Bloody Sunday

by William W. Johnstone

  “Who fired the shot that killed him?”

  Pendleton looked at Luke, but only for a fraction of a second. Then he said, “I couldn’t tell you, Your Honor. There were so many bullets flying around, it could have been any of us.”

  Marbright frowned as if he didn’t like that answer very much, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he asked, “Who was the other man you mentioned, the one who was also shooting at the alleged rustlers?”

  Pendleton nodded toward the front row of the spectators’ section and said, “That’s him sitting next to Mrs. MacCrae. He says his name’s Luke Jensen.”

  “What do you mean, he says that’s his name?”

  “Well, that’s what he told us it was, but when you get right down to it, I don’t know that for a fact. I don’t have any reason to think he was lying about it, though.”

  “Is it possible Mr. Jensen fired the shot that killed Dave Randall?”

  Pendleton hesitated, then said, “Sure, it’s possible, I reckon. Like I told you, judge, I just couldn’t say.”

  “All right. Step down, Mr. Pendleton, but don’t leave the courtroom. I may want to ask you some more questions.” Marbright swung his gaze to Glory. “Mrs. MacCrae, would you come up, please?”

  After Glory was sworn in, the judge told her to describe the events of two nights previous at the ranch headquarters. Glory told him about the attack on the ranch and how she had shot “John Doe” to save Luke’s life. The courtroom was absolutely still and quiet as she spoke. Some of the people in Painted Post might not like her, but everybody knew who she was and was interested in what she had to say.

  “There’s absolutely no doubt in your mind that if you hadn’t killed that man, he would have killed your guest Mr. Jensen?” Marbright asked.

  “Absolutely no doubt, Your Honor,” Glory said. “Although I’d add that I wasn’t necessarily trying to kill him. I would have been content just to wound him. In fact, I wish I had.”

  “So that you wouldn’t have to live with the burden of having taken a man’s life?”

  “So that we could have gotten him to admit he was working for Harry Elston,” Glory said.

  The courtroom erupted in noise, but over the racket came the sound of Harry Elston’s voice bellowing, “That’s a damned lie!” Luke hadn’t seen Elston among the spectators, but it was obvious the rancher had slipped into the courtroom after he and Glory and Pendleton had entered. Luke had known Elston was in town because he’d seen the man’s buggy, along with Verne Finn and the other hired guns, so Elston’s presence at the inquest came as no surprise.

  Judge Marbright hammered so violently with his gavel that Luke thought the handle might break, and even so it took several minutes for the judge to restore a semblance of order in the room. When things finally quieted down enough for Marbright to be heard, he pointed the gavel and said, “Sit down, Mr. Elston, and count yourself lucky I don’t have the sheriff throw you in jail for that outburst!” He turned back to Glory and went on: “Mrs. MacCrae, this isn’t the time for such unsubstantiated accusations. We’re just here to determine how those two men died.”

  “I think it’s relevant, Your Honor,” Glory said. “Those men died because they were following Harry Elston’s orders to steal my cattle and burn down my home.”

  Quickly, Marbright pointed the gavel before Elston could leap to his feet and react. He said, “That’s enough, Mrs. MacCrae. Step down.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Glory said coolly.

  There was nothing cool about Marbright. Beads of sweat had popped out on his beefy face. Luke recalled Glory saying that the judge was an honest man, but even if that was true, Marbright found himself in an uncomfortable place, trapped between the two sides in a simmering range war. And all he could do was forge ahead.

  “Mr. Jensen, you get up here,” Marbright growled.

  Luke stood up and went to the witness chair. Sheriff Whittaker came over with the big black Bible and had Luke swear on it to tell the truth. Whittaker’s instructions were curt. He didn’t try to hide his dislike for the witness.

  When Luke was seated, the judge said, “Your name is Luke Jensen?”

  “That’s right, Your Honor.”

  “What brings you to Sabado Valley?”

  “I’m on my way to El Paso,” Luke said. He had sworn to tell the truth, and he didn’t consider that a lie. He probably would go to El Paso . . . sometime.

  “How did you get mixed up in the fight with those so-called rustlers?”

