“You may stand down,” he said to Cassie and motioned to the row of chairs.
Cassie did as he said, but by the time she got there, her knees quit on her and she sank into her chair. Mavis picked up her hand again with gentle pressure. Cassie blinked back the moisture that threatened to flow down her face.
“You did good.” Lucas spoke from her left side.
“Ransom Lockwood to the stand,” the sheriff called.
She watched as Ransom repeated the vow and took his seat. He didn’t appear scared or shaky at all. He told of the dogs barking, their ride up to see flames, hearing the shots and all the yelling. “We rode in, firing in the air and yelling back. We saw two of the men ride off and a horse with no rider circling around. The wagon had flames coming out the door and the sides, so we pulled that away from the cabin.
“Chief and Micah came out of hiding, and then we found Miss Lockwood sitting against the cabin wall, covered in blood. She was bleeding from being shot in the arm. Chief discovered Jud there.” He indicated the fellow with Hercules as a middle name. “A bullet had grazed his head, a pretty deep one, and we put him back on his horse and told him to hang on. With Cassie in front of Lucas, we headed back down the hill to where Mor waited. Sorry, I mean my mother. She put a tourniquet on Cassie’s arm and told us to get her to the doctor as fast as we could. We rode in on horseback because that was faster than hitching up. I was sure she was going to die before we could get to town.”
“And Mr. Dooger?”
“He looked a lot worse’n he was.”
“That was your medical opinion?” An arched brow accompanied the question.
“No, sir. But to be truthful, I had a hard time feeling any sympathy for a man who could take part in such a thing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Engstrom.”
Lucas was called next, but he didn’t have any new information, so his time was shorter. The sheriff testified that he’d thrown Jud in jail after his wound was bandaged, and that the other two were caught later.
“I think we’ll break for dinner, folks, and hear from the accused afterward. Court is dismissed.” Judge Cranston banged his gavel and stood up even as the sheriff was calling, “All rise.”
Reverend Brandenburg smiled at the Engstroms. “The missus and I figured this is what would happen, so she has dinner waiting for us. We can walk or, of course, take your wagon.”
“Oh, a walk would feel so good.” Mavis gathered up her coat and slipped into it while Ransom held it for her. Lucas helped Cassie into her shawl, patting her shoulders before stepping back.
Cassie stopped a sigh. Lucas had vowed he would make her fall in love with him. Surely this was another bit of his plan. But she had to admit, right now a touch from anyone helped dilute the fear that seemed to flow along with her bloodstream. What if these men got off scot-free because she, the witness, could not identify them? It would have been so easy to simply say they were the ones.
What if their next attempt, now with thoughts of revenge, was many times worse? Was she being fair to Chief and Runs Like a Deer to keep them in harm’s way? But then, what else could she do? They no longer had a wagon to live in if they decided to move someplace else, and she had no idea where someplace else could be. With winter hard upon them, they would have to have dependable shelter if they traveled. The wagon had provided that.
Gone now.
And I don’t want to leave here. I want to live here, especially since, thanks to my father, I own half of the Bar E. Not sure whether this was a plea or a promise, she kept pace with the others as they walked for what seemed like a thousand miles to the parsonage next door to the church.
2
Mrs. Brandenburg greeted them at the door, and Lucas helped Cassie with her shawl. They filed into the dining room to sit, Lucas at Cassie’s elbow. Her knees thanked her as she dropped into her chair and Lucas scooted it in.
Mrs. Brandenburg dished up bowls of steaming soup as soon as they sat down. “There is bread in one basket and crackers in the other. Mavis, I tried a new cracker recipe. You’ll have to be honest and tell me what you think of it. I put dill seed in it, of all things. Ran the seeds through the coffee mill. Now we’re probably going to have dill-flavored coffee for a while.”
Reverend Brandenburg offered up the grace along with a plea for justice and nodded to the others. “We need to be back at the court by one thirty. Judge Cranston is a stickler for time, and I know he wants this wrapped up today.”
