Good Day For A Hangin' (Remington Book 2)

by Robert Vaughan

  “Yeah, got this,” Poke said. He pulled a piece of oilcloth from his saddlebag and unwrapped it. Inside the bundle were a large chunk of well-cooked beef and a slab of uncooked bacon. “Got a loaf o’ Indian bread too,” Poke added. “It’s in the other saddlebag.”

  “Let’s eat a little breakfast now, then trail ’em outta here,” Athens suggested. “When the time’s right, we’ll make our move.”

  Athens began carving pieces of meat off the big chunk while Brewster cut slices off the loaf of bread.

  “Who’da thought that marshal coulda rounded all of ’em up?” Curly asked, wrapping a slice of bread around a piece of the meat.

  “They had to trick ’em, or get ’em one at a time,” Jack insisted. “Hell, look at what happened to me back to Tahlequah. I woulda taken that marshal on iffen he hadn’t had the Scotsman backin’ his play. Even then I mighta done it if I’d knowed there weren’t no one else with the drop on me.”

  No one believed Jack, but no one wanted to challenge his statement, so they let it pass.

  Athens raised his canteen and chased the last of his breakfast down his throat with the sweet spring water they had filled their canteens with last night.

  “Reckon we better get started,” he said. “Guess we’ll pass around Jasper, just so’s no...good citizen”—he screwed up his mouth to say “good citizen”— “takes a notion to ride out an’ warn the marshal we’re comin’.”

  “Let’s get goin’, then,” Jack said, climbing on his horse. “I wanna get my brother away from them bastards.”

  It was sunny that same afternoon in Galena when Judge Barnstall walked down the stairs from his office and into the barbershop.

  “Good afternoon, Judge,” Fred Loomis said, smiling broadly at the jurist when he stepped inside. Though the barbershop was mandated for the prisoners, the judge, his special police force, many of the lawyers, and all the clerks of the court also used it. As a result it had taken on all the appearances of a regular barbershop, complete with mirrors and shelves filled with sweet-smelling, brightly colored tonics and lotions. A large clock hung from one wall, the numbers marked on the face in Roman numerals. The clock hadn’t been there during Binder’s term. It was Barnstall’s idea; he wanted the prisoners to be reminded that their life was now measured in hours and its sweetness was no longer theirs to enjoy as a result of their criminal actions.

  “Afternoon, Fred,” Barnstall returned. Fred whipped the cover away and Barnstall sat in his barber chair. “Pretty day today,” he added. “I may take a walk around town after my haircut. I don’t have another case until four this afternoon, and I don’t want to stay in the office.”

  “Oh yes, sir, it’s quite a lovely day today,” Fred agreed. “A little off the top, as usual?”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve got a fresh bottle of rose tonic,” Fred offered. “Would you like me to use it on you?”

  Barnstall chuckled. “Fred, when the prisoners come before me I want them to smell sulphur, not roses.”

  Fred laughed, a high-pitched, nervous laugh. “You want them to smell sulphur, not roses. That’s very good, Judge,” he said nervously. He was always nervous around the judge...not that he was afraid for his own safety, just that he found proximity to a man with the power of life and death to be intimidating.

  Fred had begun working on the judge’s hair when the door opened and Jim Early stepped inside. Early had a big smile on his face.

  “News?” Barnstall asked.

  “All of ’em,” Early said. “We just got a wire from Jasper. Ned and the others are bringin’ back all four of the men they went after.”

  Barnstall slapped his hand against the arm of the chair. “Now, by God,” he said, “now I can rest at night, knowing that justice is about to be served. Does anyone else know?”

  “Not yet. The wire just arrived two minutes ago. I came to you first.”

  “Good, good,” Barnstall said. “I want to tell Jedediah myself. Then you can go down to the newspaper office. I want the whole town to know it.”

  As soon as Barnstall finished with his haircut, he sent for Jedediah, asking the boy to come up to his office. A few moments later he heard the boy arriving, running up the steps in youthful exuberance.

  “You sent for me, Cousin Sam?” the boy asked, pushing through the door without bothering to knock.

