by Ralph Cotton
Frank Falon chuckled. “Sometimes I just can’t help but poke a stick at them, Ace. Them and their religious malarkey.” He spit and wiped a hand across his mouth. “It all rubs me the wrong way. As for Jessup, there’s days I hate him. Other days I look at him and think he really is God! And that makes me hate him worse, for mixing me up that way.” He rubbed his temples as if thinking about the man gave him a headache.
“These religious zealots are like a swarm of hornets if you ever get them too stirred up at you, Frank,” Ace said. “I find it best to leave them be. I try not to even think about them.”
“Then you can leave them be, Ace,” said Falon. “Myself, I can’t stand a hypocrite…and no matter how you slice it, Father Jessup is a fake and a hypocrite. He takes other men’s possessions for his own and claims the Lord tells him to. He even takes their wives and children.”
In spite of no one being close around them, Ace Tomblin shot a quick wary glance back and forth as if some of Father Jessup’s followers might overhear them. “So?” He grinned. “You have to admire a man for being slick enough to get what he wants without firing a shot.”
“There’s times I do,” said Falon. “But other times I say if you’ve got the guts to take something by force, take it. Don’t do it and drag the Lord’s name into it. Be bold enough to say you’re the one who wants it done.” He spit again. “See how he keeps me rattled all the time?”
“Yeah, but so what?” Tomblin shrugged, knowing it would do no good to continue the conversation. “It’s no hide off our asses whose wives he takes. We’ve got a good thing up here.”
“I’m sick of hearing you go on and on about how good we’ve got it up here, Ace!” Falon hissed, cutting him off. “If you care so damn much for Jessup, why don’t you up and join his happy little flock?”
Tomblin gave him a confused look. “Damn, he does have your mind pulled apart, doesn’t he!”
Without replying, Falon jerked his horse around and stopped for a moment before riding off along the creekbank. “Let’s keep searching while we head toward the high valley pass. If we can’t find them, we’ll run our traps and search some more on our way back.”
Tomblin nodded, saying quietly, “By then the water will be down. If you want me to, I’ll cross over by myself and search around on the other side. It don’t take every man we’ve got to do it.”
“Yeah,” said Falon, “that’s how we’ll do it.” He stopped his horse as Willie Singer came riding slowly past him, searching along the raging creek. “Have no doubt about it. Ace,” said Falon, giving Singer a cold, hard stare. “If you don’t find those bodies, we’ll all come back and keep searching until we do. I intend to see just exactly what happened out here if it means we have to search this creek a dozen times.” He nailed his spurs to his horse’s sides and raced away, leaving Singer with a worried look on his face.
Chapter 4
For several days CC Ellis had drifted in and out of consciousness, the wound in his lower side having drained his strength, the long, deep graze just above his left temple having addled his senses. But last night he had awakened in the dark room feeling stronger and more mentally alert than he had since the shooting. His head still throbbed, but as he lay awake in the darkness he managed to piece together his fragmented recollection of that day on the creekbank. Instinctively his eyes had gone to the chair beside the cot, where his shoulder harness lay wrapped around his empty holster. On the floor beside the chair sat his saddlebags. He eyed the saddlebags with relief. But then his eyes went back to the empty holster.
Being unarmed disturbed him, so at the sound of someone opening and closing the front door, he pushed himself up from the cot, stepped painfully over to the only window in the small room and peeped out, anxious to know more about his surroundings and his benefactors.
In the gray-black hour before daylight he stood with a hand pressed to the dressing on his side and watched the women lead a big silver gray from the barn and out across the muddy yard until both she and the horse faded into the darkness. Yet no sooner had she led the horse away than Ellis watched her return, moving with an air of secrecy, he thought, watching her look both ways guardedly before leading the horse back inside the barn quietly and quietly closing the wide barn door behind herself. Peculiar…
He waited, leaning against the window ledge until he saw her leave the barn moments later. She came out through a smaller door, carrying herself in the same manner, searching the darkness in both directions on her way back to the house. But CC noted that her eyes did not search her immediate surroundings. Her search was more concerned with whoever or whatever might be watching from a distance. Very peculiar…He smiled curiously to himself, still watching her closely as her hand reached out to open the front door to the house. Before she stepped inside the house, Ellis turned stiffly, limped back to the bed, eased himself down onto the hard rope-strung cot and pulled the quilt over himself. He heard muffled conversation between the woman and the boy, followed by the sound of their footsteps crossing the creaking floor to the room. As he heard a quiet knocking on the door, Ellis closed his eyes and feigned sleep.
