Blood Lands

by Ralph Cotton

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  PART 2

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  PART 3

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Blood Lands

  She moved her sights over to the parson, then to Evans, then to Muller. They fit the description Reese had given her before he died. These were the ones; if by some fluke they weren’t her attackers, her father’s killers, too bad, she thought. If that was the case, they had simply picked the wrong day to come calling.

  Her sights homed onto Muller, the one farthest away, the one most likely to get atop his horse and make a run for it. She rested the sights there and waited, breathing slowly, calmly.

  Strange, she thought, how not long ago she had looked for the slightest reason not to kill these men, these men who had violated her, who had taken her father’s life, and in that sense destroyed hers. But that had changed. Now, if they fit the description, or matched the names, or came close to doing either, she wanted them dead.

  The killing had begun. The quicker they were dead, the sooner she could live in a home of her own—something she’d never had. And more than that, she could hold her head up and live there in peace, like regular, everyday folks—something she’d never known. A tear glistened in her eye, but there was no time to wipe it away. She wouldn’t let it affect her aim.

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  First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, June 2006

  Copyright © Ralph Cotton, 2006

  All rights reserved

  eISBN : 978-1-101-09858-5

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Mary Lynn . . . of course.

  And in fond memory of Evan Hunter (Ed

  McBain), whose work inspires me and keeps

  me reaching. Long live the boys of the ole 87th.

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Bloody Kansas: March 1865

  At daybreak, in a cold drizzle, Julie Wilder, her father, Colonel Bertrim Wilder, and the colonel’s former orderly Shepherd Watson rode up into sight above the low-rise north of Umberton. Upon seeing the three riders and behind them the string of finely attended horses each was leading, Davis Beldon, the livery owner, stepped out of the corral beside his barn and stood in the middle of the muddy street, waving them in with his calloused hand.

  “Here comes the colonel, bringing his horses in, just like he said he would, soon as the weather broke,” Beldon said over his shoulder to his helper, Virgil Tolan, who stood at the barn door, a pitchfork full of clean straw in his hands.

  “Yep, he’s doing it,” Tolan replied, staring out through the grainy morning light, “but it’s not going to sit well with Ruddell Plantz and his militia riders.”

  Behind the livery barn a rooster crowed into the gray stillness of the morning. “I expect Captain Plantz and his so-called Kansas Border Militia will be making themselves scarce now that this confounded war is ending,” said Beldon. “Good riddance to them too.” A slight smile of satisfaction came to his face as he spit and watched the three riders bring the horses forward along the north trail. “I have no doubt Colonel Wilder would have dealt soundly with those scoundrels, had they tried to stop him from bringing those horses to town.”

  “All this time he’s never once paid Plantz and his militia any protection money like the rest of the ’steaders did,” said Tolan. He pitched the clean straw and stepped out beside Beldon, both hands resting atop the long pitchfork handle. “I expect even Plantz and the rest of them knew who to mess with and who not. Some men have guts; others don’t, I reckon.” He gave his employer a guarded look.

  “Well, thank God the extortion is ending.” Beldon’s smile faded as he squinted for a better view of the three riders, realizing that like most businessmen in the area during the war, he too had paid the Kansas Border Militia more than just a few times to keep his property and himself safe. Beldon decided it best to change the subject. “I recognize old Shep,” he said, “but who’s the wrangler on Wilder’s right?”

  “I have no idea,” said Tolan, also squinting a bit as he stared out with his employer. “I reckon it’s some cowpoke drifter the colonel let winter with him for beans and a roof. There’s plenty of them these days.”

  “Yeah,” said Beldon, “and it’s going to get worse before it gets any better, war or no war.”

  No one in Umberton had ever seen or even heard of the colonel’s daughter, and for good reason. Julie had not been born to the colonel and his late wife, Laura Nell Wilder. The girl’s real mother had been a camp follower known only as Sudie, who’d given birth to the colonel’s child during his tenure as a young captain along th
e wilderness frontier. Sudie had revealed Colonel Wilder’s name to her daughter shortly before her death ten years earlier. Over the next decade Julie had written to her father many times, but only recently had she traveled down from the north country to meet him face-to-face.

  “I sure hope Colonel Wilder knows what he’s doing, taking in every saddle-tramp that blows in off the prairie,” said Tolan.