  “Yes, my boy, I did,” Barnstall said. “I just received news that Marshal Remington and his deputies have caught the four outlaws they went after. I expect they’ll be back in a few days. I thought you might want to know.”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said. Barnstall was pleased to notice that the expression on Jedediah’s face was just as it should be...not fiendish joy, not youthful bravado, not fear. It was an expression of determination. “Now it’s like you said, ain’t it, Cousin?” Jedediah said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Every man has to do his job. Marshal Remington and Deputies Beck and McKirk done theirs; it’s up to me to do mine.”

  “I reckon it is at that, Jedediah,” Barnstall said gently. He reached out and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you up to it?”

  “Yes, sir. When it comes time for me to testify, I’ll say just exactly what I saw.”

  “That’s all we want,” Barnstall said. “I have to warn you, though, the prosecutor will try and confuse you. He’ll try and make you think that you made a mistake when you picked out their pictures. He’ll try and make you change your story.”

  “I didn’t make no mistake,” Jedediah said. “I seen ’em do what they done to my ma and sister; then I seen ’em kill my pa. I ain’t gonna change my story.”

  “Good boy,” Barnstall said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder affectionately.

  Barnstall watched the boy leave his office, walking higher and straighter than he had ever seen him before. The boy had been living with him ever since he came to Galena, and he was going to live with him until after the trial. After the case was closed, Jedediah would go to St. Louis, where he would live with his mother’s sister and her husband. Because it was the boy’s mother’s branch of the family, they weren’t even a part of Barnstall’s kin, so he didn’t know when, or if, he would ever see the boy again. There was a part of him that wanted to just keep Jedediah here in Galena. He had grown close to him...had enjoyed the boy’s company, and the responsibility for him. But Jedediah’s aunt Louise was anxious to get him, had already written half a dozen letters telling the judge about the advantages of the wonderful school Jedediah would be attending, about the room that had been prepared in their house for him, about the clothes and things they had bought for him. Barnstall knew that the couple had been childless and the opportunity to take Jedediah into their home had been a godsend. He knew they would provide the boy with everything he needed, not only the creature comforts but the gentle touch of a mother’s love as well.

  Barnstall could provide none of that for him. And, with the fullness of his docket, he couldn’t even provide the time Jedediah would need. Besides that, Barnstall knew that if the boy were raised in the shadow of the gallows, he couldn’t help but feel the effect of it in his own life. Therefore, though Barnstall had enjoyed the temporary condition of surrogate fatherhood, he realized that it could only be temporary.

  The newspaper carried the story that afternoon, giving the column feature position on the page.

  OUTLAWS CAPTURED

  Marshal Remington, Deputies Beck and McKirk

  Do their Duty

  Will appear before Judge Barnstall

  The paper was taped up to the front window of the newspaper office and sold on the street corners and in the taverns and restaurants of the town. When Jim Early went into one of the local taverns after duty that night, he saw the paper tacked up on the wall.

  “Hello, Marshal Early!” the bartender called happily. The bartender drew a beer and set it in front of Early. “This here V’s on the house,” he said.

  “What for?�
�� Jim asked.

  “What for? Why, man, to celebrate,” the bartender replied. “What for do you think?”

  “Don’t think I don’t appreciate a free beer,” Jim said. “’Cause I do.” He picked the beer up and blew some of the foam away. “And I intend to appreciate this one. But I didn’t have nothin’ to do with capturin’ these outlaws. That was all Ned’s doin’. Ned, Tom Beck, and John Angus McKirk.”

  “Sure, I know that,” the bartender said. “And I intend to give ’em their free beer soon as they get here. But you the only one I can reward right now. Look,” he said, taking in the crowded tavern with a sweep of his hand. “Look at all the business the news has brought me tonight. Ever’where you go you hear people talkin’ about it, an’ they’re all sayin’ the same thing.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “Last week, when the judge hung three at the same time, why, we got took notice of as far away as St. Louis. Think what’s gonna happen when the judge hangs four! Once news of this gets out there’ll be people comin’ from hunnerts of miles away, just to be a eyewitness to history. An’ the more people that comes to Galena, the more business we’re gonna do. Not just me...all the businesses, all over town. That’s what’s got ever’one so excited.”

