Lawless Love

by Rosanne Bittner

  “That’s exactly why I’m here,” Moss replied calmly, as he handed his gun and then his rifle to the apparent leader.

  “That’s a hard one to believe, mister. But we’ll take you to Simpson and you can talk.” The two with rifles nudged their horses around behind Moss and Hank, and the other two led the way.

  More men gathered as they approached the ranch house where Paul Simpson lived. Moss had mistakenly picked a man who was already bitter about losing a wife the winter before to fever. Now some of his cattle were dying. The ranch house itself was a sprawling, wooden structure that needed painting. Weeds and rose bushes grew wild around a sagging porch. A grizzly-looking man stepped out of the door, scratching a three-day-old beard that had a considerable amount of gray in it. His red but faded undershirt showed perspiration under the arms and hung open at the neck where buttons were missing. The man glared at the two intruders and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  “What have we got here, Lance?” he asked his foreman.

  “One Mr. Moses Tucker.”

  The man straightened and stared at Moss a moment, then looked at one of his men.

  “Ride to town and get Ralph Landers!” he ordered right away.

  “Wait!” Moss spoke up. “Don’t you even want to know why I’m here?”

  “I don’t care why you’re here, mister!” the man snapped. “You brought that Landers woman back, and you mended them fences! Only thing I know is my cattle are dyin’! I lost a wife last winter and I ain’t got nothin’ left I care about except this place, and now I’m losin’ that!”

  “I’m here to tell you Etta Landers is ready to share her water, Simpson! You are Paul Simpson, aren’t you?”

  “It’s me, all right.” He looked at his foreman. “Get him down off that horse and bring him in the house! And keep an eye on his friend.” He looked at the man he had told to go and get Landers. “Get moving! I gave you an order!”

  “Yes, sir!” The man mounted up and galloped away.

  Lance poked a rifle barrel into Moss’s side, and Moss dismounted. He walked toward the house and suddenly felt a painful jab in his back. His temper flared and he whirled, swinging a stiff arm and a big fist as he did so and whacking Lance across the side of the face in a wicked blow that sent the man reeling. The rifle went off and took a chunk of wood off one of the support posts to the porch roof. Immediately there were several more guns aimed at Moss Tucker.

  “I came here in peace!” Moss roared. “Is this the way you greet everybody?”

  “Only our enemies,” Simpson sneered.

  “I’m not your enemy!” Moss yelled.

  Lance slowly got to his feet, coughing and choking, stunned by the sudden and unexpected blow. Moss planted his feet apart and glared at him.

  “Nobody shoves a goddamned gun in my back!” Moss told the man through gritted teeth. Lance clenched his fists and started for him.

  “Lance!” Simpson shouted. The man froze. “That’s enough! We’ll let Ralph Landers decide how to handle this!”

  The man picked up his rifle and stalked away, and Moss turned and followed Paul Simpson into the house. When they got inside, Moss could tell the place had once been well taken care of. There were still curtains at the windows, and a vase sat on the table holding flowers that had long since withered. Apparently nothing had been touched since the woman of the house died. He thought of Amanda, and he suddenly understood. Simpson ordered him to sit down in a chair at the table, and the man sat down across from him. Moss started to move the vase, which was between them.

  “Don’t touch that!” Simpson snapped.

  Moss pulled his hand back and leaned back in his chair, reaching in his pocket for a cigarette.

  “I’m sorry about your woman,” he said quietly to Simpson. Four other men stood inside now, all with guns held on Moss.

  “Bein’ sorry don’t bring her back,” the man replied bitterly. “She was good. The night her fever got so high I knew she was dying. I sent one of my men after the doc in town. It was a bitter cold night and there was lots of deep snow. And that man’s horse got tangled in Etta Landers’s goddamned barbed wire fence! My man got off and started on foot. He never made it. He froze to death, the doc never came, and my wife died.”

  The awful realization that he had chosen the wrong rancher to visit weighed heavily on Moss. He wondered how Etta could be so cold as to keep these people from water. Perhaps she didn’t even understand. And most likely, she didn’t even know what had happened to Mrs. Paul Simpson, or why. If she had, she surely would have advised Moss not to go to Simpson’s place.

