Early the next morning a knock sounded at the door, and Ragan hurried to answer it. When word had spread that a gang had attacked Ragan and Johnny, the whole town went into an uproar.
“Oh, good morning, Everett.”
“Morning, Ragan.” The telegraph clerk tipped his hat, his face lined with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, thank you, Everett. It was nothing, really.”
“Nothing! You could have been killed.” He handed her a wire. “Mayor Rayles said to see that you got this quick as possible. It’s from the Hostetler boys over in Brown Branch.”
The judge rolled to the doorway. “And not a minute too soon.”
Ragan took the wire, scanning the message. “Isn’t there some kind of law that keeps you from reading other people’s wires, Everett?”
Everett colored. “How can I not read it? I have to write it down as it comes in. Job hazard, you know.”
“What’s it say?” the judge prodded. “Can they come right away?”
“Mmm,” she mused. “Yes, they can come, but you may change your mind when you read this.”
“Never you mind. Minnie’s already called a town meeting for this afternoon. We’ll pay those Hostetlers whatever they ask.”
“Well, Mercer was cheap. The Hostetler boys want a hundred dollars to do the job.”
The judge blanched. “A hundred dollars! The Roman army would be cheaper!”
Everett nodded. “That’s what I say.”
“Must think mighty highly of their services.” The clerk trailed Ragan and the judge into the kitchen.
“Land sakes! Do they think we’re made of money?” Judge McMann fumed. “They might as well use a mask and gun.”
Sighing, Ragan put the telegram down. “Should we give in to this kind of blackmail? These ideas seem silly and juvenile. The Bible says ‘thou shalt not kill,’ but the Old Testament is filled with retribution. We can’t let gangs destroy what we’ve worked for all our lives. Perhaps it’s time for violent measures.”
“I know it’s pure foolishness to ask someone like those dumb Hostetler boys to do anything, but we’re desperate, and the town doesn’t want killings unless it’s absolutely necessary. We’ll have to pay those boys what they want and pray they can rid the town of trouble.”
“I hear those boys aren’t known for their brains,” Johnny mused.
“No.” Ragan pursed her lips. “They’re not. Actually, it’s rumored they haven’t got the sense God gave a goose, but they do keep their town free of gangs.”
“Minnie says not to be late for the meeting this afternoon.” Everett swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Five o’clock. Everyone’s required to be there.”
“Required?” the judge blustered. “Who made Minnie queen?”
“She says we have to do this democratically. After the Mercer thing, folks are pretty antsy. The town has to vote on calling the Brown Branch boys and then figure out how we’re gonna come up with the money to pay them.”
“Dadburn it. Supper’ll be late again.”
“Judge,” Johnny said, “let your nays be nays and your yeas be yeas.”
The judge nailed a fly with a swatter. “Everett, you tell Minnie to make it brief. Why even vote? What choice do we have? Gangs riding around, attacking young couples. It’s a disgrace.” Still grumbling, he rolled out of the room.
Chapter Thirty
The thermometer hanging on the Oasis porch registered one hundred and one at five o’clock that afternoon. Anyone with a lick of sense knew you didn’t call a meeting at this hour of the day, and more than one person informed Minnie of the fact. Townsfolk wiped sweat, and ordered lemonades from Mildred Crocker, who was as cross as a bear for having to work late.
“Everyone sit down and hush up!” The stout-framed woman stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, hair hanging in her flushed face. “I’m serving up drinks as fast as a body can. I didn’t invent this heat.”
“I don’t know what’s worse, Millie, your sour attitude or your sour lemonade. Is there a sugar shortage?”
“No, there’s a brain shortage, Jesse. I thought you of all folks would know that.”
Ragan pushed Judge McMann’s chair through the crowd. Johnny was already seated toward the front with her family. Jo had planted herself next to McAllister. What was she going to do with that girl?
She caught Johnny’s eye and frowned her disapproval. A moment later he got up and moved to the back of the room. Jo turned in her seat and shot Ragan a glare.
