Rebel Outlaw

by Carol Arens

  “I wouldn’t be here if she was. Take off her dress, Curly Top.”

  “It’s no longer hers.” Edith backed into the kitchen, her hands crossed over the bodice of the fine wool.

  “That’s the trouble with this family.” He advanced, she retreated. At the back door he lunged and caught her arm. “You all figure just because you touch something it belongs to you. Take off the damn dress or I’ll rip it off you.”

  “It’s cold outside, you’d let your own cousin freeze?”

  “Damn straight, I would. Just like you meant to do to Holly Jane.”

  “I left her my dress.”

  He couldn’t remember a time when he’d wanted to thrash a Travers more than he did right now...even his old man, who had been the worst of them all.

  He curled his hands into fists so he wouldn’t strike her. “What you gave her was a smelly rag.”

  “You always were an outsider, blood kin or not.”

  “The dress, Edith.”

  She ripped the front open. One button skittered, pinging across the floor.

  She glared at him, clearly defying what she considered to be his leadership.

  “She won’t want you, you know. A fine lady like her and you a Travers.”

  “There was a time I thought the same, but the last name doesn’t make me one of you. It’s the fine lady who showed me that.”

  Stepping out of the gown, she dropped it on the floor. Her underclothes were stained. Sweat marks showed that Edith hadn’t bathed in some time.

  “No wonder you’re a spinster, cousin.”

  She raked her ragged fingernails at him but he grabbed her arm and hauled her outside. He left the tainted gown where it lay.

  “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll gag you,” he warned.

  Edith scowled. He shot the menacing glare back at her and dragged her around to the front porch.

  It smelled heavily of the kerosene he had drenched it with before dawn.

  He glanced around, relieved to see Hattie carrying her babies, followed closely by Libby toting her sister. Half a minute behind them he spotted Joe and Holly Jane, coming fast, each gripping a frying pan.

  “What’s going on here?” Edith yanked against his grip.

  He let go of her so that he could reach under the porch stair where he had stashed a rag saturated with kerosene.

  “I’m taking my leave of this family for good. Say goodbye to the Broken Brand.” He held the rag high and struck a match.

  The flame ate the soaked cloth in under three seconds. He tossed it on the porch.

  “Better skedaddle.” He watched flames gobble the dry wood. Couldn’t deny that the sight was satisfying. “Won’t be anything left in a minute.”

  Edith stared at him with her mouth open, seemingly too astounded to move.

  “Bunkhouse is next. You might want to sound the alarm.”

  She spun about and ran, her screech echoing shrilly in her wake.

  He ducked into a small building between the bunkhouse and the now fully engulfed main house. This shed held tack and rusty tools. After he had checked to be sure no one was inside, he set the blaze.

  The only wood he planned to let stand was the barn. Could be an innocent critter inside that Holly Jane would grieve over.

  That thought brought him up short. How had she gotten so deeply inside him that he cared about the fate of chicks and mice?

  He shook himself and returned his attention to the task before him.

  The building went up in a whoosh. Fire roared and snapped, but that didn’t keep him from hearing Edith screeching at the others, calling his name and pointing at the glowing skeleton of the main house.

  He figured the marshal and his men had seen the smoke by now and would be on their way.

  The lawman had wanted to come in, guns blazing and oust the outlaws on his own terms, but Colt had terms of his own. Because Holly Jane was being held, he’d demanded the time to get her out and the children with her.

  For his own satisfaction, he had stood firm on being the one to obliterate the place. He and the marshal had shaken hands on it. Once those two things were accomplished, Marshal Prentis was free to ride in and round up the rest.

  The time for purging the Broken Brand was past due; he ought to have done it years ago.

  Colt made a quick sweep of the bunkhouse. As he’d figured, everyone had fled to the main house to watch it crumble.

  In a minute they’d run back this way, but by then he’d be setting fire to the hostage shed. That one would give him the most satisfaction.