  “Some things just happen, Mr. Simpson,” Moss told him quietly. “Fate…God…puttin’ somethin’ off too long…lots of things—”

  “You sayin’ it was my fault? You sayin’ I should have gone for the doc sooner?” the man shouted, rising and pacing now.

  “I’m sayin’ Mrs. Landers would never have wanted that to happen. I’m sayin’ maybe you don’t understand her side. That place is all she’s got, and her husband is tryin’ to steal it from her.”

  “I can’t feel sorry for a ruthless woman who’s a goddamned whore besides! How many times have you shoved yourself between them pretty thighs, mister!”

  Moss stood up quickly, knocking his chair backward, and immediately four guns were cocked.

  “Mister, I’ve got a good woman of my own.” Moss hissed. “And she’s waitin’ for me down in Utah. Etta Landers is nothin’ to me, except an old friend who needs help. Now I’m damned anxious to get back down to my wife, and when I found out about the water situation, I knew that was the real problem here! I’m tellin’ you Etta is willin’ to share that water now! She’ll put it in writin’ if you want. So help her keep her place and you can have all the water you want.”

  Simpson stepped closer to Moss.

  “Ain’t no way I’m gonna help a bitch like that. Every night I go to bed and I think of my Amie, and my guts burn and my arms ache to hold her. And I hate Etta Landers just a little bit more. It ain’t fair that a high and mighty bitch like that should be livin’ in all that comfort, on all that rich land, sleepin’ around, no better than a goddamned prostitute while my Amie lies in her grave!”

  “Jesus Christ, Simpson, use your head! Ralph Landers is a hard, ruthless, selfish man! He wants that land for himself, to increase his fortune. He’s the kind of man who never gets enough. Do you really believe he’ll share that water with you? You’re a fool! As soon as that place is all his he’ll starve you out and burn you out and threaten you until he gets this place—and then the next neighbor’s, and the next! That’s the kind of man he is! He already owns half the town and the people in it!”

  The man laughed sarcastically and paced again.

  “She’s got you fooled good, Tucker! That woman gets her nails in a man and he believes everything she tells him! All she has to do is wear a low-cut dress, bat them big blue eyes, and she can talk a man into anything. Well, I don’t like havin’ no scheming woman ownin’ that much land right next to me! A man ought to be runnin’ a place like that! It ain’t right havin’ a woman there.”

  “She’ll hire good men to run it. Don’t you see, Simpson? Ralph Landers is tellin’ you things that aren’t true just to keep you against her.”

  “Same as she’s sayin’ things about him.”

  “And how long does it go on?” Moss asked impatiently. “I’m tellin’ you a woman can do you a lot less harm than a man like Ralph Landers. The man is powerful, a lawyer. And his best friend is the banker, Miles Randall. I know that man! He cheated me out of hundreds of thousands of dollars once. I went to prison ’cause I tried to kill that man for what he done to me. And ten to one you owe Randall money. Jesus, Simpson, the man is just waitin’ for you to go broke so he can move in and take this place—him and Ralph Landers! If you side with Etta and accept the water rights, you can get back on your feet again—and keep Landers and Randall both off your back!”

  Simpson paced and ponde
red. Moss plunked back down into his chair and smoked quietly for a moment. Then Simpson turned and stared at him.

  “The woman’s a selfish bitch,” he snarled. “Ain’t no other way for me to look at it. I got no use for her—no respect for her. Landers has told us how she lies, how she cheated on him all the time, and how that land belongs to him. I believe him!”

  “The land is legally hers, Simpson. Why do you think Landers is resorting to force and threats to try to get her off it? If it was legally his, he could bring a U.S. marshal here to make her get off. Use your head!”

  Simpson came closer. “I’ve already done that!” he snarled. “And I’ve got a good enough head on my shoulders to know the kind of woman Etta Landers is! And anybody that helps her is the same kind of scum!” He motioned to one of his men, and before Moss realized what the signal meant, he felt a grueling pain in his lower back as one of Simpson’s men slammed a rifle butt into his kidneys. Moss cried out and went to his knees, and another man kicked his ribs. He doubled over, grabbing a chair for support and tried to struggle to his feet again as he heard shouts outside and then a gunshot.