  “I see,” Jim said. “What if the judge doesn’t sentence them all to hang?”

  “Are you kiddin’? He is, ain’t he? I mean, look here, you don’t think there’s no chance he won’t sentence ’em all, do you?”

  “I don’t know. That’s a decision only the judge can make.”

  “They’re guilty as sin, ain’t they? Ever’body says the boy picked ’em out of some wanted posters, an’ the neighbors seen ’em hangin’ aroun’ that day. The judge has got to hang ’em all.”

  “You’re anxious to see justice served, are you?” Jim finished his glass and put it down on the bar.

  “What? Oh yeah, justice. Well, yeah, that, too. But the most important thing is to get all four of ’em hung on the same day. Can you imagine the folks that’ll come to see that? Want another beer?”

  “No, thanks,” Jim said. “I’ve got to be goin’.”

  Jim left the tavern and walked through the town. The night air was soft and pleasant, neither too warm nor too cold. It was the kind of night you would want for a street dance, a picnic, or an outdoor church meeting. But those were all tame pursuits, and the attitude of this town right now was anything but tame.

  Jim heard a commotion from near the gallows, and he walked over to see what was going on. There were a couple of dozen people standing around looking at a large, hand-lettered sign that stood in front of the gallows.

  ON THIS GALLOWS, OUR OWN EXECUTIONER WILL HANG JACOB NEWSOME EPHRAIM FLATT THOMAS GERNER AND

  WILLIAM KIMMONS.

  THESE FOUR MURDERERS WILL BE SENTENCED BY

  JUDGE SAMUEL PARKHURST BARNSTALL

  AND LEGALLY SENT TO MEET THEIR MAKER.

  ADMISSION IS FREE.

  Jim crossed the square, then climbed the steps to Judge Barnstall’s office. He knocked and was invited in.

  “Did you see the sign down by the gallows?” Jim asked.

  “What sign?”

  Jim told him, and Barnstall walked over to the window and looked down toward it. He couldn’t read it, but he did see the crowd. He chuckled.

  “You don’t approve of it, do you, Judge?”

  “I can’t really say I don’t approve, Marshal,” Barnstall said. “Whoever painted the sign told the truth, pure and simple. But I reckon it might give the appearance of not giving the scum due process, so you better take it down.” He poured a brandy for each of them. “What do you say we drink a toast to Ned, Tom, and John Angus?”

  “To three iron men,” Jim replied.

  Chapter 13

  Ned rode with his two deputies and the four prisoners back toward Missouri. Tom Beck was leading the party, and Ned noticed that his deputy kept shifting positions in his saddle in an attempt to ease the pain in his hip. Ned could understand Beck’s discomfort, for he was having to do the same thing to keep his side from hurting. McKirk was favoring an arm.

  “How are you doing, Tom?” Ned called ahead.

  “I wouldn’t want to break a bronco about now,” Tom answered.

  “Nae, nor would I be for failin’ a winter’s firewood,” McKirk offered. “What about ye, laddie? How’s the side?”

  “I’d just as soon not wrestle the county champion, thank you,” Ned replied.

  “S’posin’ you fellas stop an’ rest a mite. Me an’ the boys could go on ahead,” Newsome suggested.

  He chuckled. “Then, when you’ns get all rested, why, you could catch up with us.”

  “Dinna be gettin’ any ideas aboot thot,” McKirk said. “If we get thot tired thot we need to take a rest, we’ll jus’ shoot ye an’ be done with it.”

  “Yeah, you crazy Scot, you’d prob’ly do it too,” Newsome muttered.

  Ned chuckled. “Damn right he would.”

  “Well, just keep him away from me, that’s all I got to say.”

  “Then keep yer mouth shut,” McKirk said.

