He did not fear these men.
Eyeing the men staring at him, A.J. Bothwell, Tom Sun and John Durbin—all members of the lynching party—among them, he said, "I've been doing some checking into Ralph Cole's assertion that certain members of the association have been making false homestead claims by placing a cabin on a piece of land, filing a claim, then moving the cabin to another location to do the same. I wasn't surprised to find evidence that this has been taking place. Which also validates other claims Cole made when I was at Ella Watson's place the day before she and Jim Averell were murdered." He used the term murdered to make clear his position on the hanging.
"No one murdered anyone," said Lionel Merrill, one of the cattleman Adam suspected of making a claim with a moveable cabin. "Cattle rustling's a hanging offense. The men were just carrying out justice."
"Justice takes place in a court of law," Adam said, "not on the banks of the Sweetwater. What happened with Ella Watson and Jim Averell was premeditated murder, plain and simple." He looked around at the faces of the men, seeing not a friendly one in the room, and not caring. He started rolling up Priscilla's hand-written editorial.
Lionel Merrill slapped his hand down on the editorial to stop what Adam was doing, and said, "What do you intend to do about the woman who wrote this?"
"Move your hand, Merrill," Adam said, "or I'll throw you across the room."
The man moved his hand and stepped back, while waiting for Adam's response.
Adam continued rolling up the editorial. "If you really want to know, Merrill," he said, holding the man's gaze, "I plan to marry her." He shoved the roll under his arm.
The chatter of the men died. Adam looked around the room, his eyes moving from face to face as he said, while focusing on A.J. Bothwell, "In fact, I plan to make a lot of changes in my life, starting with resigning from the WSGA. I know I'll be blacklisted, and I don't much give a damn. What's happening behind closed doors here is not only unethical and immoral, it's also illegal, and I'm not going to be a party to it."
"Where are you taking that editorial?" A.J. Bothwell asked.
Adam held the man's caustic gaze. "Someplace where it will come back to haunt you and Sun and Durbin and the other murderers in your lynching party," he said, seeing the man's gaze falter, though only momentarily.
"Then you'd better be watching your back, Whittington," Bothwell said, "because once a man's blacklisted, his life isn't worth a plug nickel."
"I'll keep that in mind," Adam said. "In fact I might quote you on that."
Bothwell let out a loud guffaw. "Who are you going to quote it to, Whittington? Your plain-faced spinster so she can write about it in her scandal sheet? I don't imagine anyone would take seriously anything printed in that rag." He looked around at the men at the long table and was met with guffaws, and wry smiles, and nodding heads.
"Well, we shall see, won't we, gentlemen. Good day to you." Adam nodded to the men, then turned and left the Cheyenne Club for the last time. And for the first time since the day he met Priscilla and learned she'd absconded with his bride, he knew precisely what he was going to do, which would also get him back in Priscilla's good graces.
***
Priscilla leaned her Rover against the front of Redman's Feed and Tack, and went inside the store. She was immediately greeted by a bouquet of grain and molasses and leather, along with the disturbed voices of three men engaged in a discussion about the hanging. In fact, everywhere she went, the hanging was the topic of heated conversation, and emotions were running high. Mr. Redman, proprietor of the shop, who'd been leaning his elbow over the handle of a push broom, stepped away from the men, looked at Priscilla thoughtfully, and said, "You're the lady from The Town Tattler. I've heard a lot about your paper from my wife, who's been to some of your meetings. And I've been thinking about running an advertisement for the store, along with a special offer for the young chicks coming in, when they're purchased by the dozen."
"My paper is shut down temporarily, " Priscilla said, feeling her temper rise as she imagined Adam's cowboys taking a sledge hammer to her press and destroying her dreams. She was tempted to state who she thought was behind it, but refrained until she'd spoken to Adam directly to see what he had to say about it. It would be difficult for him to deny though, after seeing him coming out of the stables, followed by his two cowboys, who left at once, and whose description matched that of the men who tied up Jim. "As soon as I have things up and running again," she said, "I'll be able to include your advertisement. When a new advertisement first goes in the paper, I always include a short piece about whatever is being advertised... in your case, your young chicks. Are they layers or fryers?"
"Both," Mr. Redman said.
"Good," Priscilla replied. "Then maybe we can include some recipes for chicken dishes, if your wife would like to put some together. She can post her name along with the recipes, and they will be included in our recipe column, which has gotten very popular." Even as she passed on the information to Mr. Redman, Priscilla knew she was only just barely hanging onto her dream. But she couldn't let go. Not just yet.
Mr. Redman smiled. "I think Katherine would be pleased to do that," he said. "She's real proud of her recipes. Some have come down through several generations." He leaned his broom against the wall, and said, "So... what can I get for you today?"
"Just mash for my laying hens," Priscilla replied. "But this being my first visit to your store, I'll just look around a little." She was surprised at the wide assortment of items offered in the store, in addition to grain and harnesses and other tack, and the extent of them. The man also offered toy tractors and corncob dolls and small kitchen items and other small notions, which were tucked into every nook and cranny. She'd been so busy with the paper that, until now, she'd sent Jim or one of the women to fetch the grain and mash for her laying hens.
