by Erik Carter
One of Bob’s stirrups now lay directly above Lilly and me.
“You first,” I said to Lilly.
Lilly pulled herself farther up by grabbing one of my legs. Then she thankfully removed her other hand from my package. A wave of a relief flooded over me. She grabbed hold of the stirrup and pulled until she could reach the horn then hoisted herself into the saddle.
“Coom un, Buhnaby,” she said and held out her hand.
I took her hand in mine and began to pull. Lilly stabilized herself on Bob. My legs were extremely weak, weaker even than I’d imagined. My puny abdominals did what they could, but I was straining badly. Sweat poured down my neck. My hat flopped down over my eyes. My foot felt like it would explode.
Lilly squealed and panted as she pulled with all she had. She dug her feet into Bob, trying to gain as much leverage as possible. Bob grumbled.
I was over the hump. Another few inches. I grabbed the horn of the saddle. One more final tug.
And I was on solid ground.
I was alive.
I cherished this fact for all of a millisecond before I tore the boot from my foot, which was so swollen that it didn’t come off without a fight. I frantically brushed my tender foot then shook the boot out. The little demons scattered in all directions. I peered into the boot. Sure didn’t want to leave any stragglers.
I crawled over to the saddle and pulled myself onto it in front of Lilly. I took a deep breath then turned to face Lilly. I reached behind her head and untied her gag. She stretched her mouth wide open and rubbed the corners of her lips.
“You okay?” I said.
She looked from my foot to my crotch. “Yeah,” she said with a dumbstruck smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Good.”
I put a hand on her arm. She pulled in close and put her head on my shoulder. I hugged her.
“No time for sentiment. We gotta get back up there,” I said and motioned to the top of the slope. “Giddyup, Bob.”
Bob stood up, more sure of himself now. We began to climb the slope in a switchback pattern. Rocks tumbled back down to the cliff’s edge as we went.
Lilly leaned in to my ear.
“You’re an amazing man, Barnaby Wilcox,” she said.
The gal gives me too much credit.
It was hard work getting up that hill. All three of us were tired and beaten.
As we drew nearer to the top, I could see a figure sitting on a horse. I knew it could very well be Mory. I reached for my gun.
But as we got closer I could see that it was Jake. He was facing away from us.
“Jake?” I said.
“I hear ya, Barnaby,” he called back without turning around. “Come on up.”
When we came upon him, I saw that he was pointing his gun at something. The gun was in his right hand, and he stabilized this arm with his left hand. His right arm was bleeding.
“You okay, Jake?” I said as we continued to climb.
“Fine. Jeff shot me. He got away, Barnaby. I’m sorry.”
“Not to worry, Jake,” I said. “You just take care of that arm.”
We finally reached the top of the slope, and I could see what Jake was pointing the gun at—Mory. About thirty feet separated them. Mory was slouched back in his saddle. His shiny revolvers were in their holsters. He held his hands limply in the air, about shoulder-height. His fingers strummed. He was whistling.
Jake called out to me again. “I got him, Barn. I held him for you. He didn’t even draw his guns when the shooting started.”
Of course he didn’t. Mory knew me too well. He knew I’d survive my trip down Dead Kids Slope, and therefore he knew I’d be a potential witness if he killed Jake. Mory was meticulous about covering his own ass.
Seeing that smirk, that cocky little twist of the mouth, sent me into a rage like I’d never known. I wanted to destroy Mory, I wanted to crush him and hear him howl. I wanted his head under my arm, to twist and squeeze until the last gasping sputter of a breath left his mouth. Then I’d yank until I felt that neck of his crack.
I hopped off Bob. My weak legs waivered slightly. I yanked my gun from its holster and charged toward him. I stopped and pulled the hammer back, clenched my jaw.
Mory rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Are you going to kill me, Barn?”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
Mory laughed. The little weasel actually laughed at me. “Go ahead. We both know you won’t.”
Mory raised his arms farther into the sky. “Shoot!” he laughed and bounced about in his saddle. “Woooo! Shoot! Come on!”
