“Was it her?” Cody exclaimed.
“It was her,” Cullen confirmed, his gun in hand, as he watched the closed doors cautiously. “She’s in one of these rooms and you can bet she’s waitin’ with that .44 of hers.”
“Whaddaya wanna do?” Jug asked, knowing it was more than a little risky to go charging through the door to be met by a blazing .44 revolver.
Cullen exchanged glances with Cody. Cody shrugged and said, “We rode a helluva long way to let a wooden door stop us.”
“All right, then,” Cullen replied. “Let’s take ’em one at a time, but, damn it, be careful.”
They approached the first door then. With Cullen and Cody on each side, guns ready, Jug slammed the door open with one solid kick, then dived to the side for cover. His brothers braced for return fire as they quickly scanned the room from both sides of the door before entering. The room was empty. While they moved to the next door to repeat the assault, the barroom downstairs was turned into a turmoil of confusion. With an absence of gunfire from upstairs, none of the patrons was frightened to the point of fleeing, but the crashing of doors and the drawn pistols of the three who ran up the stairs was enough to send for the sheriff.
Upstairs, the last door at the end of the hall splintered as Jug’s big boot tore it from the doorjamb. As was the case with the others, the room was empty, but they discovered another door to the outside and a back stair to the alley. “Damn!” Cody exclaimed. “We shoulda thought of that.” They wasted little time descending the steps. At the bottom they decided to split up, Jug around the other side of the saloon, Cody to the street out front, and Cullen following the alley.
Searching hurriedly as he passed behind several stores, Cullen ran down the narrow alley that ended a few dozen yards from the stables behind a blacksmith’s shop. Determined that she was not going to escape yet again, he raced across the open ground to the stable door, unaware of the man coming from the blacksmith’s to intercept him. When he learned of the commotion at the saloon, and was told that three men were obviously chasing Rebecca, Jack Sykes was consumed by one thought, to save his sister, whom he adored.
At the door of the stable, Cullen adopted a more cautious approach, hesitating to charge in before taking a careful look around the door. He was surprised to discover no sign of Roberta. Instead he was met by Billy Johnson leading a saddled horse toward the door. Billy stopped when he saw Cullen, not sure what to make of the sight of the formidable man with a drawn gun. “Where is she?” Cullen demanded, but Billy was rendered mute by the sudden appearance of the desperate gunman.
“I’m right here, Cullen.” She stepped out of the tack room door to stand before him. “Have you come to kill me? You’re standing there with a gun in your hand.”
He was not prepared for the gentle confrontation and he had to pause to consider. “No,” he finally answered. “I’ve come to take you to tell your story to a judge.”
She smiled patiently as she replied, “You know, I always thought you and I could be good together, maybe more than just a partnership. You were my favorite, and after all the accidents that happened after Blodgett Canyon, it was you that I missed the most.” She carefully eased the Colt .44 up from behind her full skirt, determined to shoot before he could react. Her smile grew when she saw Jack slip into the stable behind Cullen.
Frozen in stunned silence to that point, a bewildered Billy Johnson reacted involuntarily when he saw Jack Sykes raise his pistol and take deadly aim at Cullen’s back. “Look out!” he shouted. Without thinking, Cullen dropped to the ground a split second before Jack pulled the trigger. Rolling over against the side of a stall, he immediately returned fire, hitting Jack in the gut. Before Jack could fire again, Cullen put another round in his chest, and Sykes dropped his gun and fell to his knees. Remembering then, Cullen turned to counter an attack from Roberta, only to find her slumped against the tack room door, clutching her breast as she died from the bullet meant for Cullen.
“Gawdamighty!” Billy exclaimed when Sykes finally went facedown on the stable floor. “He shot his sister!”
Cullen remained on the floor for a few moments while his mind caught up with his reflexes, just then fully realizing what had just taken place. He was getting to his feet when the sheriff ran in, followed by Jug, Cody, and most of the crowd that had been in the saloon. “All right, damn it,” the sheriff ordered, “just stand back till I find out what happened here.” Jug and Cody ignored his directions and went directly to make sure Cullen was all right. All three then walked over to look down at Roberta as she stared up at them in death, shot through the heart.
