Good Day for a Hanging
Rita Hestand
Good Day for a Hanging
(Book 2 of the Western Killer series)
By Rita Hestand
Smashwords Edition
Good Day for a Hanging
Copyright© 2014 Rita Hestand
All rights reserved
Digital ISBN
9781310087592
Other books in this series:
Better Off Without Her
(more to come)
License Notes
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. Please purchase an additional copy for each person you share with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Table of Content
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twnety-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
About the Author
Rita's Other Books
Fall of 1878
Ranching community south of Waco
Melville, Texas
Chapter One
First Victim
How can I begin to tell Jim what happened? He's not going to believe me...
Sweat poured off of Smitty Younger like someone had thrown him in the horse trough. His hands were shaking as he reached for the door knob. He hesitated opening the door. Smitty finally walked in the Sheriff's office with his face ashen, his mouth hanging open, and then he slowly glanced at his oldest and dearest friend, Jim Bonner, the Sheriff. He moved toward him slowly, his hat in his hand, his hands going around the rim of the hat in nervous anticipation, his mind trying to figure out how to talk to Jim now. He wasn't sure he could talk. He cleared his throat.
A whiff of fresh coffee was brewing on the stove. Usually Smitty was eager for a cup of coffee, but not today.
Today his stomach was like acid roiling.
Smitty glanced up, noting the bullet hole in the wall that some mad husband had shot there when his wife asked to be locked up for her own safety.
He grimaced.
He saw the broom in the corner waiting for him to use it, as the dust had kicked up. A cricket bounced against the corner of the wall as though trying to escape his own capture. Smitty knew just how that cricket felt, he wanted to escape and forget what he'd seen. None of these things were important, and yet were magnified in Smitty's mind right now. Concentrating on unimportant things would steady his nerve.
He wasn't at all sure Jim would believe him if he blurted out what he'd seen. Jim was a serious kind of Sheriff, and sometimes he just had to see for himself. Smitty knew he'd have to see this.
Jim was busy going through wanted posters, and reading the daily mail. It was a routine for him and Smitty usually didn't disturb him, but today was different. It was a routine that Smitty didn't want to interrupt but knew he had to.
Jim had been the Sheriff in Melville for nearly seven years, ever since his father died. He'd taken the job seriously and handled it well, but not without a few sacrifices along the way, Smitty noted silently. He was a good man, a good Sheriff.
Smitty looked at Jim like he'd never seen him. For some reason he looked a little closer than he ever had. Noting the dark brown hair sticking out from under Jim's hat, and the way he lifted his coffee cup to his lips without even looking at the cup. Smitty had never been able to do that. Funny how things like that seemed to hit you when your fears outweighed good logic.
~*~
"So, did you see Mr. Perkins?" Jim mumbled not bothering to look up.
Smitty squirmed. Jim felt that squirm and glanced up for a second.
Funny, he didn't have to look at him to know he was back. There was something about the way Smitty walked that he recognized without even looking up from his desk. One leg always made more noise against the floor than the other, and Smitty had a slight squeak to his boots that Jim tried his best to ignore.
The slight dust from the papers stirred the air, making little whirly motions in the sunlight.
"N-o, well yeah…" Smitty answered, as sweat dripped from his forehead.
Again Jim glanced up but his attention wasn't on Smitty right now.
"Did you talk to him about his missing cattle?" Jim asked his deputy. Then the sweat dripped onto his paperwork, smearing the ink on one paper. Still engrossed in his reading, Jim smiled brightly. "Well lookie here, I finally got a paper on them catching and killing Sam Bass. Six month old news just getting to us. I doubt Melville will ever catch up with Waco or Dallas."
Smitty didn't reply.
Jim stretched himself and glanced out the window, admiring the quietness of his little town.
Melville was a small unobtrusive little town that hosted maybe three hundred or more. It had a post office, general store, a cotton gin, a bank, one hotel and three saloons and five different churches. Just south of Waco, it missed it's mark of fame when the Railroad didn't come through it as planned. It was given the name Melville after a civil war hero that had moved here after the war and died of complications to an old wound. Captain Melville had wanted to build a town, and his name drew many, Jim remembered, his mind drifting from one fact to another as he waited for Smitty to give him the full report.
~*~
But the silence slicing the air between them finally got Jim's attention. When Jim did look up, his mouth was hanging open as Smitty took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sweat away. Not just a little sweat, he was dripping as though it were a hundred degrees outside. Jim couldn't help but glance out the window for assurance that it wasn't hot outside. The wind and the dull hint of the sun shining affirmed it was not a scorching day. A norther had blown in last night and cooled the earth to an almost chill, so why was Smitty sweating?