  “I was riding along minding my own business when somebody nearly parted my hair with a bullet,” Luke said. “I could tell the shot came from the top of that ridge Mr. Pendleton was talking about. At the time I didn’t know what was going on, but now it’s pretty easy to see that the rustlers posted a lookout up there while they did their work with a hot running iron.”

  “You don’t know that of your own personal knowledge, however.”

  “No, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense, Your Honor.”

  Marbright waved a pudgy hand and said, “Continue.”

  “The rest of it happened like Mr. Pendleton said. I opened fire on the bunch when they took off, and so did he and the rest of the men from the MC Ranch.”

  “Do you know who killed Mr. Randall?”

  “Not for certain, no.”

  Marbright leaned forward and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

  “I thought I was the one who hit him,” Luke said, “but like Mr. Pendleton told you, there was a lot of lead flying around.”

  That answer caused a stir in the courtroom, but it didn’t escalate into a full-fledged commotion.

  “If it was your bullet that struck and killed Mr. Randall, would you say that was self-defense, Mr. Jensen?” the judge asked.

  “I would. I had already come under fire when I was minding my own business, and Randall and the rest of the bunch were still shooting at me.”

  Marbright nodded and said, “Let’s move on to the incident at the headquarters of the MacCrae ranch that evening. No need to go through all of it again, but do you agree with Mrs. MacCrae’s description of events?”

  “I do, Your Honor.”

  “You’re certain that the unknown John Doe was about to shoot you when Mrs. MacCrae shot him?”

  “I was looking right down the barrel of his gun,” Luke said. “I know it for a fact.”

  “All right. You can go back to your seat.”

  When Luke was sitting next to Glory again, Marbright addressed the members of the jury.

  “What you men will do now is vote on whether or not the deaths of Dave Randall and John Doe were justified under the law, basing your decision solely on the evidence you’ve heard here today. You can retire to a separate room to deliberate if you want to, or if your minds are already made up you can—”

  “Excuse me, Your Honor,” Whittaker said. “I hate to interrupt, but I’ve got something to add to these proceedings.”

  Marbright frowned and said, “Eh? What’s that, Sheriff? You want to give testimony? You weren’t present when either of the deaths occurred, were you?”

  “No, sir, I wasn’t, but I have some information about one of the witnesses that might be of interest to the court.”

  Marbright looked skeptical and annoyed, but he said, “All right, it’s irregular, but I suppose we can hear what you have to say. I warn you, though, if it’s not relevant I’ll instruct the jury to disregard it.”

  “That’ll be up to you, Your Honor.” Whittaker glanced over at Luke, who didn’t like the self-satisfied smirk he saw on the lawman’s face as Whittaker reached into his vest pocket and took out a folded yellow paper that Luke recognized as a telegraph flimsy. “This is a wire from Major John B. Jones of the Texas Rangers in San Antonio. I sent him a telegraph message this morning asking him for information about Luke Jensen. According to Major Jones, Jensen is a bounty hunter!”

  CHAPTER 13

  The spectators reacted to that, some of them l
oudly. In the minds of most people, bounty hunters ranked higher than rattlesnakes . . . but just barely.

  Judge Marbright gaveled the room silent, then said, “Mr. Jensen’s occupation has no bearing on these proceedings, Sheriff Whittaker. You’re to be congratulated on your initiative in seeking information, but you’ve wasted your time and the court’s time.”

  “Sorry, Your Honor,” Whittaker murmured, but the sly smile on his face showed how insincere that sentiment was.

  Luke was more concerned with the startled look that Glory was giving him.

  Startled . . . and a little afraid and angry.

  “The jury will disregard what Sheriff Whittaker just said,” Marbright told the six men sitting in the box. “As I was saying, you can retire, or—” Marbright stopped as the juror sitting closest to him raised his hand. “Yes, what is it, Fred?”

  “Your Honor, we already know how we’re gonna vote,” the man called Fred replied. “There’s not a lot of point in us goin’ into a room somewhere to do it.”

  The other members of the jury nodded their heads in agreement.

  “Very well,” Marbright said. “What verdict are you prepared to render?”

