“Let’s get to the house and make some plans,” he said quietly. “Moss will end up just like this if we don’t get to it.”
“That’s a fact,” Lonnie Drake replied. “Moss Tucker has got himself in a fix, and he’s countin’ on us to get him out of it. And if anybody wants to turn tail, you just remember Moss ain’t the only one countin’ on us. He’s got a damned nice woman at home that has already had her share of suffering. As for me, I don’t aim to have to go back down to Utah and tell Amanda Tucker that her man is dead and that we failed him—and her.”
Some of them shuffled their feet in anger, others paced: all felt the same way as Lonnie Drake. There wasn’t one of them who didn’t hold a high respect for Amanda Tucker.
“All right, let’s get to it,” Lonnie told them. They started toward the house, and Damian Kuntz touched Pappy’s arm and held the old man back.
“You think maybe when I go into town I should send a wire to the man’s wife—tell her what’s happened?” he asked.
Pappy frowned. “No. Don’t tell her nothing. I don’t want Mandy worrying. Let’s wait and see how this thing works out. If we get Moss out okay, then we won’t have to tell her nothing. If we don’t, well, we’ll just wait and I’ll tell her in person. But that’s one job I sure wouldn’t look forward to.”
Three days passed, with little water and only bread to eat for Moss Tucker. His head had cleared, but there was still pain in his back, although it had subsided. He was certain there had to be an ugly bruise there, and he wondered if a kidney had been damaged.
He had slept little, sure his men would come for him, but not sure just how they would go about it, or when, and wanting to be awake and ready. One thing was certain. They would have to come very soon. The crowd outside was building daily, as Ralph Landers used his educated tongue and fancy words to build up a good case against Moses Tucker.
Moss could already see that he would never make it to a public trial. Ralph Landers would make certain of that. The man had a talent for making speeches, and he made them—every day. Moss knew it would not be long before a large crowd of men, and maybe even some women, would come to the jail and demand an end to the feuding by hanging Moses Tucker, a back-shooter. It was all very clear to him. Ralph Landers would make certain he was quickly hanged, and thereby silence the ugly accusations he knew Moses Tucker would make public if he had a trial.
All Moss could think of now was Amanda. Amanda and Becky. How would they fare without him? Why had he ever come in the first place? Had it been a sense of duty? An old, buried desire to be with Etta Graceland again? Or was it simply revenge, a chance to get back at Miles Randall? Amanda had warned him not to go out of pure vengeance. But he had to face the fact that revenge had been ninety per cent of the reason he sat in this jail cell now.
On the afternoon of the third day, the door opened and Ralph Landers stepped inside. Moss had not seen the man since the night after he had been taken from the Simpson ranch. Landers closed the door and walked toward the cell door, holding a glass of beer in one hand and a key in the other. He unlocked the cell door and stepped inside, which surprised Moss.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Landers said cautiously. “There are four men outside that door who would gladly blow your guts out if you tried to escape.” He handed the beer to Moss.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“You. I have a proposition for you, Mr. Tucker. Go ahead. Drink the beer. It’s on the house. And, uh, it just might be your last one, you know.”
Moss took the beer, unable to resist the frosty glass. He was hot and dirty and thirsty. Landers watched in mild surprise as Moss gulped down the entire contents in a matter of seconds. He handed the mug back to Landers and wiped his lips.
“Start talking,” he told Landers.
“Have a seat first,” Landers told him. “On your cot.”
Moss shrugged and sat down, suddenly feeling slightly dizzy. Landers walked over close to the cot.
“You realize, Mr. Tucker, that I—and only I—am capable of getting you out of this situation,” he said quietly. “All I have to do is come up with some story that could clear you. My witness could say he was mistaken. Or I could even aid you in escaping. And I could pay you a lot of money to get out of Wyoming, Tucker. A lot of money. Much more than Etta can pay you, I assure you.”
Moss rubbed his eyes and lay down on his back.
“I don’t want your filthy money,” he replied.
