The prosecutor had a line of witnesses a mile long willing to testify as to Isaac’s evil-cruel-shady-criminal-cheating character. It was no surprise that most of them worked for, or had worked for, Clay. I was sure he’d padded their paychecks handsomely in return for their testimony. What did it matter to them? Isaac wasn’t one of them. He was just another stranger, and they had no qualms about throwing him to the wolves. They’d use their windfalls to get drunk, brag about how they’d helped hang that no-account murderer, and then they’d go upstairs and roll around with one of the whores. It made me sick.
For Isaac’s part, he sat stoically at the defense table, alone. There were only two lawyers in town, and I’d approached each of them about defending Isaac. One had refused, claiming he didn’t take cases he couldn’t win. I’d hired the other, who was reluctant until I told him I’d pay double his standard rate, but when he’d gone to meet with Isaac, Isaac had turned him away, telling him it was a waste of time and money to try to defend him when the verdict and sentence had already been decided.
I begged the lawyer to go back and talk some sense into Isaac, but he said Isaac had been clear about his wishes. It didn’t much matter. There was no way in hell Isaac would get a fair trial whether he had a lawyer or not. He knew it, and every single person in the courtroom—including the judge—knew it, too. So what was the point of defending himself?
He never once looked at me. I thought I understood why. He needed to harden his heart. In his mind he was going to die, so he needed to be cold and bury emotions way down deep. All day I watched the back of his head, his ramrod straight spine, and the way he stared straight ahead. His gaze never strayed to the jury, to the judge, to the witnesses, to the prosecution. They had no intention of calling him as a witness; he had no intention of calling witnesses of his own—who would he call, anyway?—and since he couldn’t remove himself from the room physically, he removed his mind.
My heart broke a million times in the course of the trial, and I resolved a million more to strangle Clay Dearborn until his dead eyes stared up at me. I’d never been so angry in all my days.
I scooted on the bench, intending to do something to put a stop to the whole thing. Daisy gripped my hand tighter and pulled me back.
“Sit still,” she whispered.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m going to kill Clay. It’s the least I can do. Finish the job Isaac was determined to do.”
“I may just help you.”
Yet another witness was on the stand testifying to what a violent man Isaac was, and a crack shot, with a damn short temper. Never did know when he’d fly into a fit and hurt someone.
The man before him blamed Isaac for stealing from him. And he knew for a God’s-honest-truth that Isaac had stolen from half the men at the ranch—either part of their pay or personal items. He was a dyed-in-the-wool thief.
Everyone in the room knew what the verdict was going to be, especially the jury. They’d already been paid for it. At that point, it was a mercy just to get the trial over with.
An hour later the jury finally went to deliberate. Everyone knew it wouldn’t take long, so we stayed in our seats.
“I can’t stand this, Daisy. I feel like I’m trapped in my skin. I want to jump and scream and shake everyone in this room. Why are they all going along with this? Can’t they see how wrong it is?”
“Oh, they can see it. They’re either too greedy or too afraid to do anything about it. Besides, to them Isaac is an outsider. He may not have committed this crime, but they figure he probably did something somewhere, and he made the mistake of coming here and not playing by their social rules. You’ve seen how they treat us. We’re outcasts, too. If we went one step too far, we’d be right where Isaac is now.”
“It’s sick.”
She patted my hand. “Indeed it is. It’s just the way people are. They’re sheep.”
The jury returned in record time—twenty minutes. I wondered why they waited so long. Probably just to put on a show of deliberation.
The judge asked the foreman to read the verdict.
“We the jury find the defendant guilty on all charges, your honor.”
“Very good,” the judge said. I wanted to spit in his face. “No reason to delay sentencing. Mr. Collins, the jury has found you guilty of six counts of aggravated murder, including both civilians and government employees, and robbery of government property. It is the duty of this court to sentence you to hang by the neck until dead, sentence to be carried out two days hence.”
He pounded his gavel and it was done. Isaac didn’t even flinch. He stared straight ahead as if he hadn’t heard the words. I felt like I’d laid myself on the railroad tracks and a long, slow train had pulverized me.
The sentence was no surprise, but it left me breathless anyway.
I wanted to run to Isaac and hold him, protect him from the horror. I wanted to sneak him out and run as far away from here as we could get. I wanted him safe in my arms.
Daisy pulled me into a hug and held me tight while I cried. I didn’t watch Gil take Isaac from the courtroom, but I felt the emptiness when he was gone.
I untangled myself from Daisy and dug a handkerchief from my reticule to dry my face.
“I have to save him, Daisy. I can’t let this happen. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, I have to do it.”
“I don’t know what that would be.”
“I have to think of something,” I said, my voice rising into the pitch of hysteria.
“Okay,” she said. Collecting our things she stood and urged me to do the same. “We’ll go home and put our heads together. See what we come up with.”
…
We went home and Lydia cooked supper. I pushed food around my plate while the others ate and we all hashed out possible plans for saving Isaac. In the end, we had to admit that there wasn’t much that four misfit women could do to subvert Clay’s money or the law—or what passed for the law.