The room was abuzz with today’s topic. Roberta Seeden’s highpitched voice carried above the noise. “Well, yes, I am concerned when I think that the rest of my life is going to be spent crouching under a table or hiding in a closet. That’s not easy for some of us, you know. A hundred dollars is highway robbery, but I’m willing to pay just about anything at this point.”
“Maybe you are, Roberta, but there’s others in the room who can’t pay it. You and Tim got a little money put back, but what about the rest of us? We ain’t got that kind of cash.”
“It’s all I can do to keep the wolf off my doorstep,” one man complained.
“You ain’t gonna have a doorstep if the raids keep up,” a woman reminded him.
Calling for order, Judge McMann whacked his cane on the bar. Millie flinched and dropped a full tray of lemonade on the floor.
“Effie, help Millie clean that up. Everyone else, sit down and let’s get this meeting underway. It’s twenty minutes past my suppertime as it is.”
The din quieted with the exception of Effie Willoughby, who crawled on her bony hands and knees, picking up broken shards of glass.
“Get on with it, Judge,” a farmer yelled. “You ain’t the only one hungry, and besides that, I got cows waitin’ to be milked.”
Judge McMann gave him a repressive look. “All right, now. As you all know, Everett sent the wire over to Brown Branch inviting the Hostetler brothers and the Jurley boy to come in and do something about the raids.” His eyes moved to Minnie. “They’re available, for a price.”
“We know the price, Judge.” Carl Rayles’s mouth was set, and a deep flush rose from his collar. “Might as well stick a gun to our heads, but they got us over a barrel. We’ll have to come up with the money somehow. It’s a sad day when we can’t even visit loved ones’ graves without being harassed.”
Clifford Kincaid got to his feet. The small-statured man adjusted the red cap on his head. “I say we offer ’em ten dollars apiece. That’s a fair price for anyone.”
“That’s more than fair, Cap,” the judge said, “but they want a hundred dollars.”
The room hummed with indignation.
“A hundred dollars? How many are there?” a woman asked.
“Four in all. Three Hostetlers, and the Jurley boy.”
“A hundred dollars is outrageous. Can’t we offer them twenty-five?”
“We can, but they won’t accept it.” Florence Banks stood up from where she was helping Effie wipe up the sticky floor. “I’ve heard about these boys. They’re not real bright, but they’re stubborn as mules when it comes to money.”
“If they’re not real bright, why would we hire them?” asked a woman sitting near the back, fanning herself with a piece of paper.
“Bright or not, we’ll have to pay whatever they ask,” Minnie declared. “We can’t go on like this.”
“I agree with Minnie! A hundred dollars ain’t much when you consider it’s our lives you’re talkin’ about.”
“Let’s get on with it!”
Clifford used his cap as a fan. “Do something, even if it’s wrong. Won’t be the first time.”
A hat was started around. Amid complaints and disgusted grunts, folks dug in their pockets. When it reached the back of the room, a man carried it to the front and counted the donations. “Three dollars and eighty-seven cents.”
An uneasy silence gripped the room.
Austin Plummer said, “I put in a dollar! That me
ans the rest of you yokels only contributed two dollars and eighty-seven cents!”
Eyes lowered. Feet shuffled in the back of the room, some in the crowd looking contrite.
“Okay,” Judge McMann said. “We’re going to have to assess each family a flat fee.”
When a few protested, the judge rapped on the bar with his cane. “People! Do we want help or not?”
Holly stood, clearing her throat. “Judge, I understand your need to assess a fee, but Tom and I need every cent we have.” She blushed, glancing at her fiancé. “We hoped to marry late fall or early next winter, and we’re both saving every bit we can get our hands on.”
Other protests echoed her words. The judge’s cane rapped again for silence.
A lone voice spoke up. “What’s wrong with doing the job yourselves?”
Heads swiveled to locate the speaker.