“But think what you could do with it, Tucker! Think about your wife. Wouldn’t you like to go home, Moss? Wouldn’t you like to be with your woman again, and go home with enough money to build her a grand house? Buy her clothes? Help her to live in comfort?”
Moss felt drowsy, and suddenly was more depressed and lonely. Ralph Landers’s suggestions sounded good. Home. Amanda. Money. He tried to shake the thoughts from his head. He couldn’t understand why they suddenly made sense, or why he was so sleepy.
“I can free you, Tucker,” a distant voice was telling him. “I can make you a rich man, and get you out of here. You can even take Etta with you, if you’re worried about what might happen to her. And there’s only one tiny thing I’d ask of you in return.”
“What’s…that?” Moss asked drowsily, struggling to stay awake. He felt limp, and seemed to be floating. Then he felt a pressure on his thigh.
“You’re a virile man, Moses Tucker,” came the whispered words.
The realization that he’d been drugged occurred to Moss through a hazy mist. He fought against the effects now, something in his subconscious telling him not to submit to the drug. Ralph Landers bent over him, and a deep inner fury consumed Moses Tucker.
Suddenly a large fist smashed into Ralph Landers’s nose, and the man cried out in shock, stumbling backward to the floor. Moss struggled up off the cot, pulling on all his reserve strength and fury to fight the drug. Landers lay on the floor, holding his nose, blood pouring over his mouth. He was too stunned to cry out again before Moss smashed a boot into the man’s teeth.
Landers screamed, and two teeth fell from his mouth.
“You won’t be messin’ with nobody for a while, you filthy bastard!” Moss growled. The door burst open, just as Moss kicked again, cracking a boot into Landers’s face again.
“Hey! Stop that!” a man shouted, pushing on the cell door. But Landers had carelessly closed the door, which locked automatically, and the keys now lay in a corner inside the cell, where they had flown from Landers’s hand when Moss first hit him.
“The door’s locked! Somebody go find the second key before Tucker kills him!” a man shouted.
Moss paid little heed. He kicked again, this time landing a heavy boot into Ralph Landers’s privates.
Landers began crying and screaming even louder, curling up and trying to back away from Moss. Moss was panting now, his whole body feeling like heavy lead. He found the strength to kick Landers again, this time in the ribs, wanting nothing more than to get back at the man for the filthy, dirty trick he had tried to play on Moss. He felt like puking at the thought of what the man had tried to do. And his hatred of the man for being responsible for Etta’s tormented mind spilled out of him now. Another kick to the face.
“Get away from him, or by God, I’ll shoot you!” somebody yelled at Moss.
Moss just grinned. He tried to tell them what had happened, but his lips wouldn’t move right, and his tongue felt thick and useless.
“Hurry up with that key!” someone else shouted. Moss reached down to grasp Landers by the shirt front, but he felt terribly weak and couldn’t pick the man up. He stood there staring down at the bloodied and uglied face of Ralph Landers, and he smiled with pleasure. Then there were footsteps behind him. He dropped Landers’s body and swung around, but the drug had taken full effect, and he had no strength left. He felt a grueling kick to his groin, then another to his middle. Something hit his face, his head, his back, and he was on the floor. He was sure he tasted blood, and now the n
umbness from the drug became a blessing, as fists and feet landed into him without mercy.
“If it was me, I’d cut off his other damned arm!” somebody growled.
A horrible memory swept over him, and he was sure he was screaming as hands grabbed at him. Someone threw him on the cot, and he cried out for Amanda. Someone held his arm firmly, and he felt a hot pain in his upper arm. He knew he was screaming, and yet he could not hear himself.
“Come on, Duncan, slice through it!” somebody shouted.
“I can’t finish!” someone replied. “I think I’m gonna puke, man. This knife ain’t sharp enough to go through bone.”
“Jesus Christ, you ass!”
“You do it, then!”
There was silence.
“The hell with it! Let’s get Landers to the doc! You’ve cut him bad enough that he’ll lose the arm anyway. Besides, he’s gonna hang soon, so what difference does it make?”
The voices faded into blackness.