Lucas snorted. “I don’t see any need for a hearing at all. We caught Jud red-handed, or redheaded as was the case for him, and the others never said they didn’t do it.”
“But they have the right to a trial. I’m just glad there is no jury to make it take longer. Although everyone here knows Case’s bigotry, he’s never been one to keep his mouth shut.” Brandenburg dunked one of the crackers in his soup. “Delicious.” He smiled at his wife.
She looked not at him but to Mavis.
“What do you think?”
“I want the recipe.”
Cassie could have been eating sawdust for all she knew. She could not pay attention. I don’t want to leave here, Lord. What’s wrong with wanting a home? Here I think I have one, and now this.
“Don’t worry about this, Cassie.” Mrs. Brandenburg laid a hand on her arm. “All will be well.”
Cassie sent her what she could manage of a smile. A nod would have to suffice. Both Mavis and Mrs. Brandenburg knew how to trust God, no matter what. She, however, was still trying to learn that.
She did have enough curiosity to ask, “What does cross mean? The judge said it when he was looking at the lawyer.”
“Cross examination,” Reverend Brandenburg replied. “The defense declined, because they didn’t want the court to hear that damaging testimony twice. Not too important when it’s only a judge, but it’s very important when a jury is hearing the case.”
“Thank you.” She managed a smile this time. So the reverend knew quite a bit about law as well as faith.
Cassie and the Engstroms arrived back in the courtroom with ten minutes to spare. Here came Sheriff McDougal with his charges; his deputies again handcuffed the three prisoners to their chairs. Loud enough to be heard easily, Case grumbled something about being bound to the chair like a common criminal.
“Shut up,” hissed one of the others. “You want to make this even worse?”
“You tell me to shut up and—” Case’s ugly face grew even more so.
The judge entered, the sheriff called, “All rise,” and the afternoon was under way.
The sheriff called Dr. Barnett to testify. He described the wounds and his treatment. “That young lady could have lost the use of her arm had things gone only a tiny bit differently. Even worse, she could have died from loss of blood.” He shook his head. “I left the South to get away from the Ku Klux Klan and to find that same kind of hatred here . . . Heartbreaking, that’s what it is.”
Judge Cranston looked up. “Cross?”
Again the lawyer shook his head.
The sheriff announced, “The state rests.”
“Defense?”
Reluctantly, it would appear, the lawyer called, “Case Beckwith to the stand, please.”
A deputy unlocked the chair half of his handcuffs, and Case bolted upright. He plopped down into the witness chair.
The sheriff glared at him. “Up.”
He stood.
The sheriff waved the Bible. “This is a Bible, in case you’ve never seen one before. Put your left hand on it and raise your right. Your other right.”
Case repeated the familiar promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Was he capable of that?
Mr. Jenski, the lawyer, stepped in next to him. “You’ve been identified as one of the miscreants. Do you dispute that, Mr. Beckwith?”
Case growled, “We didn’t go there to do any arson or murder. We just wanted to scare ’em a little so they’d move on. We didn’t set fire to noth
ing. We didn’t mean to shoot anybody. She just got in the way. Maybe she even did it on purpose to get us in trouble.”
Cassie gaped. Her stomach felt as if she’d just been punched.
The judge asked the sheriff, “Cross?”
He was smirking. “No need. No, Your Honor.”
Mr. Jenski looked pained. “You may stand down, Mr. Beckwith.”
“But I ain’t done testifying! We didn’t really hurt anything, except some too-big-for-her-britches stranger. We didn’t start no fire, so they musta. They did it to get us in trouble, I tell you. We’re innocent!”
The judge roared, “Stand down!”
And Case did so.
The judge glared at all three. “Anyone else have anything to say?”
Case howled one more time, “We’re innocent!”
The lawyer was covering his face with one hand, his head drooping sadly.
“Very well. We already have the confession of Mr. Dooger that you three were all in on the raid, and now you, Mr. Beckwith, established that you were there. Does anyone here present have any proof or credible witness that might change any of that?” The judge looked at Mr. Jenski, then rather imperiously around at everyone else in the room.
