by Fools Gold
“What is it, Mama?” Eden asked fearfully. “Is it bad men coming for us?”
“It may be,” Libby said. “Just do what I tell you.”
Ah Fong shot her a querying look. “You stay out of the way too,” she said.
The horses galloped into the clearing.
“We know you’re in there,” shouted a man’s voice. “Come on out with your hands up.”
“Go away!” Libby yelled. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m not being tricked into coming out. I’ve still got my rifle and I’ve still got bullets.”
“Don’t be a fool,” the voice shouted. “We’ve got the place surrounded. Come out and surrender before it’s too late.”
Libby glanced back at the children cowering in the corner and Ah Fong by the stove. She couldn’t risk any shooting with only canvas to protect them. Cautiously, she opened the canvas. “What do you want?” she asked, looking up at strange faces.
“Is this the woman?” the leader asked.
“That’s her,” a voice replied and Libby saw one of the men who had chased her up from the creek.
“Come with us please,” the leader said.
“What for?”
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Bart Jackson.”
“But he attacked me. It was self-defense,” Libby said in outrage.
“You’ll be able to tell your side at the trial,” the man said. “Now get out here before we have to drag you behind the horses.”
Libby looked back at Ah Fong. “Take care of the girls for me,” she said. “Don’t let anything happen to them until I get back.”
“Don’t worry, missee. Ah Fong take good care,” he said. “You don’t let them devils push you around. You got law of United States for you.”
“I hope so, Fong,” she said, letting the canvas flap fall.
The leading man reached down and dragged her up roughly onto his saddle, then they set off at a gallop back down the trail. It was an uncomfortable ride for Libby, held like a sack of potatoes in front of the man, and she was shaken and bruised by the time they rode into the main street of Hangtown.
“Here she is. We got her,” members of the posse shouted as they rode into town. They shot off guns into the air and men came running from the bars into the main street. Someone brought out a table and chairs. The man let Libby slide from his horse and someone pushed her to the front of the crowd. The whole scene was assuming a nightmare quality. It was such a close reenactment of the trial she had witnessed on her arrival in Hangtown. She remembered the way they had pushed the Mexican girl to the front of the crowd, the way she had stood there defiantly, fear gradually overtaking defiance as she realized what was going to happen to her. Libby looked around the faces of the crowd; they had the same excited, eager look that she had noticed before, as if they were about to witness a sports event. She realized then that they wanted another hanging.
Five men took their places in the chairs, one of them the doctor who had shown the only spark of justice and compassion at the last trial. Libby looked around the crowd, hoping to see other familiar faces, but there were none.
“State your name please,” the man in the center chair asked.
“Elizabeth Grenville.”
“Elizabeth Grenville, you are charged with the murder of Bart Jackson earlier today. We have in the crowd three men who saw you kill him. Is Slim here?”
One of the men stepped forward. “I was there, along with Billy Bob and Dutch,” he said. “We saw her gun him down in cold blood.”
“That’s not true,” Libby began.
“Shut up and let the man speak. You’ll get your turn,” came from the table. “How did it happen, Slim?”
The man looked at Libby. There was now no sign of the drunken grin. His eyes were hard and sharp as they watched her. “We was walking down by the creek,” he said, “and we was passing this little lady’s cabin and we knowed she was all alone there, so Bart said why don’t we pay a call on her and see how she’s getting along? So we called out to her and she yells out something we can’t quite hear, so Bart pulls open her door and steps inside and before he can speak—bang—he’s lying dead on the floor and her standing there holding a rifle in her hand. And she looks up, cool as a cucumber and says to the rest of us, “Get him out of here or you’ll end up the same as him. I swear to God.”
Libby ran over to the table. “Don’t listen to him,” she begged. “It wasn’t like that at all. They tried to grab me down at the creek. They were all drunk. I ran all the way back to the cabin and got my rifle. I told them not to come in but the man in black came in anyway. He was laughing and he said I couldn’t shoot a fly. It was when he reached out to grab the gun that I shot him. I didn’t mean to kill him but it was self-defense. They were going to. . . .” Libby’s voice trailed off, unable to go on.
“Is this right, Slim? Billy Bob? Dutch?” the doctor asked, looking up from the table.
The three men looked at each other and grinned. “We were just having a little fun, that’s all. We didn’t mean no harm. There was no call to go shooting anyone. It was coldblooded murder. I say hang the bitch.”
“That’s right. String her up. Let her get what’s coming to her.” Voices from the crowd took up the chant.
“But if it was self-defense,” the doctor tried to shout over the noise of the crowd. “A woman has a right to protect her honor.”
“Nobody touched her,” Slim yelled. “It was all in her head. I tell you, she’s got a crazy idea about men looking at her—comes from being too long without a man. If you let her go, she’ll like as not gun down any miner who happens to look her way—I swear it.”
“That’s right. It ain’t safe to let her go. Get rid of her,” voices from the crowd picked up again.