  “Hank?” he shouted. Then there came a thunderous blow to the back of his head, and everything went black.

  Moss awakened slowly, groaning and rubbing his eyes. When he opened them, it was dark and the room he was in smelled damp. Moss started to rise, and a black pain enveloped his head. He groaned again and stayed prone, struggling to think. He looked around the room as his eyes adjusted to the dim light that came from a large crack beneath a heavy door not far away. He heard voices in the outer room. As his vision cleared, he saw them—bars! Memories of his times in prison swept over him, and he felt a heaviness in his chest. Bars—how he hated bars! Where was he? How could he get back to the E.G. or to Amanda? He struggled again to get up, and managed to sit up on the edge of the small cot. His back ached fiercely.

  Moss sat there a moment, breathing deeply, straining to hear the voices beyond the door. Then he rose, but dizziness consumed him and he stumbled, grabbing at a small table and knocking over a tin cup. Seconds later the outer door opened, and light filled the miserable cell where Moss crouched on his knees, clinging to the edge of the cot. He turned his head and looked up to see Ralph Landers and Miles Randall standing outside the cell and smiling.

  “You made a very big mistake this time, Moss Tucker,” Landers said cheerfully. “You picked the wrong neighbor to visit. Now here you are in jail.”

  “For what?” Moss demanded. “Simpson attacked me. I didn’t do anything to him!”

  Landers grinned more. “Well, Mr. Tucker, everybody knows you’re after me—and therefore, after the law in this town also. You tried to come into town last night, didn’t you?”

  Moss frowned. “What are you talkin’ about?” he said in a near whisper, struggling back to the edge of the cot and running a hand through his hair.

  “I’m talking about the fact that someone shot our fine sheriff last night—in the back.”

  Moss’s eyes widened in shock.

  “Who?”

  Landers chuckled. “You, of course. I even have a witness.”

  Now Moss managed to stand up, clenching his fist in rage.

  “A paid witness! You’re framin’ me, Landers!”

  “What better way to get rid of you than to have you hanged? After all, everyone in town knows you’ve been in prison twice, that you once tried to kill Miles Randall here, and that you’re an outlaw.”

  “All they know is what you tell them!” Moss growled.

  “Precisely,” the man replied with a handsome smile. He looked Moss up and down. “Have a good rest, Mr. Tucker. I want you nice and healthy and alert when they put the noose around your neck.”

  Landers started to leave.

  “Where’s Hank Stemm?” Moss asked him quickly.

  Landers turned back. “The man who was with you at the Simpson place?”

  “That’s him.”

  “He’s dead, Tucker. Seems he heard the fight inside the house and tried to come in and help you.”

  Moss blinked, a deep sorrow engulfing him.

  “It’s just as well,” Landers told him. “One more Tucker man out of our way.” He paused. “No! Two more out of our way. Lloyd Duncan has joined us, or did you already know that?”

  Moss glared at him, eager now for the chance to murder Ralph Landers. But at the moment he was helpless.

  “How’d you win him over, Landers?” he sneered. “Did you pay him, or take him to bed?”

  Landers paled; Miles Randall gasped and quickly exited, afraid to even be in the same room with Moss Tucker, even though Tucker was behind bars.

  “I’ll let that one go,” Landers said quietly, nervously twisting a pair of black gloves in his hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You’ll be dead in a few days, your men will be murdered one by one, and my lovely Etta will simply have to go away. Or maybe I’ll just turn her over to my men to do with as they please, or perhaps I’ll kill her. I haven’t decided yet.”

  Landers walked out, closing the heavy door behind him and throwing the cell into darkness again. Moss laid back down, rolling onto his stomach and wanting to vomit.

  “Hank!” he groaned. Hank Stemm was a good man. Moss felt responsible for the man’s death. He’d asked all of them to come, and the pay they were getting wasn’t really worth the risk they were taking. They all knew it, but they’d come anyway—for Moss Tucker and no other reason. Some of them had helped Moss find Amanda five years earlier. His pain; his aching need for Amanda—whom he might not ever see again—and his sorrow over Hank Stemm’s death overwhelmed him; he quietly wept.