I excused myself and trudged to my room. I crawled into bed and wept myself into a groggy half-asleep state. Curled under my quilts in the dark of the night, it was easy to block out the world beyond my room. To pretend for just a moment that losing Isaac didn’t hurt even more than losing Frank.
Despite concluding that we couldn’t help him, I knew there had to be a way. I absolutely refused to envision him climbing those stairs and standing in the middle of the platform as everyone in town watched and jeered. I didn’t want to think about Gil placing a black wool bag over Isaac’s head, followed by a noose he snugged tight at the back of his neck. I shivered when the sound of the lever being pulled got past my mental block and I heard the sickening sound of his weight falling and being pulled up short by the rope jerking his head and breaking his neck. There was no image because I would never watch that. My eyes would be squeezed tight, but I still heard it. It was a deep thud, followed by the squeaking of swinging rope.
I opened my eyes in the dark and jumped out of bed to throw up in my chamber pot.
There was one thing I could try. One plan had been lurking in the back of my mind and taking shape all evening, but I kept it to myself because the girls would never let me do it. It put me in danger. They’d say I was throwing my life away. But at this point, I didn’t care what happened to me. All I could think about was keeping Isaac alive, even if it meant doing the one thing I swore to him I’d never do. To me, saving his life was worth any sacrifice.
Even marrying Clay.
I lit a lamp and hurried to dress. I packed a few things to take with me, then took the nugget and the papers for the mine to the kitchen table. On a piece of stationary I wrote a note to the girls explaining my plan, and asking them not to interfere or try to stop me. I left them the papers after signing the mine over to them, and the nugget, and gave them directions to the mine. Because I owned the homestead, Clay would get it when we married, but the girls would be well provided for and could buy themselves another parcel of land. I begged them to stay together
and take care of each other. Knowing they were still a family would make my life easier to tolerate.
I propped the note against the basket in the middle of the table then went to the door. Taking one last look around the room, I knew it wouldn’t be enough to sustain me, but I tried to remember every detail—to hoard it all like a treasure.
After closing the door behind me, I hurried to the barn and saddled Boreas. I needed to move quickly before I changed my mind. Before I realized exactly what I was getting myself into. As I rode I let the rhythm of Boreas’s hooves drill Isaac’s freedom into my mind. Anything was worth that.
At the ranch, I rode right up to the house, tied Boreas to the rail, and climbed the porch. There was still light in the downstairs window, so Clay had to be awake. Even if he wasn’t, I didn’t care if he was snuggled in bed dreaming about his success. I knocked on the door loud enough to wake everyone on the property.
I needed to control myself. Setting eyes on him was going to make me want to hurt him however I could. My imagination was already running wild with murder scenarios, each one more satisfying than the last. But that wouldn’t free Isaac. I needed to contain my rage. I needed to convince Clay to marry me. What I needed was to debase myself completely and hope that was enough.
I heard footsteps on the other side of the door and reminded myself of Isaac sitting in that jail cell waiting to be hanged in two days. That was properly humbling.
The door opened, and Clay gaped when he saw me standing on his porch. Then he smiled, and my skin crawled.
“Beth. What brings you here this time of night?”
“I think you have some idea.”
He nodded. “I’m sure I do. I’m interested to hear how you plan to up the ante.”
“May I come in so we don’t have to do this on your porch?”
He stepped back and swept his arm in a gesture meant to usher me into his home. It was the first time I’d ever been inside his house. It was big. The main room was two stories tall with a fireplace built of huge river stones. A banked fire kept the chill of night at bay. The furniture was large and upholstered in dark, supple leather. A bearskin rug covered the floor.
“Have a seat,” he said.
I did. He went to a cabinet and collected glasses and a snifter of alcohol—probably whiskey. He brought it to the table near the couch where we sat, and he poured us each a measure of the amber liquid. When he offered one to me, I took it and gulped. The heat of it burning on the way down helped me focus.
“You know why I’m here. Today was a travesty. A sick joke. I don’t know how you can live with yourself. But I suppose you’d need a conscience for it to affect you in any way.”
“Did you come to insult me in my own house?”
I sighed. I knew what I had to do, and I knew the stakes, but God it hurt to say the words. “No. I came to beg for Isaac’s life.”
He sipped his drink. “Well. Go ahead.”
I’d spend the rest of my life planning the perfect murder. The sooner the better. I swallowed my pride—gagged it down actually—just as I imagined I’d have to.
“Please don’t hang Isaac. I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” he asked. His expression said he could imagine a whole lot in that anything, but he didn’t look convinced I meant it.
“I’ll marry you and give you my homestead.”
His eyebrows went up in surprise. “And the gold mine?”
“Really? You want more?”
“I want everything, Beth. I want you to surrender yourself to me completely. You’ve been a burr in my hide for far too long. I want to own you.”
When I married him, he essentially would, which every part of me fought like a wild cat, but I took a deep breath and ignored fear and logic. The girls were taken care of, as Clay’s wife he’d pay my debt to Silas, and Isaac would be free and alive. It was a stiff price, but I was willing to pay it.
