by Anna Schmidt
“Get in,” the driver of the wagon ordered as he pulled alongside her. He held out his hand to pull her up next to him on the soaked wooden seat.
She folded her arms protectively around her chest and squinted up at him. “Is that you, Rico?” she asked, finally putting an identity to the man’s features.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Now take my hand, woman.”
She stood her ground. “Will you take me to get my son?”
He let out a breath that spoke louder than words. “Look, the way this trail is, we’ll be lucky to make it back to the ranch without breaking an axle. You can get your son once this rain lets up. He’s not going anywhere, is he? And those are your people caring for him, right?”
Nell pulled her coat closer and started walking again. She heard Rico call the horses to a halt and then heard the splat of his boots hitting the ground behind her.
“Mrs. Stokes, stop,” he shouted above the howl of the wind. She kept walking, but he overtook her easily and stepped in front of her on the path. “Look, my ma is worried, and she doesn’t need any more cause right now. She just buried one son, and now Trey’s over there at the fort, but she’s also worried about you. So stop being so bullheaded and let me take you back where she can see you’re all right.”
“First of all, my name is Nell Porterfield. Nell is fine with me. Second, there’s another woman whose had a loss in all this—my sister-in-law. I don’t want her to think I’ve chosen sides. She needs to know that whatever has happened or will come, we are family. I expect your mother understands that, understands why I set out in the first place.”
Rico stared up at the sky. Then he took off the slicker and placed it on her shoulders. “Get in. I’ll take you there and wait while you call on your sister-in-law and collect your boy.”
“Thank you.” Nell allowed him to help her into the wagon. Once he had picked up the reins and snapped them to get the team moving, she scooted closer to him and held the slicker above their heads so that it covered them both.
Although it was already midmorning by the time they arrived, things were quiet at her brother’s place. The storm had kept away any visitors who might call on Lottie. She saw no sign of Ernest nor Spud or the Mexicans hired to shepherd the flock. The yard, pastures, and outbuildings appeared to be unoccupied. “Wait here,” she said when Rico pulled the wagon to a stop some distance from the house. “No need to get anybody more upset than they already are. I’ll walk down and talk to Lottie and get Joshua. When we’re ready, I’ll signal from the porch there.”
Rico drove the team forward. “I know another way. You can cut through just past the kitchen garden. The wagon will be out of sight of the barn. That way, I’ll be close enough to get you and the boy out should there be trouble.”
Surely, it was ridiculous to think she might be in any real danger. These people were family—even Ernest had been her late husband’s cousin. And yet she did not object when Rico found a route through a grove of trees near the creek, swollen now with the rain.
“I’ll wait here,” he said.
She handed him the slicker and climbed down from the wagon.
When she reached the back entrance to the house, she saw Lottie sitting alone at the kitchen table, her Bible open in front of her. Nell stepped up to the door and knocked lightly on the frame before entering the house. “Hello, Lottie,” she said softly.
Lottie raised her head to reveal eyes that were hollow and red-rimmed, in a face sallow and lined. The woman appeared to have aged a decade in just a few days. Her hand trembled as she reached out to Nell. “You’ve come home,” she whispered. “Bless you for that.”
Nell bit her lower lip as she took Lottie’s hand between both of hers. “Lottie, I came to see if you needed anything—if there was anything I could do for you.”
Lottie’s eyes hardened, and she pulled her hand away. “Do for me? You could have been at the funeral—your own flesh and blood. Where were you?”
“I thought it best…” Nell could not find the words to explain why she had chosen to stay away. “Is Joshua all right?”
“You think I wouldn’t take proper care of that boy? You think I would punish him for the sins of his mother? Is that it?”
“No! Lottie, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that you have so much to deal with right now, and I thought if I took Joshua with me, it might relieve you some.”
“You want to take that boy to that rancher’s place so he can learn how to hate his own kind?”
“You’ve got this all wrong, Lottie. Trey wants to find a way for everyone to live in peace.”
“Peace?” Lottie spat the word at Nell. “Do you know where Spud and Ernest and the others are right now?”
“I assumed they were out tending the flock,” Nell replied.
“They are out all right, but there’s no tending to be done. There was a raid last night. They stampeded our sheep and those of yours we’d managed to round up after the fire. Ran them up there to Deadman’s Point and drove them over the edge, whooping and hollering and firing their rifles in the air.”
“No.” Nell covered her mouth with her fist. Would this carnage never end?
“You doubt me? Where were your husband and his family last night, Nell? Ask yourself that.”
Nell found her footing with that taunt. “My husband was in jail at the fort, just like Ira. And his family was at home—all night.” She looked past Lottie and saw Joshua standing in the doorway.
“Ma?”
She realized what a mess she was—her hair pulled free and sodden around her face and shoulders, her clothing soaked and pocked with mud. Even so, she held out her arms to him, and he ran to her. “Joshua, go gather your things, and be sure you make the bed and leave everything in order. Then come back here and thank Aunt Lottie for everything she’s done for you these last few days.”
Joshua pulled away and looked up at her. “Where are we going?”