“Mister…?” Ellis heard the boy whisper as he stepped into the room, the woman close behind him holding up a lit lamp. “Mister?” Ellis heard him whisper again.
“It’s all right, Dillard,” the woman whispered to the boy. “Let’s not disturb him. He’ll awaken soon.”
Ellis opened his eyes a sliver, enough to see the two start to back out of the room silently. “Wait,” he said, “I’m awake.”
“See, Mother, he is awake!” Dillard said, sounding excited at the prospect.
As he opened his eyes in the lamp glow, Ellis sensed relief as well as excitement from the boy. From the woman he sensed nothing, but that was as it should be, he told himself.
“Yes, Dillard, I see,” the woman replied, both of them stepping back inside the room. She crossed the floor, set the lamp on a small bedside table and raised the wick. “There now, let’s take a look at you in the light with your eyes open. I’m Callie Mosely. This is a my son, Dillard.”
“Mosely?” CC said.
“Yes, Mosely,” Callie said. Thinking she saw a glint of recognition in his eyes, she said, “Perhaps you’ve heard of my husband, Sloane Mosely?”
But whatever recognition she thought she’d seen seemed to leave his eyes quickly. Too quickly? she wondered.
“No, ma’am, I have not heard of your husband, but I’ll be pleased to make his acquaintance.”
“And so you will, soon enough, Mr. Ellis,” she said.
Ellis found himself stunned by the fact that she knew his name. He rubbed his eyes and looked closer at her. “How did you know my name, ma’am?” he asked.
“I told her!” the boy cut in eagerly. “I heard you say it on the creekbank! I was there, watching from a pine thicket!”
“Oh…I see,” said Ellis. He paused for a second, looking at the woman, then said to the boy, “So you saw everything that happened.…” His words trailed.
“I—sure did!” Dillard exclaimed. “I saw how you shot it out with those wolf hunters and never even—”
“That’s quite enough, Dillard,” said the woman. “I’m sure Mr. Ellis doesn’t feel like recounting the situation right now.”
The boy fell silent.
Seeing the dejected look on the boy’s face, Ellis said, “Young man, it appears I owe you my life. I’m much obliged to you.”
His words raised the boy’s downcast eyes from the floor. “You’re welcome Mr. Ellis. It was my pleasure…me and Tic’s, that is.” His hand fell to the knobby head of the big yellow hound who had crept in and stood beside him.
“Then I’m obliged to you and Tic,” Ellis said, offering a weak smile. Looking back at the woman, he asked, “What about my horse, ma’am? Is he all right?”
“Yes, your horse is fine, Mr. Ellis,” Callie replied. “Dillard has been tending to him for you.”
“Obliged again, young man,”
Ellis said with a nod to the boy.
“My husband will be glad to hear that you’re conscious, Mr. Ellis,” the woman said.
Looking from the boy and the dog, back to her, Ellis said, “How long have I been here, ma’am?”
“Almost a week,” she replied.
Ellis rubbed the side of his head, feeling the healing scar left by the bullet graze. Fragments of memory drifted back and forth across his mind. He recalled being helped onto a buckboard in the driven rain. He recalled being brought in out of the rain and helped through the house to this room. He recalled strong yet gentle hands undressing him and later pressing a wet rag to his forehead. But the memories appeared and disappeared like pieces of lost dreams. He shook his head slowly, demanding more from his faculties, but not getting it.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what to say. I want to pay you and your husband something for all your trouble. I have some money in my saddlebags.”