“Tie it off,” he heard faintly. “Landers wants him to feel the noose. We can’t let him bleed to death before we hang him.”
“Right.” Someone fumbled with his arm. Who was it? Was Pappy cutting it off? No! No, not the arm! Not both arms!
“Mandy!” he whispered, before total blackness enveloped him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Amanda suddenly awakened from a deep sleep and sat straight up, breathing heavily.
“Moss?” she whispered. She was certain she had heard his voice calling her. She blinked and looked around the room, realizing she was still at home in her own bed. It was late afternoon. The day had been miserably hot, draining her of her strength, and she had intended to lie down just for a moment. But apparently she had fallen asleep for longer than she meant to.
She pushed some damp curls back from her forehead and stood up. She was drenched in sweat, and her heart pounded, her chest feeling heavy. The house was totally silent. She rushed to the door and flung it open.
“Moss?” she called out. Her eyes fell on Buck Donner, who sat quietly at the table going over some books. Buck had been left in charge of things until Moss could return. He looked up at Amanda, putting down his pencil.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Did I wake you?” Buck asked with concern. She stared at him blankly for a moment.
“No, I…” She swallowed and wiped sweat from her forehead. “I thought I heard Moss calling me.”
Buck grinned. “Must have been a dream, ma’am.”
The heat and her loneliness and her worry over Moss enveloped her, and to her own surprise she burst into tears. Buck rose from the chair and ambled over to her on long, lanky legs, his spurs jingling and his shirt open almost to the waist because of the heat.
“You all right, Mrs. Tucker?” he asked, frowning and taking her arm.
She wrapped her arms around him and cried against his chest.
“Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong!” she wailed.
Buck stared down at the top of her head in near shock at her outburst and the embrace. He swallowed and looked toward the door, deathly afraid someone would come inside, see them, and get the wrong idea. He hesitantly put one arm around her, sensing the woman needed to feel a man’s strength at that moment.
“Well, ma’am, uh, you shouldn’t think that. Ole Moss can take care of himself.”
“No! He called to me! I know he did! He’s hurt, Buck! Maybe he’s…dead!”
She clung to him and wept, and Buck scratched his head, terribly uncomfortable under the situation, yet his manly side not minding being Amanda Tucker’s comfort at the moment.
“Ma’am, uh, why don’t you come out here and sit down. I’ll get you some water. It’s just the heat, ma’am. The heat and your worry—it’s got you more upset than you ought to be.”
He kept a tight arm around her and led her to a chair, making her sit down. Then he walked over to a bucket, dipping out some water and then wetting a rag. He came back and offered her the water.
“You drink this, Mrs. Tucker,” he told her. It seemed strange to call someone who couldn’t be more than three years younger than himself “Mrs. Tucker.” But he didn’t feel comfortable with calling her Amanda, even though she had told him it was just fine to do so.
Amanda took out a handkerchief, blew her nose, and wiped at her eyes, then took the dipper with shaking hands. She closed her eyes and drank the water. Buck set the dipper down, then reached up and put the rag to her forehead.
“You put your head back, ma’am, and keep that rag on your forehead. I’ll go get a couple of the boys and we’ll fill up the tub in the bedroom for you and you can take a nice cool bath and refresh yourself. You want me to get Wanda?”
“No,” she said quietly. “She wanted to spend the day at her cabin with her son. He’s here from the reservation and she doesn’t get to see him often. Is Becky still asleep in her room?”
“Yes, ma’am. Kids seem to be able to sleep through anything, even this heat.”
He started to rise and she grabbed his hand.
“Stay just a moment, Buck,” she said quietly. “I just need…to hold somebody’s hand.”
Buck frowned and knelt in front of her. He squeezed her hand tightly.
“He’s gonna be okay, ma’am,” he told her.
“I heard him, Buck. Believe what you want, but I heard him. It was…like that day…” Her voice choked up and she pressed her lips tightly together.
“What day, ma’am?” he asked quietly.