  * * *

  Sparks spit from the body of flames looking like riled hornets searching for something fresh to incinerate. Some went straight up, arching and angry at finding nothing; others shot sideways, and the folks standing too close had to swat at embers in their clothing.

  Holly Jane had never seen a structure burn. Back in Friendship Springs, the barbershop had caught fire, but it had happened in the night and she had been a child tucked safely in her bed.

  Even from this distance the blaze had a voice. It roared and snapped. It flared suddenly and twisted into the sky with a whir.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that,” Hattie gasped while her infant fussed. “I declare, the smoke is black as pitch.”

  The only building spared from the flames was the barn.

  A figure dashed toward them, running through the smoke.

  Relief washed through her when it turned out to be Colt, smelling of soot and breathing hard.

  He wrapped her up in a hug and squeezed.

  “Get everyone to the top of the hill. The marshal and his boys will be here soon, and Cyrus won’t like it.”

  “I won’t go without you.”

  “Damn it, Holly Jane.” He kissed her cheek, and she felt the circle of ash it left behind. “I’m counting on you to get the children to safety.”

  “Let Hattie do it. I’ll help you.”

  He grasped her by the shoulders and stared down hard at her.

  “You can’t help me. The Traverses came out of the bunkhouse armed. The marshal and his men will come in shooting. Get those people up the hill. I’ll be along.”

  “But you don’t have a gun!”

  “Don’t need one.” He kissed her other cheek then dashed away, disappearing in a roll of smoke billowing over the ground.

  “Come on.” Hattie tugged on her arm. “From what I’ve heard Colt’s better with his knife than most men are with six bullets.”

  Somehow, that didn’t give Holly Jane the comfort that Hattie had intended. If each of the Traverses had six bullets and every one of them was aimed at Colt, it didn’t matter how stupendous he was with that long knife.

  Since there was nothing she could do for him below, she hurried after the children.

  Hattie led the way up the hill while Holly Jane guarded the rear. It wasn’t likely that anyone was paying attention to their escape. So much drama was going on below that they wouldn’t be missed.

  “Just the same,” she said to Butcher, patting his shoulder while she walked and craning her neck to see what was going on near the corral. “It’s a relief to have you here.... Good dog.”

  It didn’t take long for the buildings to burn. With the noise of the flames becoming quieter, she could make out the voices below more clearly.

  She stopped while the others climbed higher. With the smoke less intense, she was able to see figures moving below.

  “You’re a low-down, snake in the pants traitor, Colt Wesson.” Cyrus’s voice carried up the hill, louder than the others. “Who gave you the say-so to come riding in here and destroy our ranch?”

  “You did. When you kidnapped Holly Jane.”

  “That was so’s you’d take your proper pl
ace with a properly taken bride.”

  “There’s nothing proper about this place or any of you.”

  “That’s the point, ain’t it?” Cyrus pounded his fists at a puff of smoke drifting past, his agitation clear from halfway up the hill. “Livin’ as we please, taking as we please? It was a fine life until you burned it all to cinders.”

  “You all but sent me an engraved invitation, Mutton Head.”

  “May Pappy Travers’ ghost haunt you for the rest of your life,” Cyrus cursed.

  “What rest of his life?” Edith shouted. “Shoot him! That’s what Pappy Travers would want you to do.”

  Holly Jane gasped. She locked her knees and clenched her fists to keep panic from laying her flat.

  Maybe she couldn’t help...but maybe she could.

  She had to try. How would she ever take another breath if she remained safely on the hill watching while Colt was murdered by his own family.

  She glanced up the hill. Hattie and the children were nearly at the top.

  When she spun about to run back down the hill, she slammed square into the chest of a short but stout man.

  He clamped his wide, blunt fingers around her throat.

  “Where do you think you’re getting to, little lady?” His voice sounded like sand, coarse and dry. His slit-shaped eyes stared at her, cool as a reptile’s.

  From higher up the hill, she heard young Joe shout her name.