Her voice turned a bit sharp. “We wouldn’t accept payment for a simple act of kindness, Mr. Ellis.”
“Of course not, ma’am,” Ellis replied, realizing the error of his words. “Please forgive my lack of manners. I’m afraid I have spent too much of my life around those who do not think that way toward strangers.”
“I understand,” Callie nodded, as if in forgiveness.
“Ma’am,” Ellis said, his eyes going to the empty holster on the chair, “was my Colt missing when you found me?”
“No, Mr. Ellis,” said Callie, “we have your sidearm. My husband will return it to you as soon as you’ve regained your strength.”
“I’m used to always having it at my side, ma’am,” Ellis said. “I’d appreciate very much if you’d bring it to me.”
As if not hearing his request, Callie said, “I’ll prepare you a cup of tea, Mr. Ellis.”
“I look forward to thanking your husband in person, ma’am,” Ellis, not pressing the point about his Colt.
As the woman, the boy and the dog backed out of the open doorway, she said, with an air of civility, “It’s Mrs. Mosely, if you please.”
“Yes, Mrs. Mosely,” Ellis replied.
“Mr. Mosely will look forward to meeting you as well, as soon as he returns this afternoon,” Callie said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, please.” She nodded toward an oak chest of drawers against the wall. “You’ll find your clothes in there. Please join us when you’ve dressed.” Without another word she guided the boy away from the doorway and shut the door.
CC Ellis sat staring blankly at the closed door for a moment before standing up slowly from the cot and walking back to the window. For a moment he stared out the window toward the barn, still curious about the woman’s earlier activities. Then he set his curiosity aside, walked to the oaken dresser, took out his clean clothes and put them on. At the foot of the bed his high-topped boots stood clean and oiled. Something the boy would have done, he told himself, picking up one up and inspecting it with appreciation.
While CC Ellis stepped into his boots, the boy followed his mother around the kitchen restlessly as she prepared a cup of hot tea and set it at the head of the table. “Mother, aren’t you going to tell Mr. Ellis?” he whispered secretively. “You said you might once he was up and around.”
“I know what I said, Dillard,” Callie Mosely replied firmly. As she spoke she thought better of setting the cup at the head of the table. Moving it to the side of the table, she nodded to herself, then continued. “But I’ve given it more thought. I don’t think it would be wise to tell him anything. The less this man knows about our situation, the better.” Instinctively she raised a hand to her hair and patted a strand into place.
“But, Mother, if you could have just seen how he handled those wolf hunters!” Dillard persisted.
“Indeed,” said Callie, “and it’s for that very reason we need to be guarded about what we let him know. For all we know, he could have been one of them.”
“No, Mother, he isn’t one of them!” Dillard protested shaking his head. “I’m most certain he’s not one of the wolfers.”
“The point is, we know nothing about him, Dillard,” said Callie. “At least not enough to go pinning our hopes and our fate on him. It would be easy for a man like this to take advantage of our situation. Your father would tell you the same thing if he were—” She paused, then said, “Well, you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know,” said Dillard, “but I believe Father would agree that we need somebody like CC Ellis on our side. I know he wouldn’t take any guff off of Father Jessup and his men. He would send them running with their tails between their legs, the same as he did those wolf hunters!”
“That will be enough about it for now, Dillard,” Callie said, her voice lowering to a whisper because she thought she’d heard the door to Ellis’s room open. “We’ll finish discussing this another time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dillard said reluctantly. After stepping away from his mother’s side, he turned and stood as if at attention and watched CC Ellis walk into the room with a slight limp.
“Please be seated, Mr. Ellis,” Callie said with only a slight show of formality. “I know you must be hungry. But the tea will be soothing on your stomach while I prepare you some solid food.
“Much obliged, Mrs. Mosely,” Ellis replied, stopping a few feet from the table and looking around the clean, modest kitchen before stepping forward and seating himself where the cup of tea sat steaming before him.