Smitty's hands shook as he wiped his forehead, another sign that things weren't right, Jim mentally noted. Jim silently scolded himself, he was always thinking in question marks, old habit.
There were times, like this one, when he knew he had to put his own thoughts and actions away and pay attention to his deputy. This was one of those times.
Why did Smitty have that look of galvanized fear on his face that Jim knew so
well? Smitty wasn't known for his bravery, but few things ever spooked him either. He'd backed Jim more than once on occasion in a shootout. Still Smitty was famous for his honesty and loyalty to friends, a loyalty Jim appreciated more than he could say.
Had Mr. Perkins threatened him? Had something gone wrong at the Perkins place? A million questions built in Jim's detective mind. But the strange unidentifying look on Smitty's face had Jim wary.
"What's wrong with you?" He asked impatient to get the full report. "You're jittery and nervous and acting very strange. So out with it, what happened?"
Smitty shook his head slowly, his eyes widening, his hands shaking a bit as he stuck them in his back pocket, as though to hide the fact that they were shaking.
"You gotta come see this. I can't tell ya. You'd swear I was loco." Smitty said his voice going up a notch as it often did when he was rattled about something.
Jim shook his head. "I sent you out there to check on things, so I wouldn't have to worry with it, Smitty. Now, you want me to ride out there and do it myself, anyway?"
But unlike other times, Smitty didn't seem to care about the Sheriff's anger.
"Jim," Smitty shook his head as though clearing it, his voice full of indescribable emotions.. "I know you did. But you ain't gonna believe me, until you see it for yourself, so there's no use me tryin' to explain things. You'll have to see this." Smitty insisted his eyes finally dropping to the paper Jim held in his hand. "You see, I couldn't talk to Perkins."
"He gave you some trouble then. Well…I've got a lot of…" He stopped midsentence and looked at Smitty's face, considering his deputy's reputation for thoroughness, he twisted his head. "What are you tryin' so hard not to tell me?"
"Please it wouldn't do a bit a good to tell you. You'd still have to go out there anyways, so let's go together." Smitty insisted.
"Alright…in a bit…"
"No, no you gotta come now. This can't wait. We gotta do this now…it's important." Smitty kept insisting.
Jim sighed, not bothering to hide his frustration; he pushed his paperwork aside and nodded. "Okay, settle down. We'll go now."
Jim knew Smitty well enough to realize that when he was this upset, something wasn't right. Smitty had been born to worry. But this morning Jim had so wanted to relax and have a peaceful day. That peace had flown out the window of his office, the minute Smitty came back.
The Rocking Horse Ranch hands had created a commotion in town all weekend, and now that they were gone, he wasn't anxious to see any more trouble for a while. He'd just released the last of the drunk drovers this morning. Smitty was bothering his peace. He knew he'd have to placate him.
After careful consideration, Jim had to admit, Smitty wasn't one for dramatics. There had to be something very wrong, for him not to have done his duty. Respecting that Jim nodded.
"Get our horses; I'll be right behind you." Jim said.
"Sure…the horses…"
The ride to the Perkins ranch was silent and Jim kept looking at his deputy as though he'd lost his mind. Smitty was a little more cautious about things, but he was a good man to have around and Jim trusted him with his life, and that was saying something, as Jim was slow to trust anyone. Although Smitty disrupted his morning, he had to give him the benefit of the doubt because he was a reliable lawman. There weren't many men though that Jim held that position with.
Jim wanted to question him, but instead he was silent too. He stared at him out of the corner of his eye. Smitty wasn't acting his jovial self this morning, his face was drawn and grim, Jim noticed. Whatever was wrong, was very wrong, and Jim felt a sense of dread climb up his back.
Smitty Younger came from a long line of outlaw relatives, and he spent most of his time trying to live down the legend of his cousins. He was only about thirty as near as anyone could tell. He was still a young man in an old man's body. He wasn't born in town, so there were no official records to his age, but Jim sized him as close to thirty. He was pudgy around the middle because of his weakness for red-eye gravy and ham. He had unruly and unnoticeable brown hair. But it was his eyes that spoke the true character of this man. Jim long ago had reasoned that every man or woman on earth had something special about them, with Smitty it was his soft heart and clear blue eyes that spoke of honesty and loyalty that made Smitty special. No the truth was, Jim liked Smitty probably more than anyone except Ruby. So he couldn't very well get upset with him for dragging him out here this morning. Maybe it was important. Smitty didn't get upset about a lot of things. He had such a peaceful nature that people thought he was a mild mannered man. Jim knew when the times called for it, Smitty would back him up with a gun or whatever was needed. A man good with his fists, and slow with his intentions.
Trust didn't grow on trees, Jim acknowledged silently. Truth be told, Smitty was the kind of man that would jump in front of a bullet to save a friend.