Libby looked from one face to the next. They wanted to hang her, she could see that. They were itching for the excitement of a hanging. It didn’t matter whether they thought she was innocent or not. She thought of her children, with only Ah Fong to take care of them. She thought of Hugh and wondered if he would ever know what she did for him, however misguided and stupid it had been. Then she thought of Gabe. If only things had been different, she thought sadly, and wished she had not sent him away that night.
“Take her down to the hanging tree,” someone yelled. Pistols were fired off into the air. Horses neighed and stamped around uneasily. Hands grabbed her and the crowd surged forward, sweeping her along with its momentum so that her feet hardly touched the ground. Buildings flashed past her and a large oak tree loomed ahead. Men were already attempting to throw a rope over a branch that jutted out over the street.
“Wait! Listen to me!” Libby screamed, but the roar of the crowd drowned out her voice. She wondered if it would hurt much and if it took long to die. The rope was secured. “Bring her over here,” called the man with the noose. A hefty push in the back sent Libby staggering forward. She stumbled and the crowd roared and jeered. She remembered the Mexican girl’s proud defiance and brushed herself off, turning to stare at them with equal disdain. “You’re all animals,” she shouted. “There is not one person here who is worthy to be called a man.”
“Shut her up. She talks too much,” a drunken voice yelled.
Hands jerked the noose over her neck.
“Hold it right there!” a voice commanded and a bullet spat into the dust right at the feet of the potential hangman. Gabe Foster stepped between Libby and the crowd, both pistols cocked. “Nobody moves until I’ve had my say,” he shouted.
“Get him out of here. We’ve heard enough,” men shouted from the crowd.
Gabe faced them calmly. “I think enough people have seen me shoot,” he said. “Just be quiet and listen to what I have to say.”
The crowd muttered and fell silent. Gabe did not look at Libby, but stepped in front of her, facing the crowd. “Which of you have come across this woman before?” he asked.
Several hands were raised sheepishly.
“And what w
as your impression of her until now?”
“Stuck up,” someone muttered. “Kept to herself. Didn’t like to joke with the miners. . . .”
“In other words,” Gabe said, “she was what you would call a real lady. Am I correct?”
Several murmurs from the crowd.
“She still gunned down Bart,” growled a voice at the back.
“Can you blame her?” Gabe shouted. “Would you expect a proper lady to act any differently if she was attacked and grabbed by a band of drunken miners and had to fight for her honor?” He scanned the group, his gaze moving from left to right. “I think you’ve all been away from civilization too long,” he roared. “What would you feel if this was your sister, or your sweetheart, or your mother, or your wife? Would you want one of them to have to go through what this lady’s been through? Would you condemn her because she tried to defend herself from the ultimate degradation? She has lived here alone, bravely taking care of two little children with nobody to protect her or look after her.”
His gaze swept the audience again. Several miners hung their heads, not wanting to look at him. “This lady is not a criminal and you know it,” Gabe went on. “I beg you not to make this terrible mistake. If you allow this to happen now, then one day, as God is my witness, I swear to you that your wife, or your sister, or your little daughter will suffer as this lady is suffering, and you will realize that it is God’s justice and judgment coming back to punish you. Revenge is mine, says the Lord. Do you dare to trifle with Him?”
The doctor pushed his way through the crowd to join Gabe. “You’ve heard him,” he said. “He speaks with the voice of reason. All those who think she acted in self-defense say aye.”
There was a murmured aye from the crowd.
“All those against?”
There was silence. The doctor went over to Libby and took the noose from her neck. “My dear. You are free to go,” he said.
CHAPTER 23
THE CROWD STARTED to drift away. Libby just stood there under the tree, too overwhelmed and dazed to know what to do next. The doctor patted her shoulder. “I’m very glad for you, my dear. I hate to see these miscarriages of justice, but when they’ve been drinking, it’s not easy to stop them.” He turned to Gabe still standing with both pistols in his hands. “You have this gentleman to thank for your life, I think.”
She looked at him with wonder as his eyes lit up with a smile.
“You really are my guardian angel, aren’t you?” she asked. “How on earth did you manage to materialize just when I needed you most?”
Gabe tucked the pistols back in their holsters. “Oh, you know us angels,” he said. “We just hover around, playing our harps until needed.”
“In which case, what took you so long?” she asked, not knowing whether to laugh or cry with pent-up emotion. “A few more minutes and I’d have been swinging from that tree.”
“Well, it takes a while to change out of my wings and white nightgown,” Gabe said. He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Actually I was asleep in my room at the hotel. I keep pretty late hours and I usually take a nap in the afternoon. I heard all the noise and asked what was happening.”
“You’re staying at the hotel? Here?” she asked.
“The new hotel,” he said.
“Sheldon Rival’s place?” she asked in disgust.
“That’s right. He asked me to get his gambling parlor going for him, so I’ve been here about a month.”
“And I didn’t know,” she said. “But I thought you despised the man as much as I do.”
“Sure I do,” he agreed. He started to lead her across the street toward the impressive wooden front of the new hotel. “But he made me a very good offer and I saw no reason not to help part him from his money. I have a fine suite and my meals and a generous cut from the takings. I’m going to take you there now and get you a glass of brandy for the shock you’ve just had.”