  Harry Elston stood up and called, “Your Honor, am I allowed to speak here, before everything is official?”

  Marbright frowned at him and said, “I didn’t call you as a witness, Mr. Elston. What makes you think your comments would be relevant?”

  “I knew one of the dead men,” Elston said. “I don’t deny that Dave Randall worked for me at one time. But I’ve had to sit here and listen to scurrilous accusations being thrown around about him and me, and I don’t like it.”

  “I’ve already ruled that those accusations have no bearing on these proceedings.”

  “I know that, Your Honor, but everybody in this room heard them anyway. I’d like a chance to defend myself.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you were on trial,” Marbright said.

  “My reputation may be.”

  Marbright considered for a few seconds, then waved a hand and said, “Go ahead.”

  Luke was actually glad that Elston had decided to butt in and bluster a little. It took folks’ minds off Whittaker’s revelation about him being a bounty hunter.

  But in the long run, nobody would forget about it, least of all Glory MacCrae. Luke was pretty sure about that.

  Elston said, “I want it known that Dave Randall wasn’t working for me when he was killed. I fired him a week before that incident. If he fell in with some bad company and decided to steal some of Mrs. MacCrae’s stock, that’s nothing to do with me.” Elston raised his right hand and poked angrily at the air with his index finger. “As for the idea that I sent men to the MacCrae ranch that night to attack the place, that’s a blasted lie! I’m a businessman, Your Honor, and when I compete with somebody, I compete hard. But I don’t resort to violence and lawbreaking to do it!”

  Coldly, Marbright asked, “Are you done with your speechmaking, Mr. Elston?”

  “I’ve said my piece.”

  “All right, sit down.” Marbright turned back to the jury. “How do you rule on the deaths of these two men?”

  Fred said, “We find that they were both lawful killin’s, Your Honor.”

  Marbright nodded and picked up his gavel.

  “So it will be recorded, and no charges will be filed.” He rapped the gavel on the bench. “This court is adjourned.”

  A hubbub filled the room as the spectators got to their feet to make their way outside. Luke, Glory, and Pendleton stayed where they were for the time being. Luke wanted to say something to Glory, but the stony look she gave him convinced him to stay silent for the moment.

  Pendleton wasn’t that discreet. He glared at Luke and said, “A bounty hunter!”

  “I never said I wasn’t,” Luke drawled.

  “You never said one way or the other. You just let us think you were a drifter. What are you doing here, Jensen? Are you after some of that dirty blood money?”

  “Look, I said I was passing through Sabado Valley, and that was true. It doesn’t matter what my job is. I was riding along minding my own business when somebody took a shot at me. Everything that’s happened since is because I took an interest in what’s going on around here.”

  That wasn’t completely a lie. He was intrigued by the mystery of who had ambushed and killed Sam MacCrae, and he definitely had an interest in Glory that had started out professional but had probably gone beyond that. He wanted to find out the truth.

  “If it was up to me, I’d tell you to pack your gear and get out when we get back to the ranch,” Pendleton said.

  Luke looked at Glory and said, “But it’s not up to you, is it?”

  She didn’t respond to him directly. Instead, she stood up and said, “I want to leave.” She turned toward the doors at the back of the courtroom.

  Luke and Pendleton started to follow her, keeping a little distance between them, but before they reached the doors, Sheriff Whittaker stepped in front of Luke and stopped him with a hand on his chest.

  “You’re not welcome in Painted Post anymore, Jensen,” Whittaker said.

  “That’s funny. I never felt particularly welcome to start with.” Luke glanced down at Whittaker’s hand. “Take your hand off me, Sheriff. I haven’t broken any laws.”

  “That’s a matter of interpretation. I’ve still got a deputy with a broken nose.”

  “That’s not my fault. He assaulted me first.”

  “We haven’t put that to a test in a court of law.”

  Luke was getting impatient. Glory and Pendleton had moved on—but not before Pendleton had glanced back and seemed pleased that Whittaker had stopped Luke—and now they were out of the courtroom and he couldn’t see them anymore.