  The man gripping her shook his head, whistling low. “Someone’s going to pay for this mess. I reckon it ought to be you.”

  Voices filtered up the hill, as clear as if the speakers stood a foot away.

  Even if Colt were within reaching distance, she wouldn’t call out for help. With bullets threatening, the last thing he needed to do was worry about her.

  “What about blood obligation, Cyrus?” She heard Colt say, calm as could be. “Pappy set store in being loyal to blood.”

  She scratched at the fingers holding her, trying to pry them off.

  “Kindly remove your hands from me.” She used the same tone on her assailant as she would use on a stubborn suitor and prayed that he didn’t detect the quaking under his fingers.

  The wide fellow growled and bared his teeth. He didn’t notice that the sound caught Butcher’s attention.

  “Been sick to death of hearing Cyrus talk like paradise was going to come to earth once he brought you here and Colt started leading the raids.”

  “It seems you don’t hold with blood obligation the way Cyrus does.”

  “I ain’t no Travers, don’t feel no obligation whatsoever.” The pressure around her neck tightened. Dark stars winked in the corner of her vision. “With you and him out of the way, I’ll have me a ranch...I’ll make Travers, or whatever I decide to call them, a name to be feared far and wide.”

  Without a rumble of warning, Butcher leaped upon the man, knocked him to the ground and dragged him from Holly Jane.

  Loss of air had weakened her and she dipped to her knees, watching while the fat man reached for the gun in his holster.

  The dog moved fast. He chomped down on her attacker’s arm above the elbow. Blood spurt, a red fountain darkening the dirt. The man cried out, twisting, trying to break free of the teeth ripping into his arm.

  After a moment he went still, his flesh as pale as death.

  Holly Jane crawled over to him. She plucked the gun from his holster.

  “Good boy, Butcher...good dog.” He wagged his tail, looking docile even with blood dripping from the fur on his chin.

  Joe stood over her, breathing hard from the run down the hill. She handed the weapon to him.

  “That’s Pete. Hope he’s dead,” Joe said. “He can’t force Libby to marry him if he’s dead.”

  She touched Pete’s neck, feeling for a pulse.

  “He isn’t dead.” The cold sweat of his skin slicked her hand. She wiped it on Edith’s skirt. “The marshal will be here soon to deal with him. Can you watch, keep the gun handy, in case he comes to before that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The boy squatted beside the outlaw, staring at his face, no doubt watching for a flicker of consciousness so that he could ready the weapon.

  “Stay here, Butcher.” She stroked his neck. “Good boy.”

  She stood up then hurried down the hill. It was only a few seconds before she heard the pad of canine footsteps behind her.

  The standoff didn’t shift while she scrambled down, but tension charged the scene, drawing its stringy fingers around Colt and the outlaws facing him.

  Cyrus flexed his hand in an imitation of drawing his gun. The resentment in his expression looked lethal.

  Flanking Cyrus on the left, Edith stood in her underclothes looking as though she would happily rip Colt to shreds with her nasty, ragged fingernails.

  To the right of Cyrus, was a man, probably the other cousin. His suspenders drooped over his portly belly. He gripped a gun in his fist.

  Beside him stood a woman who resembled a slattern more than a wife. She clapped her hands. A twist in her smile indicated that she was enjoying every moment of this showdown and hoping for a bloody end.

  Praise Glory that because of Butcher, there was one less villain to face. She glanced up the hill. Joe stood with his knees locked, holding the gun in both hands. Even though he was only a child, she thought he would shoot to protect the others on the hill.

  Mercy, she could use that weapon. It couldn’t be so difficult to use, just point at something and pull the trigger.

  She glanced between Colt, with his knife still sheathed, and Joe, three minutes up the hill. The gun might as well be a hundred miles away for all the help it would be.

  “What are you waiting for, Cyrus?” Edith screeched, a foot from her brother’s ear. “Shoot him.”

  “You keep out of man’s business,” Cyrus snarled at his sister.

