Sarah stood in the doorway wearing a white linen gown with a high neck and long embroidered sleeves. “It’s late, Henry,” she said. “Why are you up?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry, did I disturb you when I got up?”
“Haven’t you read enough about those awful outlaws?” She came to him and put her arms around his neck. “I can’t sleep alone. I keep having nightmares about Sam … about his death.”
“You must think of your health, dear … yours and our son’s. You’ll catch your death of cold walking around the house in bare feet.”
“I hate this house. I hate the ugly floors and the brown walls. When are you going to take me away, Henry? You promised.”
He patted her back. “I didn’t promise, Sarah. I said I’d think about it. This ranch is a profitable business. If we do sell, and I say ‘if,’ it will take time to find the right buyer.”
“I know it’s crazy, but when I got up, I forgot that he was dead. He used to come in here at night and work on his accounts.” She shuddered. “I smelled the cigar smoke, and I thought …”
“You thought I was Sam.”
“Yes, no …” She sighed and turned away to stare out the window. “I’m glad he left the ranch to you, Henry. He lied to me about it. He did. He told me that he’d changed his will two years ago, that he’d made me his beneficiary. But I don’t care. I never wanted any of it. I hate cows. They’re smelly, horrible beasts. I need to be around people and shops. My own church. Parties and socials. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve been to a dance?”
“Sam loved this ranch. All the more reason to be cautious with its disposal. I don’t know why my brother didn’t leave everything to you, but that doesn’t matter, my dear. It will be ours, whether we sell or keep it. Fifty-fifty, a legacy for our child.”
She lifted a lace handkerchief to her mouth. “Our child will never set foot on this land if I have anything to say about it.” She twisted the bit of cloth. “Take me away, please. I can’t stand it here. I won’t stay here.”
“You were happy here once.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Never. I was never happy here.” She turned and looked at him. “I knew I’d made a mistake from the first days of our marriage. Sam changed after the wedding.”
Henry scoffed. “Sam didn’t change. He was always a son of a bitch. He was good at covering it, when he wanted to.”
“If you won’t come with me, I’ll go to St. Louis alone. I want to have my confinement there.”
“Not yet,” he said firmly, crossing the room to take her in his arms. “As soon as Morgan brings back the MacGreggor woman, as soon as she’s tried and found guilty, then we’ll go.”
“Can’t you forget her?” Sarah demanded. “Can’t you just let it go?”
“It will follow us. We need to close this part of our lives first. Then I’ll take you wherever you want to go. And we’ll be married as soon as a decent interval has passed.”
“You swear it, Henry. You promise?”
“Absolutely, Sarah. As soon as Tamsin MacGreggor hangs for my brother’s murder, we’ll leave Sweetwater together.”
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll wait a little while longer. But if your bounty hunter doesn’t find her, then I’m going. Do you understand? I will not have our baby born here in the shadow of Sam’s ghost.”
“We’ll go as soon as the matter is settled, Sarah. We owe that much to my brother. You know what the Bible says: ‘An eye for a eye.’ We can’t let the guilty woman go unpunished.”
“You’re right, I suppose,” she murmured. But her eyes glistened in the lamplight, and a single tear rolled down her pale cheek.
Chapter 17
Gunfire blasted through the heavy night fog as a crowd of shouting, howling men and women stormed the Sweetwater jail. “Bring her out!” Judge Steele shouted as he edged his horse to the head of the throng. “Bring out the murdering back shooter!”
“Hang her!” shrieked a slovenly saloon wench waving a torch.
“Yes!” cried the black-veiled widow from the seat of a buggy. “She murdered my husband! Give her hemp justice!”
Illuminated by the yellow glow of a kerosene lantern, Walker stepped out onto the stoop in front of the jail, a shotgun cradled in his arm. “Tamsin MacGreggor’s my prisoner,” he bellowed. “Do you want her?”
“Yes!”
“Hand her over!”
“Hand over the murdering whore!”
Laughing, Walker yanked off his tin star and tossed it into the dirt. “Take her!”