  The riders went on in silence for another couple of hours while the miles flowed steadily behind them. Beck, always the wily one, set a pace that would cover ground quickly while sparing the horses as much as possible. They were being very careful with their mounts because it had been a long, hard ride for the animals and they had at least two more days to go before the horses could get a decent rest. Beck took one of the freight roads north that crossed the small creeks but avoided the winding, swift-flowing White River as it snaked toward the mighty Arkansas to the south.

  As always in these quiet, reflective moments, Ned contemplated this wild country they were riding through. What most intrigued him were the Ozarks’ rivers and streams. Though the mountain waters had been here since the beginning of time, they were never the same any two times he saw them. There were always subtle changes being made in their courses, a carving alteration of the banks, a carrying away of trees and shrubs. Islands were born in midchannel this year, only to disappear next; flowers would bloom overnight, creating vivid splashes of color.

  The rivers were especially different from season to season. In the spring there would be the big floods with their flat tan color and the audible hiss of sand being borne along to sweep out the debris left by ice and snow from the previous winter. In the summer the water was its bluest, but in the fall the rivers would become their most colorful, reflecting from their surface the leaves of gold, orange, russet, red, and brown.

  Ned could always go to the woods or mountains and find for himself a comfortable place in the order of things. In the early days, after his wife was killed and Katy suffered her spells, Ned could ride through the hills and realize moments of revelation when man and nature made gut-level sense. All means by which man measured his success or failure became insignificant in a world that fit together as completely as the nature of these mountains.

  Though Ned had taken Katy to a convent for her convalescence, he did not consider himself a religious man. Nevertheless, when he came to the woods under such circumstances, he could never help but thank the Great Spirit that he was allowed to be a part of such an existence that included places like these mountains, forests, rivers, and streams.

  Gradually the eastern horizon in front of them began to darken while in the west the sun blazed golden red as it settled behind the hills. Ned turned and saw the glow on a puff of dust hanging in the air about three miles behind them. Earlier in the day he had seen a flitting shadow in the woods, and though he had passed it off as a deer, he now began having second thoughts. He said nothing to the others.

  The land was a continuous roll of hills, like giant waves on a storm-tossed sea. There were gentle climbs and steep bluffs, wide valleys and sharp gullies. And from here for as far as he could see, the land was just the same.

  They camped the first night alongside a wide, swift, shallow stream off the Harrison fr
eight road. The spring was more difficult to cross than it looked because the water was ice cold and swiftly moving, the rocks slippery. They camped on the opposite bank, but no one made any motion to start a fire.

  “Hey,” Gerner complained. “What about a fire? You got to feed us, give us coffee, keep us warm. That’s your duty.”

  “The only duty we have is to get you back for your hangin’,” Ned said.

  Beck pulled out strips of dried beef, handed a piece to each of the prisoners, then sat down and started gnawing on a piece of his own.

  “I reckon you seen it too, didn’t you?” he said. “Riders in the woods, a puff of dust on the trail behind us? Yeah, I saw it,” Ned said.

  “Who you think they may be?”

  Ned spread out his bedroll and lay down. “Could be Jack Kimmons and the bunch we ran into back at Tahlequah,” he suggested.

  “Aye,” McKirk added. McKirk had just relieved himself against a nearby tree and was buttoning his trousers as he came back to join the others. “I been seein’ ’em too, an’ there’s nae doubt in my mind thot’s who ’tis.”

  Bill Kimmons snickered. “Well, now, reckon there won’t be no sleep for you fellas tonight, will there?” He lay back and folded his hands behind his head. “How ’bout that, boys? We’ll be restin’ all comfortable while they’re gonna have to stay awake an’ on the lookout.”

  “It won’t do them no good to stay awake,” Gerner said. “I know them boys. They can move through these woods quiet as smoke. Why, they’ll be in here cuttin’ your throats afore you know what’s happenin’.” Gerner made a raking sound with his mouth and moved his hand across his neck in the symbol of a knife. All the prisoners laughed.

  “Shut up,” Beck said.

  “What’s the matter, Deputy? Do you find it troublesome to think about gettin’ your throat cut?”

  “If ary a throat gets cut tonight, mister, it’s gonna be yourn,” Beck said menacingly.