I gritted my teeth.
Mory lowered his arms, looked me in the eye and chuckled, then turned to Jake. “Remember what I told you about ol’ Barn here? What I told you about Sergeant Barnaby? Did I tell you how many there were? Thirty men. You believe that? Thirty guys like you and me.”
Soldiers blown in half. Hands and legs and arms in piles. Screams.
“Because he was too scared,” Mory said. “And because they were expendable. We don’t matter to him. Don’t think for a moment that he gives two bits about you. He was a coward then, and he’s a coward now. A little different when you’re the one squeezing the trigger, huh, Barn?”
“I’ve squeezed more triggers than you can imagine,” I said.
“Then squeeze this one.” His voice turned cold, violent. “You play all tough, all distant, hidden, protected. But when it comes down to it, you’re still a chickenshit.”
I closed my eyes.
Soldiers fell left and right. Dodson on the ground. Gurgling his blood.
His eyes had been open when we found him. Open and covered in mud.
I’m sorry, Dodson. I’m sorry.
I slowly opened my eyes. I lowered my gun.
“No, Mory,” I said. “Killing you would be the chickenshit way out of this. There’s a better way.”
I put my hand under my duster and reached to my lower back. My fingers wrapped around a cold piece of metal. I slid the badge to the front of my belt.
Mory laughed again. “Ah yes,” he said and leaned toward Jake. “Now ol’ Sergeant Barnaby is going to morph into Deputy Barnaby for once. He’s gonna extend that long arm of the law and bring me in.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“For what, Barn? What exactly can you pin on me? Cosgrove? I didn’t kill him. Macintosh? Didn’t kill him either. The kettle … I’ve never even seen it! You asked why I did it all this way. Well, here you go. So you couldn’t pin anything on me. You or anyone else.”
Jake yelled, “You kidnapped this gal!”
“Yeah!” Lilly said.
“I didn’t kidnap you, angel,” Mory said. “That moron Jeff Norris did for five bucks. And I’d like to see you trace that bill back to me. Who sent you rolling to your death? Jeff Norris.”
Mory chuckled.
The man was right. He hadn’t even told Jeff to pull the chock out from the wagon. All he did was give him a look. Mory had covered all his contingencies.
Though my lips curled in rage, I didn’t want to tear him apart as I’d earlier fantasized. I wanted to see him rotting in a steel cage, to see his face grow old and wrinkled as the dust and rust and paint flakes gathered on his gray hair. I searched my mind desperately for a way to bring him in. What could I tie him to? Think. Think. He’d done it, dammit; there had to be a way to bring him in.
Mory smirked. He must have seen the irritation in my face. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe next time. C’est la vie.”
He tipped his hat to me. He gave his horse a little kick and slowly trotted away.
I watched as he disappeared into the darkness. I’d never been so powerless.
Jake yelled to me and waved his good arm. “Get him!” he said. “Go! Come on!”
I released a breath. “No. He’s right. He made all the right moves. There’s nothing I can take him in for.”
I hated Mory, but I recognized his brilliance. I loathed the fact that in some ways I even r
espected his brilliance.
“But you know,” Jake said. “You know he did it.”
“It only matters what I can prove.”
“I don’t think you’re a coward like he was saying,” Jake said. “But you know what I do think? I think you’re afraid to use that badge you have.”
“I never wanted the badge. I’m no deputy. I’m just a private invest—”
“You’re both!” Jake said and stared at me fiercely. After a moment he said, “Arrest me.”
“What?”
“You know what I’ve done,” he said.
“I knew what Mory did too. I told you before, it only matters what I can prove.”
“Fine! I’ll confess again, this time with a witness,” he said, motioning toward Lilly. “I was one of the kidnappers of Lionel Cosgrove.”
Lilly gasped.
“Jake,” I said. “You don’t want to—”
“Yes, I do.”
“What about your service?” I said. “Helping black men?”
