. “I’d like that, ma’am, but I have other plans after the hanging. I have to go back to the ranch.”
“Oh, my dear, can’t it wait?”
“No, ma’am, it can’t. I do thank you though.” Callie turned away again, not wanting to have to explain at the moment. Preacher Holliday came through the crowd then, leading a robed choir from the Methodist church, who all sang “Rock of Ages.” She looked around for Christian Mercy, still hardly able to get over the irony of his name. He was nowhere to be seen, and she wondered if he would really keep his promise to come with her after the hanging to look at her ranch. A young girl and boy ran past her then, up the steps, around behind her, then jumped off the boardwalk. A woman darted past, chasing them. She scolded them soundly when she caught them and herded them back toward where their father waited. She apologized to Callie as she hurried by.
“It’s all right,” Callie answered. She watched the woman rejoin her husband, who lifted the boy to his shoulders. The sight made her wonder if she would ever be a wife and a mother. Just then she couldn’t imagine being intimate with any man, even if she thought she loved him.
The crowd quieted as Preacher Holliday began a sermon about the price of sin. He went on for a good hour and a half. Children grew restless. A few cried. Some ran off to play, and this time their mothers did not bother chasing after them. Finally the preacher finished, and the choir began more hymns. Most joined in, singing “Shall We Gather at the River,” “Love Divine,” then “Abide with Me.”
The crowd parted again, and Callie stretched her neck to see that this time it was the three robbers and murderers who were making their way toward the hanging platform, their hands tied behind their backs. Behind them walked Sheriff Taylor and his deputies, as well as a U.S. marshal…and Christian Mercy. Callie was relieved to see him, fearing he’d changed his mind and planned to leave without helping her. The man wore a clean shirt, blue calico, a dark blue bandanna tied at his neck. He looked clean shaven, and from what she could tell, he’d gotten a haircut. The curls at his neck didn’t show. He carried a repeating rifle, and he wore both his six-guns. The sheriff, his men, and the marshal also carried rifles.
Apparently they considered the men they herded toward the platform as very dangerous, and Callie couldn’t help wondering at the fact that Christian Mercy had brought all three of them in on his own. He must be pretty darn good, she thought. It made her more confident that she’d picked the right man to help her find her mother’s killers. She just wished these were the men, so her search would be done and over with. But none of them fit the faces burned into her memory.
The condemned men reached the steps going up to the platform, and the first man, the biggest, meanest-looking one, went to his knees and began sobbing. Callie could not feel sorry for him. He’d helped rob and kill innocent people. A little boy had been shot, and Callie did not doubt that was the one thing that had caused the jury who’d condemned them to ask for the death penalty for all three men. The three killers had been brought to Rawlins from Cheyenne because the parents of the dead little boy lived here. Willa and Tom Truan had insisted the men be executed right here in their hometown. They stood right in front of the hanging platform now, their faces as unmoving as stone. Beside them stood the little boy’s older brother and sister, looking more awestruck than upset by the occasion.
Sheriff Taylor told the first man to get up and face just punishment. Callie knew from newspaper descriptions that he was the one called Conner Hayes. Remaining bent over, Hayes got to his feet; but then he suddenly ra
mmed his head into Taylor’s middle, sending the sheriff sprawling. Women screamed as he ran into the crowd. In a split second Christian Mercy was on him, ramming the butt end of his rifle into the middle of the man’s back. Hayes cried out with pain and fell, landing with his face in mud left from a light rain during the night.
Mercy jerked the man to his feet as though he weighed nothing, even though Hayes was taller and heavier. “Get back where you belong!” Mercy growled, kicking the man’s rear as he herded him back to where the deputies and the marshal held guns on the other two, forcing them up the steps.
“Why don’t you just shoot me now, you goddamn son of a bitch!” Hayes yelled at Mercy.
Women gasped and covered their children’s ears.
“Christian Mercy is just as bad as we are!” Hayes yelled at the crowd then. “He’s a stinking, no-good killer who goes after men for money even if they’re innocent! He should hang with us!”
Good, Callie thought. That was just the kind of man she needed. Still, what would it be like traveling with him?
People stared at Mercy as he kept poking Hayes with his rifle barrel, forcing him up the steps toward imminent death.
“Shooting is too good for you,” Mercy growled at him. “Too quick and easy. I hope your neck doesn’t break, Hayes. It will take you longer to die that way.”
Yes! That was exactly Callie’s desire for her mother’s killers. Now Mercy was close enough that she could see that cold, deadly look in his blue eyes. Here was a man who could be as ruthless as necessary when the occasion called for it.
“Christian Mercy! You hear that, folks?” Hayes yelled. “His name is Christian Mercy! How’s that for a name for a bounty hunter! It’s almost sacrilegious, like taking the Lord’s name in vain!”
“Shut up!” Mercy told him.
Hayes faced him. “Why? I’m gonna die anyway, Mercy, thanks to you! What are you gonna do to me now?”
Mercy started to turn away, then suddenly he whirled and slammed his rifle butt across Hayes’s mouth. The man stumbled backward, and women screamed and gasped. Even a few men looked away, and one woman fainted when blood instantly began pouring from Hayes’s split cheek. Callie did not doubt that several of his teeth had been knocked loose.
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