Mr. Jenski shook his head. His face was, to Cassie, exactly what defeat looked like.
The judge picked up a piece of paper. “Then I declare the defendants guilty as charged. The defendants will approach the bench for sentencing.”
Sheriff McDougal cleared his throat and then poked Case to make them stand. The deputies unlocked their handcuffs from their chairs but, Cassie noted, cuffed the men’s hands behind their backs. Reluctantly, the three shuffled over and stood before the platform.
The judge leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “I feel constrained to point out that if you three had the brains God gave a goose, you wouldn’t be standing before me today. You acted despicably and brought shame to this town.
“Case Beckwith, I hereby sentence you to five years for each count, to be served in the state penitentiary at Sioux Falls, the sentences to run concurrently.” Eyes narrowed, he stared at the big man. “Possible parole at three years if you behave yourself.”
Case glared back at him, but for a change he kept his mouth shut.
“Judson Dooger, I sentence you to one year on each count, your sentences to run concurrently. I hope you can learn to think for yourself and not just follow a bad leader. Joseph Jones, you receive the same sentence as Mr. Dooger, and the same advice. Are there any questions?”
“Who’s going to take care of my family?” Mr. Jones muttered, shaking his head.
“You should have thought of that before you went off carousing with Mr. Beckwith. Case closed. Court dismissed.” The judge brought his gavel down—not so loudly this time.
“All rise.” The sheriff did not look particularly excited or happy. Was he pleased he had won?
With a great deal of noise, chairs all over the room rattled as people stood to leave. The volume of many voices grew. Cassie could not bear to look toward the three wives. What now? How must it feel to hear and see your man taken away?
Judge Cranston stepped down off his platform and started to remove his black robe.
Cassie said to no one in particular, “I don’t understand. Why didn’t he just sentence those three without the trial, if the evidence was so cut and dried?”
Reverend Brandenburg shrugged into his coat. “We may be a ways out from civilization, but we maintain the civil law. The trial followed the letter of the law. Those three can never say they did not receive a fair trial.” He went up to the judge and stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, Homer. You want to come by for supper? You know there is always a room for you too.”
“Thanks. Wish I could, but I need to be on that five o’clock train. You come on down to Rapid City one of these days. ’Bout time for a real visit.” He stepped in closer. “If I could have justified it, I would’ve sent him off forever. You can bet that Case Beckwith hasn’t learned any lesson. He’ll be trouble in prison too. Count on it.”
“’Fraid you might be right, but you never know. The Holy Ghost might get ahold of him and make him a new man. That’s what we’ve been praying for.” They shook hands, clapped each other’s arms, and walked off together.
“Are you all right?” Mavis asked Cassie.
“Can you beat that?” Cassie nodded toward the men. “They know each other.”
Mavis seemed downright lighthearted. “To quote a good pastor friend of mine, God works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.”
“Did you know who the judge would be?”
“No, and I didn’t know that Reverend Brandenburg and Judge Cranston were friends. But then, there are a lot of things I know nothing about. I do know that we can rest easy now and go on with our lives. Let’s go home.” She hooked her arm through Cassie’s on one side and Ransom’s on the other.
Cassie glanced over to see two of the women comforting the third, Mrs. Dooger, the one whose husband had been the one with the wound to his head.
She heard the woman cry, “But my Jud isn’t a bad man, he was just—”
“Stupid!” interrupted Mrs. Jones. “To go to the saloon and get mixed up with the likes of Case Beckwith, and my Joe was just as stupid. I’m sorry, Molly, but that’s just the way it is. And now we all get to pay for their stupidity.”
Who will help them out? Cassie wondered as they left the courtroom. For that matter, how will the rest of us manage? We’re paying too. Nothing is for certain, that is for sure. After all, what if she could never shoot again professionally or do her trick riding routine, thanks to a stupid man who put a bullet in her arm?