He couldn't help but remember it was Smitty who knocked the gun out of the drunk drover's hand last night. Jim had been thankful. A gunfight would have turned the town into a complete brawl. Smitty had avoided it and Jim was thankful.
Still, what could be so all fired bad out here? The birds were singing, the grasshoppers jumping, nothing seemed out of place. It was more quiet than usual, and as they neared the Perkins place, Jim noticed no dust stirring, nor activity, which was strange in itself. Something was always going on at the Perkins place. But today nothing but the wind picked up and a chill ran up Jim's spine. Perkins was a working man, not prone to be lazy about his spread. And yet the quiet spoke of no activity.
Usually Jim could guess a problem, today was different. And yet his deputy of five years was jumpy, nervous, and almost fearful of something. He was acting out of character and that threw Jim into immediate caution.
Perhaps there was some cattle rustling going on and Smitty had found something to prove it. After all Mr. Perkins claimed someone had taken nearly thirty of his cows all toll over a period of a year. Although, the strangest thing about that was that they had slowly disappeared, not all at once. So whoever the thief was, they were careful not to cause attention.
He'd asked Smitty to check on Mr. Perkins and see if he'd made a miscount. It happened, even to the best of ranchers. Although Perkins would never admit such a thing. Several of the ranchers reported the same thing within the last month and Jim suspicioned a new bunch of cattle thieves in the area. He hoped he was wrong.
Perkins ran his cattle up to Montana most years as he made a lot more money than the other ranchers around. Perkins hadn't reported any cattle rustling before, and Jim just wanted to be sure that Mr. Perkins wasn't just getting old and did a miscount.
So, maybe there was trouble at the Perkins place. Yet what he witnessed on Smitty's face wasn't the normal kind of trouble. What he had seen on his face was fear. Yet how could fear not be an ordinary emotional reaction?
Although Mr. Perkins could be onry, and contrary, he wasn't prone to meanness. And despite his mild manner, Smitty wasn't the kind of man to be fearful of much. He'd almost died one year of a shotgun blast and lived to tell of it, so that left Smitty a much more agreeable man. He appreciated his life and enjoyed it.
As they approached the ranch house, the door flew open and banged against its latch. The sound echoed against the silence of the morning like a unwelcome greeting. Jim immediately felt the eeriness of the place. His guard went up. Tension flooded him. There was trouble here and he could feel it now as the ranch house came into sight. It was tangible. His deputy had stumbled onto it too. A bad kind of trouble that meant he'd have his work cut out for him.
Even his horse acted a little skittish, this put Jim on alert. Like some ghost lurked in the shadows. His uneasiness grew as he dismounted, but he didn't want to scare Smitty any more than he was already.
Smitty was right again, there was something very wrong here. It wasn't necessarily something you could put a finger on, but it was trouble. Perhaps that's why he couldn't just tell him what was wrong this morni
ng. Maybe he didn't know himself.
He glanced over at Smitty with a cautionary expression, knowing that his deputy didn't scare like most folks thought. He dismounted and headed for the porch. His own footsteps resounded in the silence of the day.
But it was the loudness of the silence that resounded.
"He ain't there." Smitty said, as he hung his head, his voice almost hollow.
"Then where is he? Working?"
"No…he ain't workin' any more Jim. Follow me…" Smitty hung his head and wiped the sweat once more as he dismounted, and glanced around the place, his expression grim, foreboding.
Smitty's words took Jim by surprise.
There was that silence again.
Jim watched him closely. Why wasn't Mr. Perkins working. He was always working, sun up to sun down. Why wouldn't he be working today?
"Why don't you just tell me what is going on here? I can see something has you upset. And this place doesn't look right, or feel right. What's going on?"
Smitty seemed to know the answer to that but he wasn't going to tell him.
When he remained silent, Jim frowned.
Smitty led him to the garden out back, and through the cornfield, and then he suddenly stopped. Jim waited for him to say something. Still Smitty firmed his lips, and widened his eyes.
"Okay…I give up, where is he?" Jim said unable to hide his irritation with him.
Smitty squirmed again.
"He's…up there." He nodded, as his face paled, and his eyes quickly averted to the ground.
"Up where?" Jim frowned, his eyes went to the sky, to tree tops, to the land.
"He's hangin' up there…" Smitty pointed to the scarecrow finally, but diverted his gaze to the open pastures beyond, as though he couldn't quite keep himself composed as he said it.
Jim raised his head, and looked at the scarecrow. Seeing nothing, he took the scarecrow's hat off and started to reprimand Smitty for his antics, until he homed in on the scarecrows face. It was Mr. Perkins. Or it used to be.
Good Day for a Hanging (Book Two of the Western Serial Killers series) Page 1