“I saw the whole thing, Sheriff,” Billy Johnson volunteered.
“You did, huh? Well, suppose you tell me what happened,” the sheriff said. He pointed at Cullen. “You, young feller, suppose you just come on over here till we get this straightened out—them two with you, too.”
After Billy related the incident as he saw it, the sheriff was still not certain that Cullen was innocent of a crime. “You’re sure that’s the way it happened? This feller”—pointing to Jack—“was fixin’ to shoot this feller”—pointing to Cullen—“in the back, but missed him and shot Miss St. James. Then this feller”—pointing to Cullen again—“rolled over and shot him. And that’s the straight of it?” Billy nodded enthusiastically. “You’d go before a judge and swear to it?”
“Yes, sir,” Billy replied.
“So Jack, there, shot Miss St. James, and this feller shot Jack,” the sheriff summed up. “Helluva thing, ain’t it? Raymond Tower died last week and left the saloon to the lady and here she gets shot today. And she ain’t been in town long enough for anybody to know anythin’ about her.”
At that point, Cullen was in the clear. He could have kept his mouth shut and gone on his way, but he decided it needed to be said. “Her name ain’t St. James,” he said, “and she didn’t come from Chicago. Her name’s Roberta Morris and I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet she came from Coulson, right up the river, since that’s where Gabe Morris came from. All the money she had came from the gold she stole from Gabe. It was supposed to go to Gabe’s brother, Jonah, so if you wanna be square about it, I reckon Jonah Morris owns this saloon now. I don’t know the man. I’m just sayin’.”
“Now, how the hell do you know all that?” the sheriff wanted to know.
“Because she just came from the Bitterroot Valley, where she called herself Roberta Morris,” Cullen said.
“Damn!” the sheriff muttered. “I’m gonna need you to stick around till we get all this straightened out. “I don’t want you to leave town.”
“Whatever you say, Sheriff,” Cullen said. He nodded to his brothers and they followed him out the door. Then while the sheriff was getting the others to help pick up the bodies, they returned to the saloon, stepped up in their saddles, and headed west. It was settled as far as they were concerned.
Myra Sullivan stopped to study her daughter as Marcy stood in the open doorway, gazing into the fading light. Another day and Cullen had not returned. In her mind, it was a foolish errand he had set out to do. Myra was fond of Cullen, and by all indications, he was a decent, honorable man. But he was a man, and as he was such, it was possible that his passions had cooled and he’d had second thoughts about giving up his freedom. She hoped this was not the case, but it had been a little longer than the two weeks Marcy anticipated he’d be gone. She dared not mention her concerns to Marcy, for her daughter maintained that Cullen would return to marry her because he had promised to. But Myra could read the uncertainty in her daughter’s eyes when she thought no one was watching her. For that reason, Myra quickly shifted her gaze when Marcy stepped back and closed the door.
“Well, the kitchen’s all cleaned up,” Myra said, her tone casual, “so I guess I’ll get ready for bed. Your pa and Jimmy turned in an hour ago.” She went over and put her arm around her daughter. “I guess you’d best get to bed, too. You’re looking tired lately.”
“I’m all
right, Mama. I’m going to bed in a few minutes.” She said good night to her mother, but decided to sit down in the darkened parlor for a while in case he might yet arrive before she had to mark off another day. Every night seemed the same now, with so many thoughts swirling in her mind, robbing her of her sleep as she tried to picture him on his way back to her. Surely he would come tonight, she thought. She literally ached for his return. But he did not, and when the brass grandfather clock in the hallway officially announced the completion of another day, she wearily got to her feet and tiptoed off to her room. Hearing the creak of the floorboards as Marcy passed her bedroom door, Myra said a silent prayer for her daughter.
The morning broke clear and chilly, and Myra lingered a few minutes longer under the heavy quilts. She could hear the sounds of Fred starting a fire in her kitchen stove and she decided to give it a few minutes more to let it warm up a little before she placed her feet on the cold floor and hurried in to stand by the stove. She heard Marcy’s voice, saying something to her father, and shook her head when she thought of the late hour when her daughter finally went to bed. With a sigh of resignation then, she threw back her covers and willed herself out of the bed.