  “I expect the colonel doesn’t need you or me telling him how to conduct himself,” Beldon said a bit sharply. His eyes stayed on the three riders and their strings of horses, most particularly on Julie Wilder, whose identity and gender lay hidden beneath a broad-brimmed Montana crown Stetson and a faded gray riding duster.

  Once atop the rise, Colonel Wilder slowed his mount long enough for Julie and Shep to sidle their horses up to him; riding abreast, the three led their strings at an easy pace all the way to the livery corral where Tolan unlatched the gate and swung it wide open.

  When the riders and their horses had all passed into the corral, Beldon stepped across the mud-rutted ground toward the colonel, grinning, with his hands shoved down into his back pockets. Tolan closed the gate and walked forward quickly until he’d passed Beldon and stood close enough to take the three lead ropes from the riders. He pulled the horses to the side and began looking them over as they milled around him.

  “Morning, Colonel,” said Beldon, deliberately showing little interest in the well-cared-for horses. “I expect you realize the price of horses can drop most any day with the war nearly over.”

  Without stepping down from his saddle, the colonel touched his hat brim courteously toward the two livery men and crossed his wrists on his saddle horn. “One thing for certain about war,” said the colonel, “is that it takes horses to carry men and equipment there, and it takes horses to carry them home again.”

  Beldon scratched his jaw and said, “Well, I can’t argue that. But the thing is, I don’t ordinarily keep this many horses on hand. I have to consider my cost in feed and upkeep until the army purchaser comes through Umberton again.” He shrugged. “It could be a week; it could be a month.”

  Julie and Shep backed their mounts a few feet to the side and sat quietly.

  “Or you could take them on over to Rulo,” said the colonel, leveling a fixed stare at the livery owner, “the way I would have done had you not asked me to first bring them to you for an offer.” The colonel paused a second, then said, “If need be, I still know the way to Rulo.”

  “Now hold on, Colonel,” Beldon said with a nervous smile, squirming a bit in place. “I’m not about to let you take these animals all the way to Rulo! I’m just looking for the best price. You can’t fault a fellow for that.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Colonel Wilder allowed himself a thin smile beneath his wide white mustache. Water dripped from the brim of his hat. “If you need to dicker a bit before you meet my price, let’s do it over a cup of coffee, out of the rain.”

  “Where are my manners!” Beldon said, chastising himself with a mock slap on the side of his wet head. “Of course, let’s get inside and get some hot coffee, while I try getting you to listen to reason.”

  Before swinging down from his saddle, Colonel Wilder raised an arm toward Shep and Julie. “Speaking of manners . . . you both know Shepherd Watson.”

  “Howdy, Shep.” The two livery men acknowledged the old cowhand, who touched his frayed hat brim and returned the courtesy.

  “Now for a surprise,” said the colonel. “I’d like both of you to meet my daughter, Julie Wilder.”

  “Your daughter?” said Beldon. Both he and Tolan looked doubly stunned, first by hearing that the person beneath the sweat-stained Montana crown was a woman; second, that Bertrim and the late Laura Nell Wilder had a child neither of them had ever mentioned. “My goodness . . . ,” Beldon added in a hushed tone.

  Colonel Wilder gestured his daughter forward with a gloved hand. “Julie, come on over here beside me,” he said cordially. “Let me introduce you to some of your new neighbors.” As Julie stepped her horse forward, the colonel added, “Even though we will be leaving this part of the country before long.”

  Recovering from their surprise, Beldon slicked his wet hair to one side. Tolan took off his wet flop hat and held it against his chest.

  “Ma’am, it is our pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Beldon said, speaking for both himself and his helper. “If there is anything we can do to make your stay here in Umberton more comfortable, please allow us to do so.”

  “Obliged,” Julie said, keeping her reply short and her tone of voice lowered as if its natural huskiness made her feel awkward. She pushed her hat brim up out of courtesy, at the same time revealing her face.

  Looking her over without being too obvious, Beldon asked, “You’ve been back east, I take it, in boarding school, no doubt?” Yet, even as he asked, Beldon silently answered his own question. The young woman sitting atop the big buckskin bay had not been back east, not in any boarding school anyway.

  Julie Wilder sat atop the buckskin loosely and comfortably, yet in a confident command, like a vaquero, Beldon told himself, not like some boarding school equestrian. He gave a cutaway glance at old Shep, then back to Julie as she said, still quietly in the same husky yet warm rich voice, “No, sir, I have never been back east. I’ve been—”

  “Not until now, that is,” the colonel cut in. “This will be our first daughter and father trip back east. We’re both looking forward to it.” He swung down from his saddle and held his reins out to Tolan, who stepped forward and took them obediently. “Daughter, why don’t you and Shep go over to Molly Lanahan’s and order us all three a nice hot breakfast? I’ll be right along as soon as Mr. Beldon and I thrash out a price we can both live with.”