As he stared in horror at the mob, unable to move, Ash heard Tamsin scream. “No! No!” he tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. His throat was dry and aching, as though a rope were tightening around it.
Two cowboys appeared in the doorway with Tamsin between them. Her calico dress was torn down the front, exposing her breasts. Her face was bruised, her mouth bleeding.
“Ash!” she cried. “Ash, help me!”
Henry Steele threw a rope over her head and kicked his mount. Tamsin tried to grab the rope, but she was yanked off the edge of the wooden walkway into the street. She screamed again as Steele spurred his horse and dragged her down the street toward the gallows.
“No!” Ash said, struggling against the bonds that held him. “No! She’s innocent.”
Somehow, he reached the foot of the steps. Above him, a noose swayed in the fog.
“Hanged by the neck until dead!” Henry Steele said.
“Until dead,” echoed the mob.
“Ash …” Tamsin whimpered as the judge settled the noose around her neck and pulled a black hood over her face. For the barest instant, her frightened gaze met his. And then he saw nothing but blackness.
Ash felt cold sweat running down him as the trapdoor snapped open and the crowd roared.
He felt himself fall and jerk upright. He blinked the sweat from his eyes. His heart pounded against his chest wall. He sucked in air as though he were drowning.
Dazed, he looked around. It was pitch-black, and it took him a few seconds to realize that he was still in Jacob’s cabin with Tamsin sleeping peacefully beside him.
“Woman, what have you done to me?” he whispered.
Devil take him, he didn’t care if she had murdered Sam Steele. All he wanted to do was take her away and protect her. He tightened his arm around her, telling himself that he’d tear up her arrest warrant, ride south to Mexico, go anywhere so that they could be together.
But even as he formed the silent vow in his heart, he realized he couldn’t keep it. He knew only one code, his daddy’s. He had to live his life in the way he’d been raised, or there’d be no peace for him, ever.
“What’s wrong?” Tamsin asked sleepily.
He looked down at her, wanting nothing more than to tell her that she’d won, but the words wouldn’t come. “Nothing, hon, go back to sleep.”
“The rain’s stopped, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, the rain’s stopped.”
“What now?”
“We wait until the ground dries; then I take you back to Sweetwater for trial.”
“Just like that?” The quaver in her voice turned him to jelly. “As though we hadn’t …”
“No, darlin’, not just like that.” He kissed the crown of her head, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of her hair. “I’m going to get you a lawyer,” he promised. “The best damn lawyer west of the Mississippi. And I’m going to stand with you, every step of the way until we get through this.”
She made a small sound of distress. “All right, Ash. Have it your way. I’m just too tired to fight you anymore.”
“I won’t let you down,” he promised.
“You’d better not.”
A horse whinnied, and Ash reached for his gun.
“Hello the cabin!” a voice called from outside.
Tamsin rose and began to pull on her clothing as Ash motioned her to stay clear of the door.
“Be ye
friend or foe?” the stranger demanded.
Ash lowered his weapon. “Jacob, you old grizzly, is that you?”
“And who else would it be in the middle of the night? Who be you, pilgrim? God-fearing or one of the wicked?”
“Not as wicked as you,” Ash shouted back. “I’m opening the door. Don’t shoot me.” He glanced back at Tamsin to be certain she was decent. She’d given up the attempt to dress and had covered herself with a blanket.
“Ash Morgan! You son of a polecat! What are you doin’ up this way?” the buckskin-clad trader demanded as he ducked his head to enter the cabin. “And not alone, I see.” He snatched off a shapeless hat decorated with a beaded hatband and an eagle feather. “Evenin’ ma’am.”
She blushed. “How do you do, Mr.… Mr.…”
“Jacob will do, ma’am. Proud to make your acquaintance.” He leaned a Hawkin rifle against the wall and took Ash’s hand. “Good to see you, son.”
“And you, Jacob,” Ash replied. “This is Tamsin MacGreggor. We had a run-in with a Cheyenne war party a few days back and came by to take advantage of your hospitality.”
“Did ye, now? I heard some bunch of young bucks was liftin’ hair around here. Glad it wasn’t yours.”