Nell looked at Lottie. “We’ll be staying at Mr. Porterfield’s ranch,” she said.
“Not at Doc Addie’s in town?”
“No, but she and her family will be at the ranch from time to time, I’m sure. Now go get ready.”
Joshua turned to go but stopped next to Lottie’s chair. “Aunt Lottie, don’t you worry. I’ll be back to see you real soon.” He gave her a hug before hurrying down the hall and did not see the tears leaking down the furrows of Lottie’s worn face.
Nell knelt next to her and clasped hands with her. “Lottie, please forgive me. I should have been here, if not for Henry, then for you.”
Lottie sniffed back her grief. She tightened her grip. “What are we going to do to save Ira? Those people have accused him of murder. He’ll hang. I can’t… I’ve lost…” She broke down completely then, her tears soaking their joined hands.
“I’ll talk to Trey and his family. They’ll know what to do,” Nell promised.
And in that instant, the bond between them was shattered. Lottie pushed Nell away with such force, she nearly toppled over. “Get out of my house, Nell. Take your boy and go. And be certain of this—I will never forgive you for betraying us the way you have. And if Ira goes to the gallows, that is on your head. You brought this on us.” She was standing now, her body rigid with rage.
From behind her, Nell saw Joshua close the door to the bedroom and walk toward the kitchen. “Lottie, please,” she whispered.
Her sister-in-law turned away and saw Joshua. “You’ll be needing a slicker, young man,” she said briskly as she took one down from a hook and wrapped it around the boy’s shoulders. “This was your Uncle Henry’s.”
“It’s too big,” Joshua said.
“You’ll grow into it, and when you do, remember where it—and you—came from.” She hugged him close, then left the room without a backward glance at Nell.
* * *
T
he detail of soldiers returned around noon, and shortly after that, Trey was summoned to Colonel Ashwood’s office. The rain had stopped, and the sun burned so hot that everything had dried up, and it was almost as if there had been no storm at all. Only a few puddles of murky standing water pitted the compound.
As he walked between two guards, Trey did what he could to make his appearance more presentable—tucked in his shirt, brushed off his vest, and while he waited to be announced, he slid the top of each boot against his calves in an effort to remove some of the dust. The door to the colonel’s office swung open, and the guards stepped aside.
“Come in, Mr. Porterfield.” The colonel came around his desk to greet him.
Trey was confused. Colonel Ashwood was treating him like a welcome guest rather than a prisoner. He accepted the man’s handshake and his invitation to sit in one of two wooden chairs. Instead of returning to his larger chair behind the desk, Colonel Ashwood dismissed the guards, closed the office door, and sat next to Trey.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m fine, sir. I appreciate you asking.”
“As you are aware, Peter Collins has brought some disturbing charges against you. I must say I never thought I would see the day when that particular cattleman took the side of a sheepherder’s family.”
“He wasn’t there,” Trey said.
“Yes, so he has said. He claims to have witnessed the altercation from a distance.”
“Then what he saw was Henry Galway pull a gun on me. I was moving to attend to Javier Mendez when Galway came at me, tripped, fell, and shot himself as he tumbled down the cliff. Jess was there. As was the boy you’ve got locked up for killing Javier.”
“Still, I know you appreciate the need for me to follow protocol here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The colonel glanced toward the closed door and lowered his voice. “I had another reason for having my soldiers take you into custody, Trey. That young man in the cell next to you was near to hysteria his first night here. No one from his side of this business has been here, and that worries me.”
“Herders tend to walk, and from the Galway place to here is quite a journey—more than half a day on foot. The boy is frightened. He realizes what he did. He does seem to have settled down some,” he added.
“You’ve spoken to him then?”
“We talked some, last night and this morning.”
“Excellent. That was part of my plan.” The colonel stood and took a cigar from a humidor on his desk. He offered one to Trey, who declined.
“I don’t understand, sir. It sounds like you wanted the boy and me to spend time together.”
“Exactly. I don’t believe what Collins is saying about you. He wants you out of his way so he can wage war on the herders. I can’t allow him to do that, but the truth is, I don’t have the manpower to stop him.”
“And you think that boy over there can?”
“Not exactly. I am seeking some way we might remind reasonable men on both sides that this business can’t be solved by stampeding sheep or slaughtering cattle. Right now, Collins has got them all fired up. He’s convinced them this is a matter of all or nothing.” Colonel Ashwood squinted at him through a ring of cigar smoke. “I understand you married Galway’s sister. Can’t imagine that helped your cause—or hers.”
Trey felt a flush flow up the back of his neck and around to his cheeks. “My wife is—”
The colonel waved off his explanation. “None of my business. Just reminding you that it was you who put a stick of dynamite in the middle of this barrel of kerosene. It was you who jeopardized the very peace council you hoped to create.”
Trey could not deny the truth of that, so he changed the thrust of the conversation back to his arrest. “If you believe Collins is lying about what he saw, can I go home?”
“Now, how would that look? We let you go scot-free, and that boy over there has no chance to give his side of things?”