  Beldon looked back at Julie Wilder, expecting her to complete the response she had started, but she didn’t. Instead she smiled modestly, saying, “Yes, Colonel,” and backed her horse a step as if in dismissal. As she did so, Beldon noted a short jagged scar on her left cheek as she turned her dark eyes away from him.

  The young woman had a rawboned toughness to her that presented itself clearly at first glance. Her eyes bore the same haunted look the livery man had seen on countless young drifters, eyes that were sharp and alert, but in sore need of rest, or perhaps reprieve.

  Beldon and Tolan turned sidelong and gave Julie and Shep a nod as the two stepped their horses past them, out the gate and up the narrow mud street.

  Turning back to Colonel Wilder, Beldon started to speak, but as if anticipating further questions about his daughter, the colonel said tactfully, “I hope you’ll both understand that Julie and I have missed many years together. You might say that we’re only now getting to know one another. Julie isn’t comfortable talking about her past . . . not that it’s anything to be ashamed of.” He finished speaking with a firm, level gaze.

  “Of course not,” said Beldon. “Whatever caused you two to be apart all those years is you and your daughter’s business. Let’s all just be happy that you’re together now.” The colonel’s gaze softened. He smiled. “Obliged, gentlemen. Now, let’s go do some dickering.”

  Watching from the upstairs window of a weathered clapboard rooming house across the street, a young gunman named Nez Peerly saw Julie Wilder take off her hat and shake out her long dark hair. “Whooiee!” he said over his shoulder to his trail pardner, Clarence Conlon. “Charlie, come take a look-see! This ain’t no ordinary wrangler the old colonel has riding with him!”

  Clarence, chewing on a cold fried chicken leg left over from last night’s dinner, stepped slowly over to the window, running the back of his hand across his glistening lips and black mustache. Looking down into the street, he caught only a glimpse of Julie’s long hair as she placed the hat back atop her head. “What’s the deal?” he grunted, still chewing. “I don’t see nothing.”

  Looking disgusted, Peerly said, “Well, maybe you would have if you’d gotten here when I told you.”

  He looke
d the big man up and down, eying the chicken leg in his hand and the grease shining in Clarence’s full black beard. “That’s a woman down there, Clarence.” He pointed.

  “Down where?” Clarence asked thickly, craning his big head forward a bit.

  “Down there, gawddamn it!” Peerly said angrily. “The one on the right, riding that black-legged buckskin! She just stuck that big hat down over her head, else you’d seen what I mean!”

  “So what?” Conlon shrugged, exposing a slash of dirty white lining in one of the ripped shoulder seams of his ill-fitting uniform. “Long hair don’t always mean woman where I come from.” He sucked grease from a large dirty thumb. “I could stand a little barbering myself.”

  Peerly stared harshly at him. “Didn’t you see the house rules downstairs, ‘No food allowed in rooms’?”

  “That’s not my house rules,” Conlon said flatly. He switched the chicken leg to his other hand and wiped his fingers on his already badly soiled tunic.

  “Do you know why that’s a house rule?” Peerly asked, getting more and more put out with him.

  “I couldn’t care less,” said the big burly Conlon, turning his gaze back down to the street as Julie and Shep rode slowly on toward the restaurant.

  “Because it draws rats up here,” Peerly informed him.

  “Rats don’t bother me none.”

  “I can see why,” said Peerly, “but as long as we have to share a bed, I don’t want rats crawling over me just to lick your whiskers.”

  “Then sleep on the gawddamned floor,” Conlon said gruffly, staring down at the two riders. He watched Julie swing down from her saddle out front of the restaurant. “A woman, huh?” he asked, noting something different about the figure in the wet riding duster. “I don’t even remember how long it’s been since I laid my hands on a woman’s warm furry belly.”

  Hearing Conlon’s voice take on a slight tremble, Peerly stared at him bemusedly and said, “Quite a damn while from the sound of it.” He stepped closer to Conlon, who stood staring down at the street as if mesmerized. Shaking his head in disgust, Peerly plucked the gnawed chicken bone from between Conlon’s large thumb and fingers and pitched it away. “Pull your tongue in and let’s get going,” he said.