  “You’ve got to get him out of there! You’ve got to get him out of there before they hang him!” Etta wailed, pacing and wringing her hands. They all stood under a large cottonwood tree, where the mound of dirt was still fresh over Hank Stemm’s grave. His body had been found dumped at the barbed wire fence that separated the E.G. and the Crooked “S”, where Paul Simpson’s men had placed it. Damian Kuntz had ridden into town and casually discovered what was taking place.

  “We will get him out, ma’am,” Dwight Brady spoke up. “But we can’t go ridin’ in there without a plan. And they won’t hang him right away.”

  “How do you know that?” she asked in a choked voice.

  “The way I figure it, Landers has to have a little time to rile the people up. He won’t want no regular trial, ’cause it might come out Moss really was framed, and some other things might come out that Landers would rather keep hidden.”

  Etta kept her eyes averted from the men. “Yes, I’m sure you all know what my ex-husband is,” she said quietly.

  Some of them shuffled nervously and Brady continued.

  “Well, anyway, I figure he won’t want no trial. It’s too risky. The questions that would come up—it might make them people start to thinking. So he’ll use the next two or three days to talk around town, get the people riled up, call Moss a backshooter, remind them he was once an outlaw and all, remind them he already killed a couple men here, maybe say he went to Simpson’s place to threaten the man. There’s a hundred things he could say to make Moss look bad. He gets them riled up enough, they’ll storm the jail, demand him, and hang him without a trial. That’s how I figure it. Then, while they’re still steaming, he’ll lead them out here to attack your place and that will be the end of it.”

  She sighed and wiped at tears, turning to face them.

  “You men try to get him out of there, and then just keep riding. It’s hopeless. I—I’m sorry about Hank Stemm. I didn’t want anyone to die over this. And I won’t be angry with you if you just ride on and ditch this whole venture.”

  “And leave you behind to face Ralph Landers?” Sooner asked, pushing his hat back and looking her up and down. “What do you take us for?”

  She brushed away more tears. “For good men,” she said quietly. “I’ll just leave…maybe go East, or maybe back to San Francisco. I’m not
sure.”

  “Looks to me like you’re all of a sudden givin’ up awful easy,” Johnny Pence spoke up. “We ain’t the givin’ up type, ma’am. What them men did—killin’ Hank, beatin’ on Moss and draggin’ him off—that don’t set too good with us. Kind of riles us up, you know? And, uh, ma’am, you’ve seen us in action, but you ain’t never seen us really mad yet. What we done up to now, that was just fun and games for men like us. Now things is a bit serious. And we’re madder than a grizzly that’s just come out of hibernation and had his food took from him. You gonna deny us the privilege of avengin’ Hank’s killing?”

  “But—”

  “No arguin’ about it,” Slim Taggart spoke up. “We’re here to stay till this thing’s straightened out for once and for all. Ain’t no way Ralph Landers is gonna get hold of you. And there sure as hell ain’t no way we’re gonna turn tail and run now. No, ma’am.”

  “But how—”

  “We’re thinkin’ on it,” Bullit spoke up. “And I was wonderin’ if maybe Damian Kuntz couldn’t sneak into town and purchase us a little dynamite.”

  They all looked at him, and Pappy Lane grinned.

  “I forgot you had a natural talent with them sticks,” he said slyly.

  “A little dynamite could cause a lot of confusion in town,” Bullit replied. “Maybe enough to raid that jail and get Moss out of there.”

  Etta swallowed, trying not to break down.

  “You men come in the house,” she told them. “I’ll have Mrs. Webster fix you something to eat. It’s cooler there than in the bunkhouse. You can do your planning there.”

  “Obliged, ma’am. In fact, why don’t you just go on up to your room and get some rest. You look awful tired,” Dwight Brady told her.

  “I am,” she said in a near whisper, turning and walking toward the house. She hadn’t slept since Moss left. They all watched her walk away.

  “There goes a lot of woman,” Brad Doolittle spoke up. There were a few sighs and some of them cleared their throats. Pappy turned to look at Hank Stemm’s fresh grave.