As if he might have overheard what she and her son had been discussing, Callie said, as she busied herself stirring a pot of thick beef stew in a kettle atop a small wood stove, “Dillard and I were just talking about the men you—” She paused, searching for a more delicate word. But finding none she said, “Well, that you shot, Mr. Ellis.”
“Yes, ma’am.” CC Ellis nodded, blowing on the hot tea, then sipping it. “I expect you must be wondering if others will come looking for them?” he asked.
Callie paused from stirring the stew and looked around at him. “Oh no, Mr. Ellis, I don’t wonder if there will be others who’ll come looking for them. I’m certain of it. These men are a part of a band of wolf hunters who work this entire mountainside. As soon as the men came up missing, the others must have begun searching the trails. I’m surprised they haven’t been here already.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” said Ellis. “I’ll be going as soon as I can get my leg over my horse.”
“Mr. Ellis, you mustn’t try to leave until that wound in your side is properly healed. As for these men…they have a great amount of respect for my husband. Whatever we tell them is what they will have to accept.”
“I don’t want to bring harm to you and your family, ma’am,” Ellis offered quietly.
“My husband will see to it that no harm comes to us, Mr. Ellis,” she said a bit crisply. “You needn’t concern yourself with our well-being.”
“Of course, ma’am, begging your pardon,” Ellis replied.
While the two spoke, Tic had turned his keen canine senses toward something outside. When he growled low, in the direction of the barn, Dillard hurried to the window, pulled the curtain back slightly and peeped out. “What is it, Tic?” he asked, as if the dog might answer him.
Callie turned from CC Ellis and hurried to the window beside her son. CC Ellis stood up stiffly and leaned on the table, using one hand for support and pressing the other to the wound in his side. “Is someone out there, ma’am?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Callie, without turning to him, “it’s Ace Tomblin, one of the men we were just talking about.”
Dillard added in a hushed tone of voice, “It’s Frank Falon’s right-hand man, is who it is!”
CC Ellis hurried to the window with his hand pressed to his tender side. Looking out, he saw the rider leading his horse around the corner of the small barn toward the house, a rifle in his left hand. “Ma’am, I’d be obliged if you’d give me back my Colt now,” Ellis said calmly.
“It’s put away, Mr. Ellis,” she
said with firm confidence. “You won’t be needing it.”
“If this man is a part of the same bunch I ran into along the creek, I don’t think he came looking for me just to talk things over.”
“We don’t know that he came looking for you, do we, Mr. Ellis?” Callie replied coolly. And when Ellis just looked at her, Callie said, “I mean, there is no reason why he should think you’re here. I’ll just go talk to him.”
“Ma’am, I’d really like to have that gun in my hand,” said Ellis. But his words went unanswered as Callie hurried over, opened the front door and stepped out onto the front porch. All Ellis could do was step back over to the window and peep out secretively. “Your ma has a stubborn streak in her, doesn’t she, young man?” he whispered to the boy.
“Yes, sir,” Dillard replied in the same tone of voice, “that’s what my father always tells her.”
“Well,” said Ellis, eyeing the rifle in Ace Tomblin’s hand, “I can’t stand here like a tin target. Where do you suppose your ma might have hidden my Colt?”
Dillard stared at him blankly. “I don’t know, sir.”
“And you wouldn’t tell me if you did?” Ellis asked.
“No, sir, I wouldn’t,” the boy replied.
“Stubbornness must run in the family,” Ellis said under his breath, turning back to his guarded view through the window.
On the porch, Callie Mosely stood in front of the closed door and said curtly down to Ace Tomblin as he neared the house, “Is there something we can do for you, Mr. Tomblin?”
Ace Tomblin noted that there was no greeting. No good day, go to hell, how are you? or anything else, he mused to himself, taking a last quick glance around the yard as he swept his hat from his head. “Ma’am, we’ve had a couple of our hunters killed back along the creek right before the rain. Frank Falon sent me to check around, see if I can find their bodies and the body of the man who killed them…maybe even see if I can find out more about how it all happened. I need to speak with your husband, if you please.”