“Or yours,” Ash said. “Is your lady with you?”
“Land ’o mercy, no. Had to haul her south to visit her people. She’s in the family way, and nothin’ would do but what I take her to her mother until the mite gets here. To tell the truth, son, I’m thinkin’ of movin’ my whole operation south. Utes gone, Cheyenne turned hateful, and white folks got no patience with an old-timer like me.”
“Hungry?” Ash asked him. “We’ve got some stew and biscuits left.” Ash glanced back at Tamsin. “You may as well go back to sleep. If I know Jacob, he’ll have me up until dawn talking.”
“I just might have a bite,” Jacob agreed. “Nothin’ like a bowl of hot stew, a little Taos lightning, and good company.”
“I’m sure this is your bed,” Tamsin said. “I can—”
“No.” Jacob scratched his beard. “I can sleep when you folks have rid on. Me and Ash haven’t swapped stories in what—nigh on to a year?”
“At least.” Ash pushed the kettle over the coals and stirred the pot with a long-handled iron spoon. I should offer congratulations on being a father.”
Jacob grinned and settled cross-legged on the floor. He pulled off his high moccasins and warmed his feet at the fire. “Had to marry her, all legal like. Times are changin’, boy. Used to be a man could do what he wanted in these mountains, long as he watched his back. No more. Civilized folk movin’ in. It will be tough enough on that mite of mine, being half-Indian, without being born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“She deserves marriage, to put up with you,” Ash said.
“Yep, yep, that she does.” The mountain man took a long-stemmed pipe and tamped it full of tobacco, then lit it and took a long, slow puff. “Talked to a mule skinner, south of here. He claimed his partner was shot and two horses stolen last Wednesday. Says he saw five gunhands. Described one of the shooters as Texas Jack Cannon down to the gray horse and fancy boots.”
“How did he say he lived to tell of it?”
“Claims he was in the woods, taking a crap, when he heard the shootin’. Crept up, seen the odds, and laid low.” Jacob grimaced. “Can’t vouch for the mule skinner. Never seed him afore. He might of got drunk and killed his partner hisself. But I remember you had a special dislikin’ for Jack.”
“I was thinking of riding down to Leon Cannon’s place. Is he still alive, do you know?”
“Haven’t heard of him dead. ’Course, him being Jack’s uncle, Leon ain’t got too many friends in these hills. It ain’t like he has neighbors in for Sunday dinner.”
“I wanted to take a look at the house and see if Jack was layin’ low there, but—”
“But you didn’t want to drag Miss Tamsin into a beehive?”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “Drag me where?”
“Nothing,” Ash said. “Go to sleep.” Actually, he’d been planning to take her to Leon’s cabin and use her as bait. Now he’d changed his mind. If she was lying about Jack, he didn’t want to know it. “Will you be here for a few days, Jacob?”
“Want to leave the little lady in my care while you have a look-see?”
“No one’s leaving me anywhere!”
Ash dipped stew into a clean bowl and handed it to Jacob. “She will be trouble, I promise you. She’s as tricky as a Mississippi gambler. Turn your back on her and she’d hit you over the head with a chunk of wood.”
“You lying weasel!” Tamsin cried. “If you leave me here, I won’t be here when you get back.”
“I’ll tend her for you, boy, but if she murders me, you owe me a Christian burial.” Jacob took another puff on the pipe and grinned. “And digging a grave in these rocks ain’t a chore to be sneezed at.”
Thirty miles of hard riding brought Ash to a ridge overlooking a two-story log house and a ramshackle barn. Years before the war, Texas Jack’s uncle, Leon Cannon, had built this place.
The word was that Jack, Vernon, and Boone had been raised near San Antonio by an aunt and uncle after Comanches wiped out the rest of the family. Leon came to Colorado after he’d stolen so many of his neighbors’ cattle that they banded together and set a price on his head.
The place didn’t look lived in to Ash. Maybe Leon was dead or had moved on. The cabin roof had patches on it and the barn leaned heavily to one side, but the corral looked in good shape. If Jack Cannon had a home this side of hell, Leon’s old place was it to Ash’s way of thinking.