“Good morning,” she said cheerlessly when she walked into the kitchen. “Is Jimmy up?”
“He’s already gone to milk the cow,” Fred replied. “You’re the last one up, lazybones.”
At that moment, they heard Jimmy’s step on the back porch and the kitchen door opened. “Look what I found in the barn,” he announced with a grin from ear to ear. All eyes turned to discover Cullen following him into the kitchen.
“Well, I’ll be . . .” Fred uttered. Marcy barely beat her mother in a race across the kitchen to greet him. It seemed a draw to Fred as to which one of the women was the most relieved to see the beaming young man. It was a while, though, before Marcy released him.
“I went out to milk the cow and there they were, all of ’em sound asleep.”
“Why on earth—” Marcy started to ask, but Cullen interrupted.
“I wanted to make it in last night, so we just kept on ridin’. It was close to first light by the time we got here, and I didn’t wanna wake everybody up at that hour. So we just went in the barn and went to bed,” Cullen said with a sheepish grin. “I reckon I’d still be sleepin’ away if somebody hadn’t woke me up.” He winked at Jimmy.
“I declare,” Marcy said, pretending to frown, “I guess after we’re married, you’re gonna want to set up housekeeping in that back stall in the barn.”
He laughed, then said, “Well, I do feel at home there.” She took a step back to give him a good, intense look, shook her head as if exasperated with him, then stepped back, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him long and hard. She didn’t care who saw it.
“I guess we’ve got a wedding to plan,” Myra remarked happily. “I better get some breakfast cooking,’cause I’m sure Jug hasn’t lost his appetite.”
Read on for a special sneak peek
at the next thrilling
Western adventure from Charles G. West,
Left Hand of the Law
Coming from Signet in July 2011.
Ben Cutler looked up and smiled when his six-year-old son, Danny, appeared at the barn door, carrying a Mason jar half filled with cider. Ben knew that his wife, Mary Ellen, had no doubt put the thought in the boy’s head to fetch the cider from the spring box in the creek and surprise his father with it. He wouldn’t let on that he suspected as much, because Danny was very proud to be the bearer of the cool refreshment on this hot summer day in the southeast corner of Kansas.
“Well, bless my soul,” Ben exclaimed. “I was just this minute wishin’ I had a drink of cool cider. How’d you know that’s what I was thinkin’ about?” Danny’s answer was a delighted giggle and he thrust the jar out for his father to take. “Why don’t you have a little drink, yourself?” Ben suggested. It wasn’t really hard cider. He hadn’t let it ferment that long, so it wouldn’t hurt the boy. Eager to accept the offer, Danny gulped a few swallows down, smacked his lips loudly, then extended the jar toward his father again. He stood back to watch as Ben took a long draw from the jar, and smacked his lips in turn to show his appreciation.
“Somebody’s comin’,” the boy suddenly announced, and Ben turned to follow his son’s gaze to the head of the lane where he saw a lone rider coming toward the house.
Ben put aside the harness he was in the midst of repairing and got up to stand beside Danny. The rider looked familiar, and when he was halfway to the yard, Ben recognized Eli Gentry, a deputy sheriff from Crooked Fork. Ben could not say he knew the man very well, and what little bit he knew didn’t impress him very much. He had what Ben would describe as a weasel face with dark eyes that seemed too close together on each side of a long, thin nose. The thing that set him apart was the cutoff sword he liked to wear on his side. In a scabbard like a long hunting knife, it had once been a cavalry sword until about a third of the blade had been broken off. Sheriff Jubal Creed’s other deputy, Bob Rice, struck Ben as a much more mature lawman. He had to admit that he knew very few people in the settlement at the forks of the Neosho and Lightning rivers, some fifteen miles away from his place on the Neosho. Curious, he walked out to meet Gentry. “Howdy, Deputy,” he called out in greeting. “What brings you out to this part of the county?”