Johnny McAllister met a sea of curious eyes. “Why not do the job yourselves?” he repeated.
Ragan felt a stab of relief. She held her breath, praying he would suggest a viable way for the citizens to defend the town.
“I say we assess a dollar a household,” Minnie butted in. “McAllister is a… an outsider. He should not have a say in our business.”
Ragan shot her a glare. Why couldn’t Minnie keep her opinions to herself just once?
“That’s only sixty-seven dollars,” someone offered.
“What if there’re two families in one household? Would that be one dollar or two dollars?”
“Two dollars! That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Paying one price for a family isn’t right, either. There’re only two people in our house, but others in this room have six or seven. They should have to pay more than a dollar!”
“Are you out of your mind? More than a dollar?” Jim Allen turned red-faced. “Why, Polly Ann and I can barely keep food on the table for the eight of us. Where are we going to get that much money to give to the dumb Hostetler boys?”
“What’s wrong with doing the job yourselves?”
Heads switched back to Johnny.
“Stay out of this, McAllister,” a man called.
“Shopkeepers should put in two dollars each,” another man suggested. “They ought to pick up the slack for those of us who can’t afford to chip in.”
“Now, see here!” Frankie Southern objected. “Kensil and I can’t afford two dollars just because we own the mercantile!”
A timid hand raised in the back row. “How about fifty cents an adult and twenty-five cents a child?”
“What are you calling an adult? I’m not paying fifty cents for my fifteen-year-old.”
“Friends! Please!” Judge McMann rapped for order again. “You want the help, but you’re not willing to pay for it. I’m putting five dollars on the table, and then I’m going home. I suggest you do the same and think about this. I’m not sold on the Hostetlers, but since I can’t come up with a better idea, I’m willing to give it a shot.” He slapped down the bills and then motioned to Ragan and Johnny. “It’s past our suppertime.”
The Brown Branch boys were hired for the job. Within the week they rode into town, looking like the cavalry to the beleaguered citizens of Barren Flats. The oldest boy, Billy, was a big, tall blond whose hair stood straight up at the crown. He was almost scary looking, but the town couldn’t be picky.
The second brother, Buck, bore a striking resemblance to Billy. He was dirty, hadn’t been near a razor in months, and a tad shorter and rounder around the middle than his older brother, but a Hostetler, no doubt.
A missing front tooth in no way hindered his friendly smile.
Cisco, the third Hostetler, didn’t resemble either a choirboy or his brothers. Ragan studied his swarthy looks and decided the town had another chicken killer on their hands. And a high-priced one, at that. He wore his raven black hair slicked back and tied with a leather thong. His dark, brooding eyes constantly searched the crowd that had turned out to watch the boys’ arrival.
Rantz Jurley, a strange character with Spanish heritage, hung back and waved at everyone as the crew rode in.
“Maizie Jurley’s boy,” Minnie Rayles whispered. “Dropped on his head at birth. Pure old mean. Maizie’s moved him from one town to another to keep him out of trouble. He’s lived with every cousin and relative she could convince to take him for a spell. No one’s been able to straighten him out.”
“Do you know any of these men?” Ragan whispered to Johnny.
“Sure. They’re all close friends.”
She gave him a prickly look.
When the judge saw the motley group, Ragan heard him mutter under his breath before he turned and rolled his chair back into the mercantile.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Hostetlers set up camp in back of the post office. They pitched a tent and hobbled a couple of shaggy pack mules, which brayed day and night. The noise was deafening.
Ragan passed a bowl of gravy to Johnny the second morning, blearyeyed from lack of sleep. “Well, what do you think?”
He broke open a biscuit and ladled gravy over it. “I think it’s going to be a hot one today.”
Judge McMann rolled his eyes.
“What do you think about the Brown Branch boys?” she persisted. “And none of this ‘it’s not my problem’ nonsense. It is your problem, whether you like it or not.”