"You take your time," Mr. Redman said. He went back to sweeping the floor, and the other two men continued their discussion about the hanging. From what they were saying, Priscilla knew they hadn't seen the hand-written editorial she'd posted on the Town Hall building three days before, which disturbed her. She'd posted it early in the day, but no one she'd spoken to since then seemed to have seen it, so she had to presume it had been taken down by the first cattleman to spot it. Perhaps even Adam. But she was not going to let that stop her.
Deciding that the only way she could get the word spread was by word of mouth, she walked up to the two men, introduced herself as the owner and editor of The Town Tattler—which the men seemed to already know—and proceeded to tell them what Gene Crowder, and Ralph Cole, and Frank Buchanan had told her. The men listened with rapt attention, then assured her that they'd pass the word around. She offered to hold a Town Tattler meeting where people could get together and discuss what should happen next, but the men were too afraid for their families, and declined her offer.
The men had just left the store when a black man, dressed in farmer's clothes, walked in.
Mr. Redman, who'd been sweeping the floor, leaned the broom handle against the wall again and went to stand behind the counter. "Hello, Seth," he said. "Haven't seen you in a while. Sorry to hear about your mule." Mr. Redman shook his head in dismay. "After the hanging, folks are fed up with what's going on, and they're arming themselves, ready to protect what's theirs."
"That's what ah'm doin'," Seth said. "Ah don't even like leavin' the missus and my young'uns home alone, so ah'll just get what ah need and be on my way."
"I suppose you came for hog feed?" Mr. Redman said.
"No," Seth replied, shaking his head. "A sack of grain for my mule."
Mr. Redman looked at Seth, curious. "A mule must have set you back some."
Seth shook his head. "No. Ah'll be paying off Mule when ah sell some hogs."
"Then you must have mortgaged your place?"
"Didn't have to," Seth said. "A man come by and said Mule was mine to keep, and ah could pay him if ah wanted, but didn't have to. He's the rancher r
unnin' for mayor."
"Lord Whittington?" Mr. Redman said, clearly surprised.
As was Priscilla, who stopped reading the label on the mash in the barrel in front of her and looked at the men.
"He's the one," Seth said. "He just showed up at my doorstep with Mule and said he wanted to give him to me."
Mr. Redman stroked his chin. "That doesn't make sense. Why would Lord Whittington give a homesteader a mule?" He glanced at the front window of the store at the impressive brick building across the street. "He's right in with the thick of them at the Cheyenne Club," he said. "I see him coming out from there with those men all the time."
Seth shrugged. "Ah don’t rightly know why he did it," he said. "but he did. My missus isn't so happy though. Thinks there's somethin' brewin'."
"I can't say as I blame her," Mr. Redman said. "There just seems to be no logical reason why a cattleman would give you a mule for no reason at all."
"That's what my missus says. But then ah heard that Lord Whittington gave a roll of barbed wire to Jack Lewis, after a couple of Lord Whittington's boys tore down Jack's fence. And Lord Whittington had his boys string the fence up for Jack and he also docked their pay."
"You're still talking about Lord Whittington?" Mr. Redman said, brows gathered in uncertainty, while stroking his chin.
"It was him all right," Seth said. "And he told Jack he didn't want nothin' for his trouble. It's like he's goin' around fixin' what them other cattlemen are breakin'."
Priscilla dumped a scoop of laying mash into a bag and stepped to the counter. Eyeing the man named Seth, she said, "How long ago was it that Lord Whittington came to your place and gave you the mule?"
Seth rolled his eyes upward while contemplating, and said, "A month... maybe five weeks ago. Can't rightly remember. But Mule's a fine animal. Ah'm much obliged to Lord Whittington. And my missus and me plan to pay him back when we can."
Priscilla thought about that. Adam had never said a word to her about helping out homesteaders. It didn't make sense, his quietly helping out like that, almost as if he didn't want it known. And the barbed wire fence... Another puzzle. She was all but certain that Tom Rafferty and the cowboy Trudy referred to as Tanner tore down the fence and dragged it off, but Adam apparently took care of that as well, also without saying anything to her. Yet, she was certain that Adam was behind having her printing press smashed. She'd assume he'd done it to protect the interest of the cattlemen. Now, she wasn't so sure.
Maybe she'd misjudged Adam. Maybe he truly was worried about her safety if she published a scathing editorial against the stockmen who'd hanged two people. But in smashing her printer, Adam had effectively shut down her printing operation for good because the printing press could not be fixed, and she didn't have the money to buy another press, and without receiving the money from the subscriptions and advertisements she had running, she wouldn't be able to pay the mortgage on the building, and she'd have to let it go back to the bank...
Unless Jim could identify Adam's men as those who smashed her press under Adam's direct orders—which appears to be what happened. Then she could sue Adam in court and force him to replace her printing press and compensate her for her loss of income from the business and for the loss of her building, if it went back to the bank.