3
Another day of putting off getting those timbers up to the mine. Granted, it was Sunday tomorrow, but surely God would understand that Ransom needed to work when the weather permitted. After all, this was South Dakota in December. Snow, deep snow, was imminent. Woolly caterpillars and animals’ dense coats predicted a bad winter, and the signs never lied. At least not that he knew of. But so far, the killing winter had held off, allowing them to cut and mill the pine trees. He needed to remember to be thankful for that.
But Ransom wisely kept his thoughts to himself as he continued with the evening chores—milking, since Gretchen was spending the night with Jenna. Lucas had left before twilight to get set up for the evening elk run. Sometimes they came down the hill, and sometimes he needed to go looking for them. Since there had been no rifle shots, Ransom figured tonight would be the latter. Still, Lucas would most likely get his elk. As a hunter, he was superb. Tonight he had taken Micah and Chief with him. Maybe they would come back with two.
He finished the milking, tossed more hay in Rosy’s manger, and checked on the hogs. Since they had plenty of milk again, he poured soured skimmed milk from the cream can beside the hog gate into the trough and added cracked oats. Didn’t he see a grinder over to Dan Arnett’s house that would let them turn that steam engine into a grinding machine too? Probably was all rusted up, but they could remedy that.
He whistled his way to the house, stopping by the springhouse to strain the milk and set it in pans for the cream to rise. One thing he’d love to buy was one of those new cream separators, but it didn’t make sense for the one or two cows they had. As best as he could remember, Rosy was due to calve in February. He needed to check the calendar.
Taking a jug of cold milk with him, he tramped on up to the house. For a change he didn’t have to go throw wood on the smoker. Since the light was still on in the bunkhouse, he rapped on the door to remind Arnett it was time for supper.
“Come in, come in.” Did his voice sound even more gravelly than usual?
Ransom stepped into the bunkhouse, now meticulously clean with a stack of books on the table and a rocking chair in front of the stove. From a utilitarian bunkhouse, this place had been rendered quite homey. Arnett sat with his wool-stockinged feet up on the fender, book in his lap.
“Surely can’t be suppertime already,” the old man said with a chuckle. “But then I get to readin’ and the time just drifts on by.”
“Mor will be ringing the bell any minute now. Hey, I was thinking. You got an old grain grinder out by your machine shed?”
Arnett slit his eyes, gazing into some distant place. “Why, by jerky, I think you’re right. Hey, that might to be another cash machine for you. Let folks know you can grind grain and they’ll be bringing their cattle feed over. You know, we might keep that old steam sister going after all.” He slapped his thigh, making the book bounce and slide to the floor with a thunk.
He stood and stretched before limping over to his boots and jacket by the door. “We’d best get that Monday afore the snow buries it again. We’ll take it all apart, get the rust off it, and put it back together. Be good as new.” He shrugged into his sheepskin jacket and clapped Ransom on the shoulder. “Good for you, boy. You got a memory like an old bear trap. Why, think I got one of them too, up on the barn wall.”
Ransom closed the door behind them, and they headed on up to the house just as Cassie came out to ring the iron triangle, the song of which echoed across the valley. As they stepped up on the back porch, two rifle shots answered the supper bell.
Ransom heaved a sigh. “Guess I better get the wagon out there. Tell Mor to go ahead.”
“You need another pair of hands?”
“No, thanks. There are three of them already.” He turned and headed back for the barn. Good thing he’d not let the team loose like he’d thought to do. One of the horses nickered when he opened the door. Stepping into the quiet warmth of the barn, he lit the lantern hanging on the hook by the door and, using the dim light, lifted the harnesses off the wall and hauled them over to the stalls where the team waited, ears pricked as if they’d heard the shot too and knew that meant a trip out of the barn.
“Guess you two don’t like staying in here after all, eh?” He slung the harnesses in place, buckling and snapping everything together, and then backed the horses out one at a time. As he led them outside, one on each side of him, Ransom stopped at the wagon tongue set on a chunk of log, and they backed into place so he could snap on to the whippletrees and the wagon tongue. They stamped their feet and blew steam into the air. The temperature had dropped noticeably since sunset.
Place to Belong, a Page 2