  “Maybe I would if you’d begin it.”

  Cyrus punched Edith hard with his elbow. She fell on the dirt, striking her head with a nasty thump. Her foot turned beneath her weight, tweaking it at an unnatural angle.

  Holly Jane stared at Colt’s back. Terror stole her breath. Any second now a deadly crimson splotch might bloom between his shoulders.

  Colt faced two men who had guns and possibly twelve shots between them. He had one throw of his blade.

  There wasn’t a blessed thing she could do to help him other than hold on to the dog and remain as still as the stone under her boot. The smallest distraction could cause his death.

  “There’s things need to be said,” Cyrus announced, then glanced sideways at his portly cousin. He nodded at the man’s weapon. “Then we can shoot.”

  The cousin didn’t holster his gun, but he did lower it.

  “Never took you for a killer, Cyrus.” Colt scratched his ear, casually placing his hand within reaching distance of the Arkansas Toothpick. “You held my pappy up as leader, followed him like a devoted puppy on all his crimes, but the one thing the old man wasn’t, was a killer.”

  “Don’t you call on Pappy Travers’ memory.” Cold sunshine sparkled on the sweat beginning to dampen Cyrus’s forehead...and, Holly Jane hoped, his gun hand. “I was wrong when I thought you could take his place. You’ve been trouble since your ma died giving you birth. Can’t remember when you weren’t a cuss and a rotter.”

  “Can’t recall when you were any better.” While he spoke, Colt circled slowly west, making both men pivot toward him.

  “Where you going?” the other cousin yelled.

  “Just getting a better view of your house in ashes, Jelly Belly.”

  She could see Colt in profile now. He was grinning, trying, she was certain, to stir the hornet’s nest.

  Any slim hope of a peaceful exit from the ranch was gone. Very clearly, from
the burning of the buildings to taunting his cousins, Colt did not intend to let the Traverses continue as they had. If the price was his life, that’s what he seemed willing to pay.

  She was not.

  It wouldn’t be much, but she moved her foot, slowly stooped and picked up the stone. Beside her, she felt a tremor shimmy through Butcher’s shoulders.

  The ground rumbled faintly. She prayed that it was the rumble of horses’ hooves and the arrival of the marshal and his deputies.

  “Since you’re so partial to fire, I reckon you’ll enjoy hell,” Jelly Belly said, and raised his gun.

  Cyrus began to do the same, but he hesitated. Clearly, there was a battle within him. It twisted his expression so that he looked lethal and pitiful all at once. He wanted to kill Colt because he had ruined the family. He shouldn’t because of blood obligation. Kin was kin, no matter what. His thoughts were so obvious they might have been written on a page...in blood.

  “He’s no kin of ours, not anymore,” Edith moaned, sitting on the ground and holding her head in her hands. “You do it, Gordie, since Cyrus is too weak.”

  Cyrus jerked his six-shooter up; it wavered in his grip.

  “You shouldn’t have forced me to it, Colt.” Cyrus shook his head, sorry-like. “I know my duty.”

  Holly Jane pitched her rock, throwing her whole heart into the effort.

  It landed several feet from anyone, but it startled Cyrus and he backed into Gordie.

  The hiss of steel cut air. Holly Jane watched a flash of sunlight glitter off the blade of the Toothpick as it sliced toward its targets.

  Cyrus yelped, dropped his gun and clutched his wrist where blood streamed from a mean gash.

  Behind him, Gordie dropped to one knee, Colt’s blade imbedded in the flesh of his forearm. The gun dangled from his index finger.

  Colt dashed forward, but Edith crawled toward Cyrus faster. She snatched his gun from the dirt then pointed it at Colt.

  Gordie shifted his weapon to his good hand. Holly Jane ran at him, a scream trapped in her throat.

  A four-legged lightning bolt blazed past her. Butcher charged, placing himself between Edith and Colt.

  Edith’s gunshot echoed over the smoldering land.