“The day they…” She swallowed and sniffed. “The day they cut off his arm. I was there. I was in the room. I…heard his screams, heard the awful sound—the moaning, the weeping.”
Buck reached up with his other hand and grasped the side of her face firmly, wrapping some of his fingers around the back of her neck.
“Ma’am, you’re gettin’ yourself all worked up over nothing. Now it ain’t good to be gettin’ so upset when it’s this hot. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to Moss Tucker, and if you don’t start takin’ better care of yourself, and eatin’ better and gettin’ more rest, you ain’t gonna be fit for him to come back to. And you’d best calm down. What if Becky woke up now and saw you all upset like this? You’d just get her all upset and scared, too.”
She clung to his hand and choked in a deep sob, nodding her head.
“I know,” she whispered.
They sat there quietly a moment.
“Buck,” she finally said quietly.
“Ma’am?”
“Would you…think badly of me…if I asked you to hold me, just for a minute?”
He looked toward the door again.
“Well, ma’am, uh…” More tears spilled down her cheeks. “Hell, what are friends for?” he said with a sheepish grin. “And there’s no way I could ever think badly of you, ma’am. Sometimes just bein’ held can make all the difference in the world.”
“Oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she cried.
He pulled her forward from the chair and she flung her arms around his neck and clung to him tightly. Buck stood up with her, wrapping his arms around her reassuringly.
“You’re just human, that’s all,” he replied quietly. “And you’re used to havin’ Moss around. Sometimes it’s hard to carry it all by yourself when you’re used to givin’ it to somebody else. It’s all right, ma’am.”
He squeezed her tightly, not minding the feel of her against him, yet forcing himself to ignore the baser instincts it brought out in him. He wondered for a brief second just how vulnerable she was at this moment, but his respect for her and his knowledge that Moses Tucker trusted him made him push the thought from his mind. She was like a little girl, and he knew good and well she meant nothing sexual by the embrace. She was lonely and frightened, and Buck knew about her past.
“Do you realize how many bad situations Moss has got himself out of?” he asked her, trying to cheer her up. “Men like him, hell, they go down about as easy as a ten thousand pound boulder. The
y’re tough as that old ornery bull me and the men have been tryin’ to corner these last two weeks.”
How good it was to feel someone else’s strength. Amanda clung to him a moment longer, allowing the strong arms to penetrate her with their strength, to shore up her lagging confidence. She smiled through tears and let go of him.
“It’s just that…I heard his voice, Buck,” she told him, pulling away slightly now.
“Well, ma’am, maybe you did. I reckon that’s how it is when two people love each other like you and Moss. They’ve got a way of bein’ together, even when they’re apart.”
She looked up at him, now reddening slightly.
“Yes, Buck. And I…love him so much. He’s…been my strength, a part of me, for a long time now.”
He grasped her shoulders. “It’s all right, ma’am. I understand. And I know there ain’t but one man you belong to or ever will belong to. Hell, everybody needs to be held now and then.”
“Oh, my God!” she whispered, dropping her eyes and putting a hand to her forehead. “What’s come over me?”
“Nothin’ but the heat and not enough rest and food,” he replied, keeping a firm hold of her shoulders. “It’s okay, Mrs. Tucker.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” she said quietly, wiping away more tears.
“Why should I do that? Ain’t nobody’s business. And if you’re thinkin’ you just did somethin’ wrong, you’d best think again. I’m Moss’s friend, and your friend. And what are friends for if they can’t help each other out? And there ain’t a woman west of the Mississippi I respect more than you, ma’am. Now you just sit right back down and I’ll get that tub filled. Wouldn’t a nice cool bath feel good?”
“Yes, it would,” she replied, sitting back down wearily.
“Sure it would,” he told her, patting her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” He ambled toward the door.
“Buck,” she spoke up.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Thank you. I…didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I didn’t mean…anything.”
“Not to worry, ma’am.” He went through the door and stood on the porch a moment, trying to think how long it took to get to Hanksville, the nearest town. He realized it had been a long time since he’d visited the whores there, and he suddenly had an urgent need for a woman.
Lawless Love Page 37