  “Sheriff, if you’re trying to goad me into getting you out of my way by force so you’ll have an excuse to arrest me, it’s not going to work. I’ll stand here all day if that’s what you want.”

  With a disgusted grimace, Whittaker dropped his hand and stepped back, just as Luke had thought he might.

  “All right, get out of here. Just don’t forget what I said about not being welcome in Painted Post. Next time I see you in town, I’ll throw you in jail for vagrancy.”

  Luke didn’t respond to that. He just stepped around the sheriff and hurried out of the courtroom, hoping he could catch up to Glory and Pendleton.

  On his way he passed Whitey Singletary, and once again the deputy glared at him.

  “I ain’t through with you, Jensen,” Singletary said.

  “I’ll try to control my anticipation,” Luke said offhandedly as he looked around for Glory and Pendleton.

  The sound of a commotion attracted his attention, and when he looked in that direction, he saw people hurrying the other way. That wasn’t a good sign. Luke increased his pace as the crowd continued to scatter, but he was going against the flow and that slowed him down. His frustration grew.

  Suddenly, he broke out into the open, and as he did he spotted Glory and Pendleton. From the looks of it, they had been headed for the café, where their horses were still tied. Several men had confronted them, though, spreading out so that the two of them were halfway surrounded. One of the men called, “Dave Randall was a friend of ours, Pendleton, and you and your bunch murdered him!”

  “He was no damn rustler!” another of the men yelled. “The MC crew is just a bunch of killers!”

  Luke knew they were trying to spook Pendleton into grabbing his gun. As soon as he did that, the men would draw and open fire, and Glory would be cut down in the exchange of shots, too. He had no doubt that Elston had paid these men, although the rancher would deny it and they probably weren’t members of his regular crew.

  Moving forward quickly, Luke called, “If you’re looking for the man who killed Dave Randall, I’m right here.”

  A gun cracked somewhere, and Luke felt the hot breath of a slug fan his cheek. Instantly, chaos filled the street as people who had be
en scurrying to get out of the line of fire now stampeded. Women screamed and men yelled curses. Luke saw the men who’d confronted Glory and Pendleton claw for their guns. Pendleton grabbed Glory by the shoulders and swung her to the ground.

  Luke’s hands flashed to the Remingtons. He was nowhere in his brother Smoke’s class when it came to being a fast draw, but he possessed a natural grace and quickness that allowed him to get his guns out and fire faster than most men. The right-hand Remington bucked against his palm as he triggered it.

  Blood flew in the air as the bullet shattered the left shoulder of the nearest gunman and twisted him halfway around. He didn’t fall, though, and didn’t drop his own gun. It came up as the man’s face contorted in a snarl.

  Before he could fire, Luke’s left-hand gun roared. The slug punched into the man’s chest and drove him back off his feet. Before he even hit the ground, Luke had already shifted his aim and fired both Remingtons at the second gunman. The two bullets ripped into the man’s guts, doubled him over, and dropped him to the dirt in a bleeding, trembling heap.

  Luke dashed forward, and as he did he felt something pluck at his shirt. Dirt erupted from the ground in front of him as a bullet plowed into it. There were still two gunmen trying to kill Glory and Pendleton. The foreman was on one knee, leaning over Glory to shield her with his own body as he returned fire. The Colt in his hand spouted flame, and one of the remaining gunmen staggered.

  Luke dived to the ground as the fourth man fired at him. The bullets hummed over his head. Lying on his belly, he fired both guns and saw the would-be killer jerk in a macabre dance as the slugs tore through his body. The man took several steps backwards and then collapsed.

  Pendleton fired again. The only gunman remaining on his feet rocked back. The revolver in his hand erupted again, but his arm had sagged and the bullet just kicked up dust at his feet. Slowly, he toppled and landed on his side, curling around the pain that had to be filling his body, then lying still.

  As the echoes of the shots died away, an eerie quiet settled over the street, which was empty now except for Luke, Glory, Pendleton, and the bodies of the fallen gunmen. Luke scrambled to his feet and ran to join Glory and Pendleton. He saw a bright splash of blood on the foreman’s shirt and knew that Pendleton had been wounded, but the man was still alert and looking around for more trouble.