“He killed my friend—that was no accident. He brought the knife, concealed it, and used it. I believe him when he says he didn’t mean to, but the facts speak for themselves.” The grief he’d had little time to dwell on made Trey’s stomach lurch with fury. Javier was dead. Did no one care? Or was it the old story of racial differences—the death of a white man carrying far more weight than that of someone with brown skin? He forced himself to remain calm. “Colonel, if you want my help, I need to get out of here. I need to talk to the other ranchers, settle them down. I need to—”
“And I need you to get that boy to coming around to your way of seeing things.”
“He’s a kid. What good will it do if he decides to say his pa’s death was an accident? And why would he when he truly believes it was my fault?”
The colonel smiled and moved to his official chair. He sat down heavily, rested his elbows on the desk, and pressed his fingertips together. “My guess is one more night spent in that dark cell will bring him around. He’ll agree to pretty much anything, even saying he saw the whole thing up close and you had no fault in his father’s tragic death.”
“In exchange for?”
“His right to go home until his trial comes up.”
“Now, hold on. He murdered my friend—intentional or not. You’re willing to let him get away with that? Whatever happened to justice? I mean, I understand the boy acting rashly, but even out here on the frontier, there has to be some consequence.”
The colonel stubbed out his cigar in a large brass ashtray. “I said he’ll go home—nothing about going free. He’ll stand trial for Mendez’s death, but we have to give the herders something, Trey. They’re bearing the brunt of this fight. Your own wife had her place burned to the ground. As of last night, the Galways have lost most of their sheep. If we let the boy go home to his mama until the circuit court can hear his case, we tip the balance—maybe not till it’s even, but enough for now.”
“I still think—”
The colonel ran his fingers through his thin hair. “I’m trying to prevent a range war, son. Your idea didn’t work, so let’s try mine.”
“I don’t understand yours,” Trey grumbled.
“It buys us some time. If a herder stands up for a cattleman, then other ranchers—on both sides—have to think twice about their next moves. I’m convinced most of the mischief that’s been done, even slaughtering cattle and cutting fences, has been at the hands of Collins and his cowhands. I just can’t prove it.”
“Mischief?” Trey stood for the first time since entering the office. He leaned across the colonel’s desk so they were eye to eye. He kept his voice low and calm. “You call destroying a family’s livelihood and burning my wife’s home to the ground ‘mischief’?”
“Compared to what’s gone on up in Kansas and Nebraska? Yes, I do. And my job is to make sure it doesn’t get any worse. Three men have died, Porterfield. How many more do we need to bury before we get this thing under control?”
Trey moved away from the desk. “And what if the kid agrees to your plan, goes home, and goes out looking for revenge with his brother and Ernest Stokes?”
“That’s why you’re gonna spend the rest of today and tonight trying to bring him around. You have a way about you, Trey. People like you. They trust you. Hell, you got that herder’s widow to marry you.” The colonel chuckled as he walked to the door and signaled for the guards to come in.
On the walk back to his cell, Trey saw the meeting for what it had truly been. Ashwood wasn’t interested in justice. He wasn’t especially interested in what had or had not happened at Deadman’s Point. Fort Lowell was about to be shut down, the presence of a militia having run its course as the territory became more settled. If the colonel let the range war catch fire, that would be his final legacy in the area. He clearly had no intention of letting that happen. No, Ashwood would do whatever it took to prevent that stain on
his record, no matter who paid the price. Trey could not understand why everyone in this battle seemed to be in it for his personal interests rather than the greater good.
Back in his cell, he added details to the drawing on the wall for a while, then lay on his cot and stared out the window. As he sketched, he thought about the mess created by what he had naively thought would be a peaceful meeting. Now Javier was dead, and so was Ira’s father. There was grief enough to share. His own father had been killed when Trey was about Ira’s age. The years that followed had been hard on everyone, but Trey had missed out on more than his older siblings. Now Ira and his brother would have to find their way to manhood without the strong hand of Henry Galway guiding them. They would need a friend—somebody older and more experienced.
“Galway,” he said after a while. “You over there?”
“Where do you think I got to with them bars between me and freedom?”
“You’re pretty quiet.”
“I’m thinkin’.”
Trey smiled. The boy’s voice hit both a high and a low note on those two words. “Me too. Care to share?”
“No. Leave me be.”
Trey sat up. “Come on, Ira. If we’ve got to be here, we might as well get better acquainted. Tell me what you want from this world.”
The silence could either mean the kid was considering his offer or shutting down again.
“Right now, I want to get the hell out of here. Beyond that, I wouldn’t say no to a big helping of my aunt’s bread pudding.”
“Your Aunt Nell?”
“Yeah. She’s a really good cook—better than Ma.”
Trey thought about the cake from the church social. It had practically melted in his mouth. “Are you and your brother close to your aunt?”
“We were. But with her and you… That really made Pa upset when I told him I’d seen the two of you. I never saw him that mad.”
“No need for your relationship with your aunt to change all that much,” Trey said.
Ira snorted. “Then you’re dumber than I thought, mister.”
“Maybe. But if you think about it, we’re not only neighbors. We’re family now. I guess marrying your aunt makes me your uncle.”