Ash had hoped that Jack and his boys might be hiding out here after all the excitement they’d caused in Nebraska. But it seemed Ash had had a long ride for nothing. No smoke came from the chimney, and the weeds around the back door were waist high.
He’d been careful not to leave fresh signs of his own. He’d crept near enough to water Shiloh and fill a canteen from the spring a few hundred yards behind the house. Then he’d climbed up on the roof and covered the chimney hole with sticks and boards. Finally, he’d backtracked, hidden his horse in a gully, and climbed up here to this overlook to consider whether he’d guessed wrong again.
If Jack Cannon wasn’t here, he could be anywhere from Kansas City to Mexico. He’d hoped for a little luck. Finding the outlaw, capturing or killing him, would have made explaining to Tamsin why he’d left her at Jacob’s cabin a lot easier.
He was sure that she’d be safe with Jacob until he could get back to her. Whether she’d understand why he had to ride off on a hunch was something else. He’d chased Cannon so long that he wondered sometimes what his life would consist of once he caught him.
And he would find Jack. It was just a matter of time. Which of them killed the other one would be the toss of a coin. The outlaw was a crack shot, and he was smart. Ash only hoped he was smarter.
Ash stretched his legs and rubbed at the healing bullet wound. Dusk had fallen. Far off to the west a coyote howled at the moon. Other than crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl, it was as quiet as a Quaker funeral.
His belly rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since noon. There was bread and dried meat in one of his saddlebags, but going down to where Shiloh was tied would mean leaving his lookout, and he wasn’t ready to chance that yet.
He took a sip of warm water from his canteen. It tasted tinny, but it was wet. Most folks thought that a bounty hunter’s life was exciting, one chase after another. Truth was, a lot of what he’d done these past years was to sit and wait. It developed a man’s patience.
Tonight that quality would be put to the test.
“Patience, Boone,” Jack Cannon advised his older brother. “You’ll never get ahead if you don’t learn that. We don’t want to be the first ones in. The vault may not be open yet.” He tipped his hat to an elderly woman walking by. “Morning, ma’am.”
“I don’t like sta
ndin’ around, is all,” Boone replied, tugging at his starched shirt collar. “And I don’t like wearin’ these fancy duds.”
“Clothes make the gentleman. You walk in the Goldsborough Trust in dirty work clothes and scuffed boots and already they’re suspicious. What’s an owlhoot like that doin’ in our bank? Maybe he’s up to no good.”
“No need to talk to me like an idjit. That crap gets old. If we wasn’t blood kin, I’d of put you in the ground a long time ago.”
Jack smiled and ignored Boone’s insult. He had no doubts about whether or not his brother could be trusted. There were just the two of them left, and Boone felt the same way about family as he did. They were a team. Boone might be woolly around the edges, but Boone would walk through hellfire and pull the devil’s tail if Jack said so.
Two horsemen rode slowly into town and reined in across the street from the bank. Billy dismounted and pretended to check his pony’s left foreleg while Tom looked on.
Jack could just see the brim of Carlos’s hat above the false front of the blacksmith’s shop. The big Texan was too slow on the ground, but put him on a high spot with a clear shooting range, and Carlos was worth any three men with a rifle.
Jack hoped Goldsborough’s bank wouldn’t be a disappointment. He’d read an article in the Wheaton newspaper about the growth of the new Colorado town, but the dirt streets were nigh on to deserted this morning. The door to the saloon was still shuttered, and only a half dozen customers had gone in and out of the general store. He’d seen an old prospector with a mule, two cowboys, and the blacksmith.
Billy glanced at him anxiously. It was time. If he held off much longer, the boys would begin to get edgy. Jack nudged Boone and walked across the street and into the bank.
He paused just inside the door, letting his eyes get accustomed to the shadowy light after the bright sun outside. The main room was small. One corner of the building had been partitioned off to make an office for the manager. The metal safe was built in to the back wall, and it stood open.
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