“I’d be doing them a disservice if I didn’t receive my punishment.” Jake put out his hands. “Do it.”
“Jake …”
He looked at me and gave me a nod.
I stared back at him for a moment then reached behind and grabbed the pair of shackles I kept with my badge. Never thought I’d actually be using them.
I looked him in the eye, and he nodded again. I put the shackles on one of his wrists, pulled his arms around his back, and clamped the other side.
He turned back around, and he was smiling. The crazy son of a bitch was smiling. This perplexed me for a moment, but then I quickly came to understand.
Jake was relieved. When I tried to nab him at his office, he’d looked frazzled, disheveled. But it wasn’t from the wears of the things he’d been doing. It was from the guilt. He was a decent man, a very decent man, who had done some terrible things. The only thing that’ll give a guy like that any solace is receiving his punishment.
Presently, I became jealous of Jake. I wanted my punishment. I wanted to feel the liberation he was feeling at that moment. But as I thought about it now, I realized that I too was feeling some relief.
They had been my men, those corpses frozen in the mud. I’d tried countless times to tell myself that it hadn’t been my decision, that I was just bearing the orders of my superiors. The colonel had said that he’d slaughter the rest of my men if I didn’t coax the colored platoon to slaughter. I’d told myself that in terms of sheer numbers, I had saved lives, that more of my men would have died if I hadn’t sent the black fellas. But that had done little to help.
That had been twenty years ago, not long after the incident with the Clements slaves and their kettles. It seemed fitting, then, that things were getting better. Somehow wrapping up this kettle case had brought closure. Taking a decent man in for justice—something he so revered—and helping a gal who was trying to save her pop … well, it was one of the more selfless things I’d done in the last couple decades.
It made me feel good.
I felt part of that weight disappear. My shoulders rose ever so slightly. My breaths got a little lighter.
And I smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sun was beginning to rise as we rode back into town. The buildings were off in the distance, and the tall peaks of the Catalinas lay beyond. An amber sun was peaking through the crevices between the mountains, and shafts of light were flowing out into Desecho.
We’d set up a camp the previous night and gotten a couple hours sleep before heading into town. When the festivities with Mory had ended, we weren’t far outside Desecho, but I told the two of them we should get some rest. Mostly I wanted to give that fool Jake a chance to rethink things and escape. But he didn’t. I’d given his injury a once-over. It was a minor flesh wound only.
Presently, Lilly was riding behind me on Bob. Jake, still handcuffed, was riding on his horse, which was tethered to Bob. The sun cleared the top of the peaks, and bright, fresh light poured over Desecho and into our faces. I squinted. Lilly squeezed me from behind.
I turned around expecting to see Lilly giggling and bouncing about in my saddle in her animated fashion. She’d had a long few days, been at the brink, and now her hometown was in front of her, basked in a warmth that must have looked nothing short of heavenly. But when I turned, she simply smiled. Her lips were shut tight and pulled up at the corners. The crimson light of the sunrise illuminated the edges of her blond hair that flowed unencumbered in the breeze. Her face was dirty, and her eyes were tired. She nodded at me. I returned the nod.
I stole a glance at Jake as I turned back around. The shoulder of his wounded arm drooped lower than the other. Though we were drawing nearer to town, he didn’t look at all terrified as one might expect him to be knowing he was facing some serious jail time. He was resolute. There was even some joy in his face. Like Lilly, I think the sight of this crazy burg had raised his spirits. Seeing Desecho now, all lit up with the sunrise like some grandiose painting, was doing us all good. Yes, I was happy to be home too.
When we got into town, we made a quick stop by Doc Smitty, who gave Jake’s wound a couple stitches. Then we headed to the Sheriff’s office.
When we arrived, I helped Lilly out of the saddle.
“Barnaby, she said. “I don’t want you to hunt for the killers anymore.”
I frowned. “You sure about that?”
“Let the Marshals find them. It’s their job. When you’re done taking Jake in, let’s call this done.”