“You’ll own me and the land, but the gold mine goes to my friends so they’ll be provided for. I know you have no intention of taking care of them, so they get the mine. You’ll get everything you wanted from the beginning.”
“In exchange for freeing Collins?”
“Yes. I don’t care what excuse you use, or how you manage it. Just don’t pin it on another innocent man.”
“He’s not as innocent as you think.”
“That may be, but he’s innocent of the crime you had him convicted of.”
“Fine. I’ll agree to your deal. Let’s talk details.”
“I won’t actually marry you until you can verify for me that Isaac is free, and you swear to me that you won’t ever pursue him again for this or any other trumped-up crime. He’ll be free to live his life without hindrance.”
“You’ll marry me first, and then I’ll let him go.”
“I don’t trust you, Clay. You could very well marry me, then go right ahead and hang him. You let him go—clear his name publicly—and I’ll marry you the next day.”
“That’s a good idea.”
He put his glass on the table, then came and grabbed me by the upper arm, dragging me to my feet. “You’ll stay here with me, in my house, while I arrange the whole thing. Because I don’t trust you either.”
He hauled me to the stairs and I nearly tripped on my feet trying to keep up with him up the steps. He shoved me ahead of him and into a room on the left. Once I was inside, he stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him. I heard a key in the lock and panicked.
I pounded on the door. “You’re going to keep me prisoner?” I shrieked.
“I am. You cool your heels here. I’ll deal with the rest of the details.”
“You can’t keep me locked up.”
“I can. You’ve turned yourself over to me. I control your life now. You’d better get used to it.”
~Isaac~
Gil Dawson woke me on the second to last day of my life.
“Hey, Collins. You got a visitor.”
A tiny part of me hoped it was Beth, but I crushed that fast. She was the last person I wanted to see. It was better to just imagine her the way I wanted her to be: happy and back home with her friends. If she came here to see me there’d be pain. For both of us. A whole hell of a lot of pain. I didn’t want the last thoughts in my mind before I died to be that she’d live her life in pain and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
I was glad she’d stayed away, though I’d be lying to myself if I denied it hurt just a bit that she hadn’t come. I’d seen her at the trial, though, and that was plenty hard. I knew how she felt.
It hadn’t taken long after Carrington showed up in Virginia City for me to be certain how I felt, either. I loved Beth, plain and simple, and I’d been a fool not to tell her sooner. Now I’d never have the chance.
“I don’t want to see anyone.”
“Too late, I’m already here.”
It was Dearborn’s voice. Goddamn him. He’d taken every opportunity since I’d been locked up to come and needle me. I wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of seeing me flinch, so I forced my muscles to relax.
“Lucky me,” I said. “Now fuck off. I got nothing to say to you.”
“Beth came to visit me last night.”
I lay on my side facing the wall, so I couldn’t see how close Dearborn was to the bars. I wondered if he was close enough for me to get to him and strangle him before Dawson shot me.
“You hear me?” he asked. He was trying to push me into reacting.
“I heard you. I just don’t see what it has to do with me.”
“Nothing anymore. We’re going to be married tomorrow. Right after you’re dead.”
A yawning pit opened and my gut tipped into it. He had to be changing his tack, trying to get a rise out of me. She’d sworn an oath to me she’d never marry him.
“You’re a liar. She’d never do that. She hates you as much as I do.”
“Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think.” He chuck
led, obviously having fun. “Or maybe you just weren’t man enough for her and she realized what she was missing.”
I didn’t believe that for a minute. I’d admit she put on a damn fine act when she wanted to, but there was no mistaking her willingness—either in bed, or to share her feelings. I never had any doubt about the way she felt. So what was Dearborn up to? Had Beth really agreed to marry him, or was he just saying it to twist the knife in my back one more time before he had me hanged?
Cold dread swam in my heart that maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe she had agreed to marry him, though I couldn’t think of one reason why, especially after she’d promised not to.
I rolled to my back and folded my hands behind my head. I glanced in Dearborn’s direction while I turned, but didn’t acknowledge him. No use giving him the impression I cared what he had to say.
He stood close, smoking one of his thin cigars. Dawson leaned a shoulder against the bars nearby. I didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just stared at the ceiling. I felt him staring at me and could only imagine the smug look on his face. I’d seen it often enough. A wave of rage started in my chest that I’d failed to kill the son of a bitch, but I shoved it down.
I shrugged. “Be my guest. She’s all yours. I was done with her anyway.”
I’d spent every minute since they locked me up in this dump struggling not to think. There was no point in wallowing in regret, since I couldn’t change any of it anyway. I’d just be torturing myself. At least that’s what I tried to convince myself. Every time Beth wormed her way into my heart I forced her out. Every time Dearborn weaseled his way into my mind, I forced him out. Every time I wondered what I could have done differently, I pushed it away. And every time I thought about that noose around my neck I fished desperately for anything else to think about.
One more day. I only had to make it through today and tonight and then I’d have peace. That was the only thing that kept me calm. But now he brought me this.
“Well, done with her or not, she belongs to me now, and I’m looking forward to showing her who’s boss.”
Gambling on the Outlaw Page 20