Johnny chewed a bite of biscuit and gravy, and then he calmly drained his coffee cup and pushed back from the table.
Ragan waited. This time he was going to answer, or she was going to throttle an opinion out of him.
“I think they could use a haircut and a bath.”
She calmly picked up the bowl of gravy and dumped the contents in his lap.
Johnny shoved back from the table. Kitty seized the moment and began licking gravy off the floor. He shot Ragan a look that would have scared most women.
Casually reaching for the bowl of scrambled eggs, Ragan studied it. “Surely you have some teensy, tiny comment?” Her expression hardened. “Don’t you?”
The judge hurriedly took a sip of coffee, and then he backed his chair to safety.
“Ragan—”
Her eyes snapped fire. “Don’t you?” She hefted the bowl threateningly.
Johnny mopped gravy off the front of his clothes. “The town doesn’t want to hear what I think. They made that clear at the meeting.”
“The town might not, but I do,” the judge said, returning to the table, interest lighting his eyes. “I would value your opinion, John.”
Kitty jumped onto the judge’s lap, sniffing his hand for a treat. Dipping his fingers in the remains of the gravy, he allowed the cat to lick them clean.
Carrying a stack of dishes to the sink, Johnny deposited them in the dishpan. “I don’t understand why they want to hire someone to do their job.”
The judge leaned back, studying him. “You’re saying you think we haven’t tried to defend ourselves?”
Johnny’s eyes met Ragan’s. “I know how you’ve been terrorized, your father burned out, and the town shot to pieces.” He looked at the judge. “I know about Ragan’s brother, and I know about being scared and helpless, but you can’t expect others to protect you. You want my opinion? I think you’re a community of gutless cowards who won’t stand up for what’s rightly yours.”
He turned on his heel and left the room.
For a moment, neither Ragan nor the judge could find their tongues.
Finally Ragan picked up the empty gravy bowl and wiped the table clean.
“Well,” the judge observed. “As I said, we have to consider all communication as positive.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
That afternoon Johnny stayed behind while Ragan and Judge McMann visited Main Street to see the Hostetlers’ progress. A gang hadn’t come through since their arrival, and things were uncommonly quiet.
“Are you sure you won’t come?” Ragan asked as she pushed the judge’s chair past Johnny and through the open gate.
>
“No. I promised Mrs. Curbow I’d fix a loose shutter for her this afternoon.” Johnny closed the gate behind them and latched it.
Work around the judge’s house had slowed to the point that Ragan had started to loan Johnny out to the town’s widows. Between painting and gardening, he was busy most of the time.
“Mind if Kitty goes with me?”
The judge and Ragan turned to look over their shoulders. He met their stunned gazes easily.
“No, go right ahead. She’ll enjoy tagging along,” the judge said.
When they reached Main Street, Ragan braked the chair, eyeing the activity. The three Hostetlers and Rantz ran back and forth from one side of the street to the other, stringing rope across the north entrance.
“What on earth are they doing?” Squinting, the judge leaned forward in his chair, shading his eyes against the sun’s glare.
“Looks like they’re tying rope to posts at the telegraph office and then tying the other end to the mercantile across the street. Maybe they’re going to hang a sign.” Ragan couldn’t imagine why they’d do that.
Billy snapped orders while Cisco tied the rope on one side and Rantz tied it on the other. Buck measured out another length and started toward the south end of town, dragging the hemp behind him. He grinned, tipping his hat as he passed the judge. The tip of his tongue protruded through the gap from his missing front tooth.
Billy barely glanced up when Ragan rolled the judge’s chair within hearing distance.
“What are you doing, son?”
The boy looped the rope around a post and tightened it. “Strangin’ rope.”
“I can see that. What’s the plan?”
“Gonna strang rope ’cross the road for when the gangs ride through again.”
The judge glanced at the rope and then at Billy. “And what’s supposed to happen?”
“The gangs’ll ride in, and the rope’ll catch ’em right here.” He gave a hard chop to his sternum.
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