The farmer stared straight ahead without even a flicker to indicate he’d heard. While the sheriff thanked the sodbuster for catching Brett, two of the other riders threw him onto a horse. With everyone mounted a few minutes later, the group made tracks toward Steele’s Hollow.
Brett had passed through there before daybreak, anxious to get home to the Wild Horse Ranch. The town had been quieter than a blade of grass growing. He couldn’t imagine what they thought he’d done. This was the first time he’d traveled through the community. Usually he took a more southerly tack returning home after driving a string of horses to Fort Concho, but this time he’d had to deliver a sorrel to a man on the Skipper Ranch near Chalk Mountain, so he’d decided to cut through.
He made a mental note to give Steele’s Hollow a wide berth from now on.
Not that there would be a next time if things kept going the way they were.
The combination of blood loss and the hot sun made Brett see double. It was all he could do to stay in the saddle.
By the time they rode into the small town an hour later, Brett had doubled over and clung to the horse’s mane with everything he had. The group halted in front of the jail, jerked him off the animal and into the rough wooden building.
“Please, I need a doctor,” Brett murmured as they rifled through his pockets.
After taking the bank draft from the sale of the horses and his knife, they unlocked a door that led down a dark walkway. The smell of the earthen walls and the dim light told him the builder had dug into a hill. They unlocked a cell and threw him inside.
“A doctor,” Brett repeated weakly as he huddled on the floor.
“Not sure he treats breeds.” The sheriff slammed the iron door shut and locked it. “See what I can do, though. Reckon we don’t want you to die before we hang you.”
“That’s awful considerate.” Brett struggled to his feet and clung to the metal bars to keep from falling. “Once and for all, tell me…what did I do? What am I guilty of?”
“You were born,” the sheriff snapped. Without more, he turned and walked to the front of the jail.
* * *
Panic pounded in Brett’s temples like a herd of stampeding mustangs long after the slamming of the two iron doors separating him from freedom. This proved that the sheriff had targeted him solely because of his Indian heritage; he had nothing to charge him with.
His crime was simply being born?
Dizzy, Brett collapsed onto the bunk as his hat fell to the crude plank floor.
Movement in the next cell caught his attention. Willing the room to keep from spinning, Brett turned his head. He could make out a woman’s form in the dimness. Surely his pain had conjured her up. They didn’t put women in jail.
He couldn’t tell what she looked like because she had two faces blurring together, distorting her features—but he could hear her pretty voice clear enough.
“You’re in pitiful shape, mister.”
Since his bunk butted up to the bars of her cell, she could easily reach through. He felt her cautiously touch one of his moccasins.
“Checking to see if I’m dead?” he murmured.
“Nope. Do you mind if I have your shoes after they hang you?”
Brett raised up on an elbow, then immediately regretted it when the cell whirled. He lay back down. “That’s not a nice thing to ask a man.”
“Well, you won’t be needing them. I might as well get some good out of them.”
“They aren’t going to hang me.”
“That’s not what Sheriff Oldham said.”
“He can’t hang me because I didn’t do anything wrong.” It was best to keep believing that. Maybe he could convince someone, even if only himself. “I think he was joking.”
“Humor and Sheriff Oldham parted company long ago. He’s serious all the time. And mean. You don’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Wish I’d known this sooner. You sure know how to make a man feel better,” Brett said dryly, draping his arm across his eyes and willing his stomach to quit churning. “What is your name?”
“Rayna.”
“Who stuck that on you? I’ve never heard it before.”
“It’s a made-up name. My father is Raymond and my mother is Elna. My mama stuck ’em together and came up with Rayna. I’ve always hated it.”
“Got a last name, or did they use it all on the first one?”
“Harper. Rayna Harper.”
“Forgive me if I don’t get up to shake hands, but I’m a little indisposed. I’m Brett Liberty.”
With that, blessed silence filled the space, leaving him to fight waves of dizziness and a rebellious stomach. Keeping down the contents seemed all he could manage at present.
But Rayna wasn’t quiet for long. “Where did you get those Indian shoes, Brett? I’d sure like to have them.”
“My brother.” His words came out sounding shorter than he intended.
“Sorry. I’ve been in here for a while by myself, and I guess I just have a lot of words stored up. Sometimes I feel they’re just going to explode out the top of my head if I don’t let some out. What are you in here for? I couldn’t hear too well.”
“For being born, I’m told.” Brett was still trying to digest that.
“Me too.” Rayna sounded astonished. “Isn’t that amazing?”
Brett had a feeling that no matter what he’d said, she would say the same thing. He wished he could see her better so he could put a face to the voice. Even though the conversation taxed him, it was nice to know he wasn’t alone. Maybe she’d even hold his hand if he died.
That is, if she wasn’t too busy trying to get his moccasins off instead.
“Why do you think it’s amazing?”
“Because it makes perfect sense. I figure if I hadn’t been born, I wouldn’t be in here for picking old Mr. Vickery’s pockets.”
“So you’re a pickpocket?” Surprise rippled through him.
“Nope. I’m a spreader of good. I don’t ever keep any of it. I take from those who have and give to the have-nots. Makes everyone happy. Except me when I get thrown in the calaboose.”
“You’re a Robin Hood.” Brett had seen a copy of the book about the legendary figure at Fort Concho. He’d learned it so he could share the tale with Toby, Rand’s adopted son. Brett had taken the six-year-old into his heart and loved spending time with the boy.
“I’m a what?”
“A person who goes around doing good things for the poor.”
“Oh. I guess I am. It makes me so sad that some people have to do without things they need and no one helps them. This past winter, my friend Davy froze to death because the only place he had to sleep was under a porch. He was just a kid with no one except me to care.”
Rayna’s unexpectedly big heart touched Brett. She seemed to speak from a good bit of experience. “Do you have a place to sleep whenever you’re not in here?”
“I get along. Don’t need you to fret about me. Worrying about them putting a rope around your neck is all you can handle. Do you reckon it hurts a lot, Brett?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t find out.
“I’ll say a prayer for you.”
“Appreciate that, Miss Rayna Harper.” She was wrong about him only having to worry about getting his neck stretched, though. He could feel himself getting weaker.
He could also feel her eyeing his moccasins again.
Pressure on the bottom of his foot made him jump. He raised his head and saw that she’d stuck one bare foot through the bars and was measuring it to his.
“Stop that,” he said with a painful huff of laughter. “The doctor’ll be along soon. I’m not going to be dead enough for you to get them.”
The next sound to reach his ears was sawing and her soft, “Oh dear.”
“
Why did you say that? What’s wrong?”
“The sawbones had best hurry or you won’t be needing him. They’ve started building the gallows.”
That ticking clock in his head had taken on the sound of tolling bells.
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Forever and Always Page 38