“What about the kettle? Thought you wanted to melt it down.”
“To Hell with the kettle. It’s gone.”
“Alrighty,” I said.
Well … that was that.
I stepped to Jake’s horse and helped him down, being gentle with his injured arm.
“Thanks, Barn.”
“You’re one loony son of a gun, Jake,” I said. I was still astounded that he was doing this willingly.
“I was wrong about you,” he said.
“How so?”
“You don’t need that badge. You’re making changes in this city regardless. You have a core. A humanity. Somewhere underneath all that.”
“Yeah, well don’t go tellin’ folks about it,” I said. What was this guy trying to do? Blow my cover? “But thanks.”
I grinned at him.
Lilly waited on the sidewalk while Jake and I went inside. Simmons was sitting at the desk. His hat was tipped down, and his chin was on his chest. He jolted from his sleep then smiled broadly when he saw us.
“Well done, Barnaby. Well done. Got your first catch.” He hopped to his feet.
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
Simmons looked at Jake, and his smile dropped. “Jake Adamson!” he said, stunned. “What’s the meaning of this, Barnaby?”
“Kidnapping, Sheriff. Got a confession out of him.”
“Is this true?” Simmons said to Jake.
“That’s right,” he said.
Simmons shook his head in disbelief. He unlocked the shackles and put Jake in the cell behind the desk. He turned to me.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am about this. Your first real action. When can I put you down for full-time?” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Never,” I said. I put my badge on his desk. “End of the road, Sheriff.”
Simmons looked at the badge for a moment. He turned back to me. “Come on now,” he said. “We need you in this town.”
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
“Maybe not,” Simmons said. “But you’re turning your back on us just the same.”
I looked at Jake, who now had his arms through the bars of the jail cell. He nodded at me respectfully. I returned the nod.
“No, I’m not,” I said.
I tipped my hat to Jake and headed toward the door. Lilly was standing in the doorway waiting.
“Barnaby,” Simmons called. I turned around. “You got a set of shackles too,”
he said, tapping my old badge that sat on his desk.
Lilly spoke up. “He’s gonna be needing those, Sheriff.” She grinned devilishly.
I turned to Simmons and raised my eyebrows. “Yikes.”
I walked out the door. Lilly stepped up to me.
“You’re dangerous,” I said.
She smiled.
I sucked in a deep lungful of clear, Arizona air. Then sighed. It was done.
I looked down at my new boots. I’d hated them when I first bought them back in Tucson. They were too stiff, too new. Now they were covered in scratches and blemishes. There were lines at the top from the tumbleweed at the campsite Lilly and I made, scuffs along the toes from being dragged behind a wagon when I chased Jake, and a large gouge on the top of the right one from where it had caught on a rock and kept Lilly and me from dropping off the edge of Culver Canyon.
All in all, they were starting to look pretty good. Maybe a fresh start wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
I turned to Lilly. “Let’s ride.”
I helped her into the saddle. Then I climbed up. We took off.
The Clements kettle was out of my hair. Forever. Talk about being relieved. I was beginning to wonder, though I’d never admit it, if there had been some truth to its curse. Everyone who touched it ended up dead. Cosgrove’s corpse was rotting somewhere in a cave in Dry Rock Basin. Macintosh was lying in a mortuary in Tucson. Even Jimmy Blue Eyes was dead. The only one who touched the kettle who didn’t die was Lilly. But she’d come about as close to dying as one could possibly get.
That left only Kurt Leonard. But I suppose we’ll never know what happened to Kurt.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rosie Clements sits on the front porch of her family’s home.
It’s a thick Alabama day, the kind of day where you don’t breathe in the air, you chew it. Rosie rocks gently in the chair and looks out at the land. It’s a small plot, not much to speak of, really. But it’s country, and it’s pretty, and it’s home. There is enough room for a small garden where she and her brothers tend to the crops that support the family. They have to. Momma’s wages at the Colyer’s are laughable … that is to say, you might laugh at them if you weren’t forced to survive on them.