Libby allowed herself to be led in through the front door of the hotel and across the elegant lobby, decorated with palm trees and brass spittoons and leather chairs. Along one wall ran a mahogany bar, well stocked with bottles.
“A bottle of your best cognac and two glasses sent up to my room, Carlo,” Gabe called to the man at the bar. “This lady’s had a bad shock and needs to recover.”
“Very good, Mr. Foster,” the man called after them.
Gabe led Libby up one flight of stairs and pushed open a door leading to a sitting room, well furnished by frontier standards. Curtains at the far end were half open around a large brass bed. Libby sank gently into a red plush sofa as Gabe brought over a little table.
“Now what would you like as the first meal of your new life?” he asked. “Anything you want you can have. Oysters? Steak? Trout?”
Libby put her hands up to her face, laughing hysterically. “This doesn’t make sense,” she said. “None of this makes sense. Two minutes ago I had a rope around my neck and now you’re calmly offering me oysters.”
“All the more reason to enjoy life while you can,” Gabe said. “You’ve just understood firsthand how precarious it is. All we can do with it is make the most of every moment. So what do I tell Carlo? Oysters followed by steak followed by brandied peaches?”
Libby’s hands were still on her cheeks. “I can’t stay here, Gabe. I have to get home to my children. They’ll be worried about me.”
“They’re all alone?”
“No, Ah Fong is with them, but . . .”
“Ah Fong?”
“I’ve got a Chinese servant,” Libby said. “He just attached himself to me after he said I saved his life.”
Gabe looked amused. “Then everything’s fine,” he said. “When Carlo comes in with the cognac, I’ll have him send somebody out to the cabin with the news that you are fine and you’ll be back later. Does that meet with your approval?”
She nodded.
A tap at the door announced the arrival of the cognac. Gabe gave the orders to Carlo, then poured the amber liquid into two glasses, holding Libby’s glass up to her lips as if she were a small child who had to be fed. “You’ll feel much better when you’ve finished this,” he said.
Libby coughed as she swallowed, but she felt warmth spreading throughout her body and she obediently finished the glass. The light was fading in the room as the sun sank behind the hills and Gabe got up to light the candle, placing it on the table and pulling up a chair to either side. It seemed no time at all before dinner was brought in, hidden under silver tureens on a white-napkined tray. A bottle of champagne accompanied it and Gabe let Carlo uncork it, pouring a glass for each of them. Then he escorted Libby over to the table and served her oysters.
“They go down very easily, especially with champagne,” he said. “Known remedy to steady the nerves.”
“My nerves are surprisingly steady,” Libby said, “considering what they have been through today.”
“If I’d known what tough fiber you were made of, I’d never have tackled you in the first place,” Gabe said, smiling. “I’d have walked right past you in New Orleans and not stopped.”
“I’m glad you did,” she said. “Although I’ve brought you nothing but trouble.”
“But the most enjoyable kind of trouble,” Gabe said. He picked up his glass. “To you, madame. May all your troubles now be over.”
Libby lifted her glass to touch his, not taking her eyes from his for a second. They worked their way through the courses, neither of them saying much, but when Libby looked up, she saw Gabe watching her, his eyes warm in the candlelight. The juicy steak, the shoestring potatoes, the baby carrots all slipped down with no effort, and brandied peaches replenished the glow of the cognac. The candlelight flickered, making the shadows dance in the corners, contributing to her feeling of unreality. Since she had gone down to the creek to wash clothes that morning, nothing had seemed real anymore. She had gone through such extremes of fear that she felt like a person rescued from drowning, each new breath a miracle.
Libby got up and walked across to the window. The hills outside were only black outlines against the pearl-gray sky, but they were dotted with the lights of miners’ camps, like fireflies. “I have lived by my morals and my sense of duty all the time I’ve been here but they haven’t protected me,” she said flatly. “I’d have died a horrible death by now, if you hadn’t saved me. You risked your life for me, Gabe.” She turned to look back at him. “Ah Fong said that his life belonged to me, because I’d saved him. Maybe the same is true for you—you saved me, so my life belongs to you.”
Gabe leaned back in his chair, eyeing her speculatively. “If you are only staying in this room because you feel grateful, then please go now,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything, Libby.”
She walked slowly over to his chair. “You know I feel more for you than gratitude,” she said. “I think what you said was right, about making the most of each moment. You might be dead tomorrow. I might be dead tomorrow, but we are both here right now and this moment might never come again. If I walked out, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”
Deliberately, she began to undo the buttons at the front of her dress. He took her hands away. “Let me do that,” he said. Then, in impatience, “Why do women have to have so many buttons?”
“You have buttons on your shirt too,” she said, laughing.
“Ah, but the difference is that I can remove my shirt over my head without undoing any buttons, like this,” he said and demonstrated, slipping it off easily with one fluid movement. She admired his bare torso, noting with pleasure the muscles that stood out at his shoulders and the black curly hair on his chest. She smiled and stepped out of her dress.
“And why do women have to wear so many clothes,” he said. “It’s not as if it’s cold here.” His fingers deftly worked at the buttons on the front of her underbodice until he could slip it off her shoulders, down to her waist.