***
When Priscilla marched into the library, where Adam was going over paperwork in preparation for his new business venture, and slammed the door behind herself with uncommon force, Adam knew a very heated confrontation was coming. He was surprised that she hadn't come storming in before this, but was relieved that she hadn't because it gave him time to get his business deals in order before facing her wrath, which he intended to turn into passion before they were done. But this time it would take more than simply pulling her into his arms and kissing his way down her neck and unbuttoning her bodice and pleasuring her in the way he knew she liked. She was seething with rage, and he'd make sure she got it all out of her system before attempting to mollify her, or reason with her, because he wanted her to be receptive to what he planned to propose to her afterwards. "I've been expecting you," he said, offering a bland smile. "I'm glad you came."
Glaring at him, arms folded across her ample bosom, fingers tapping against her small bicep, she said, with derision, "You're glad I came? That's interesting, considering that fact that you have now destroyed any hope I have of putting out The Town Tattler. Permanently!" She pressed her lips together in disgust while waiting for his reply.
"I know it seems that way," Adam said, innocuously, "but there's an explanation."
"I'm sure, from your point of view, there is." Uncrossing her arms, she flattened her palms on his desk, pressing her long slender fingers against the smooth wood surface, leaned toward him so she could look directly at him, and said in a clipped tone, "I know you gave Seth Watkins a mule, and I know you had two of your boys put up the fence to replace the one they tore down at Jack Lewis's place—presumably Tom Rafferty and the man named Tanner who was with him that night—but you also had your men smash my printer and there's no way I can afford another one, and without The Town Tattler going out I'll have to repay subscribers, and I won't be able to pay the mortgage on my building, and I might as well pack up and leave... If I had enough money to go back east!" She straightened, thrust her arms together across her chest and glared at him.
Adam stood and came around the desk. But when he reached for Priscilla's shoulders, she jerked her arms to shake him off, and backed away from him. "Don't touch me!" she hissed. "We are absolutely through now! I have just come from seeing a lawyer, and I'll be suing you in court for destroying my printing press. Jim identified one of your men as one of the two cowboys who came into my building and tied him up and took a sledge hammer to my press, and you can't deny it. Well, you can, but you'd be lying. But then maybe that isn't too difficult for you to do, since you have no problem destroying other people's property!" Her voice shot up, her face flushed, and her eyes grew misty with rage.
"But you just said that I gave Seth Watkins a mule and had my boys string up a new fence for Jack Lewis, so I can't be all bad," Adam said. He smiled at her then, to soften her up, but she glared at him in return, lips pressed tightly together in anger.
She sucked in a deep breath, making her crossed arms rise with her expanding chest, while drawing his attention to what was beneath her crossed arms, which seemed to infuriate her. "You needn't look at me there, Adam, because you won't find your hands or your lips there ever again." She paused to attempt to catch her breath as her face grew scarlet, and the pupils in her eyes dilated, and her tongue came out to moisten her lips, which parted to capture more air in an attempt to steady her erratic breathing.
And Adam knew she was thinking exactly what he was thinking. "You don't believe a word of what you just said," he commented, resisting the urge to smile because she was so completely transparent in her feelings and the fact that she wanted him to strip off her clothes and do the things he'd described. And he would before long, which he assured her by saying, "But we'll take that up later, when you're ready to reason with me."
"Reason with you about what?" she spat, flattening her palms against her breasts as if to protect herself from what she wanted most at the moment.
"I won't attempt to pleasure you right now," Adam said, taking her hands from her chest and holding them. To his surprise, she didn't try to free her hands, but allowed him to hold them.
"I have no idea what your motivation was for giving the mule to Mr. Watkins or fixing Jack Lewis's fence," she said, continuing to allow him to hold her hands, "other than you might have thought someone would learn that your cowboys were behind both incidents, and would know that they'd done it by your orders, and that might affect your mayoral race. But you had no right to shut down my newspaper, and you know it." Her eyes darkened, and she slipped her hands out of his then, seeming to have regained some of her earlier anger and resolve.
"I'm not an unjust man," Adam said, moving toward
her. "Men I once believed were good men used underhanded means to promote their own self-interests, and I was just trying to make things right by replacing Seth Watkin's mule and fixing Jack Lewis's fence. I intended to, at a later date, take it up with the men who'd done it. Which I did."
"What do you mean?" Priscilla asked, while eyeing him with a blend of skepticism and curiosity. "Have the men agreed to pay you for the mule and the fence?"
"No," Adam said, "but from now on they're going to be closely watched and held accountable for their actions." He reached out and took her by the shoulders, and this time she didn't back away, but stood looking up at him, expectantly, as if waiting for him to kiss her, which he would when he finished explaining their future to her.
"How do you plan to do that," she asked, raising her lips slightly, a clear invitation.
Deciding instead to fan the embers of her passion so she'd deny him nothing when he was through outlining his plan for them, he said, "I'll be selling the ranch and moving into this house and starting a newspaper that will oppose, and expose, the cattlemen in the Stock Grower's Association and what goes on behind the closed doors at the Cheyenne Club. I'll be calling our newspaper the Plainsmen Review, and it will be in support of the homesteaders."
Priscilla's lips parted to accommodate her rapid breaths, and she said, "You said our newspaper. Is there someone joining you in this enterprise?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied, and pecked her once on the mouth.
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