Pulling his horse to a stop when he was hailed from the barn, Gentry turned to meet Ben and his son. “I swear, Ben Cutler,” he replied with a genuine look of surprise. “Is this your place?” Ben responded with no more than a smile, since the answer seemed obvious. He was amazed that the deputy knew his name. Gentry continued. “You got a right tidy little place here, looks like. I didn’t think you knew much about farmin’.” He looked around him at the barn and the corral. “Looks like you’re more into raisin’ cattle.”
Ben shrugged. “Well, I guess I do know a little more about horses and cows than I do about raisin’ crops, but that’s what happens to a man when he meets the little woman who’s gonna run his life.” He placed an affectionate hand on Danny’s head. “Mary Ellen got tired of havin’ me gone so much of the time, and wanted us to have a place of our own. Have to admit, she was right.” He waited for the deputy to explain his appearance this far from Crooked Fork, but Eli continued to look around him as if evaluating the progress Ben had made. “Step down,” Ben invited, “and get a cool drink of water, or some of this sweet cider. You didn’t say how you happen to be out this far. Are you on sheriff’s business?”
Gentry took another look toward the house before dismounting. “Yeah, that’s right,” he answered. “There’s been some raidin’ of some of the farms and ranches in the county, and Jubal sent me and Bob out to look around. He thinks it might be Injuns from down in the Nations.”
“Is that a fact?” Ben responded. “Well, I haven’t seen or heard of any trouble like that around here. If it’s Indians, I doubt if it’s any of the Cherokees. I talked to Jim White Feather a couple of days ago, and he didn’t say any thin’ about any raidin’ around here.”
“Huh,” Eli snorted. “I doubt he’d say any thin’ if there was. He mighta been one of ’em doin’ the raidin’.”
“I reckon I’d have to disagree with you there, Eli,” Ben said. “Jim’s a good man. He’s been a friend to me ever since I started to build this place.”
Gentry did not reply to Ben’s statement. Instead, he affected a thin smile and abruptly changed the subject. “You are mighty close to the Nations. I expect you’re about the only white family down the Neosho this far.”
“Where are you headin’ from here?” Ben asked.
“Back to town I reckon. I’ve got a long way to ride ahead of me, too long to get home tonight, and I’m short of supplies as it is. But I expect I’ll make me a camp somewhere along the way.”
Knowing common courtesy called for it, Ben said, “It is a long ride into Crooked Fork from here, and the afternoon’s about played out. You’d be welcome to
take supper with us, and you can sleep in the barn if you want. Then you can start back to town in the mornin’.”
“Well, now, that’s mighty neighborly of you, Cutler.” Gentry was quick to accept the invitation. “That sure would make it a lot easier for me. You sure that pretty little wife of yours wouldn’t mind?”
“I expect she’d most likely invite you herself,” Ben replied, then turned to Danny. “Run to the house, son. Tell your mama we’ve got company for supper.” Turning back to Gentry then, he said, “Come on. I’ll help you put your horse in the barn.” He led the way to one of four stalls in the barn, hoping that his irritation at piling this on Mary Ellen with no warning wasn’t too evident.
“Yessir,” Eli commented as he stood between the stalls and looked around him. “You fixed yourself up real fine here.” He cocked his head back to look Ben in the eye and grinned. “Musta cost you a little money, from the looks of the barn and house.”
“Well, I guess I had a little money put back from my cattle, but I built the house and barn myself, like everybody else in the county, I expect.” It struck him as odd conversation to have with Eli Gentry, but he supposed that it was just the deputy’s way of trying to make polite talk.
“If you’ve still got some of that money put aside, I hope you’ve put it away somewhere safe, like a root cellar or someplace where Injuns ain’t likely to look.”
Not wishing to pursue a subject that he considered his private business, Ben switched to another. “Like I said, you can sleep here in the barn. I can get you an extra blanket if you need it, but I doubt you will, hot as it’s been.” He waited for Gentry to pull his saddle off and spread his blanket on the hay. “We might as well go on up to the house and see how long it’ll be before Mary Ellen has supper on the table.”
“You know Deputy Gentry, don’t you, Mary Ellen?” Ben asked when they walked into the kitchen.
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