The Western Justice Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  “No, they’re not. What do you want to talk about?”

  “What are you going to do with yourself, Smith?”

  “I got no idea.”

  “Are you going to become one of Judge Parker’s marshals? He told me he’d be glad to have you.”

  “No, I’ll never do that again. I’ve had enough of that sort of thing.”

  “Then you’ll have to have a job.”

  “I can get a job somewhere takin’ care of stock or on a ranch. I can handle cattle.”

  Warren fell silent, and Waco blinked. “What else do you want to talk about besides my future?”

  “I want to find out how you feel about my daughter.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes. Sabrina. You remember her?”

  “What do you mean how I feel about her?”

  “I think she cares for you.”

  “Well, that’s impossible. We’re too different.”

  “Women choose men who are different sometimes. My wife did. I was no good when I met her, but she saw something in me. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d be in the poor house or worse. I was no good for her. Maybe you’re no good for my daughter, but I need to know how you feel about her.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Waco said quietly. “She’d never care for me.”

  “I think she does.”

  Waco said, “You’re a smart man, Mr. Warren, but you’re wrong this time.”

  “You’ll have to talk to her. If she cares for you, and you walk away from her, you’ll hurt her terribly. I think she’s been hurt enough, and I’m asking you to overlook some things in her. I know she’s proud, she’s spoiled, but she’s got good stuff in her. She’s a good woman.”

  “No question about that. The question is me.”

  “I guess I know more about men than most, and I see something in you that needs to come out.”

  Waco laughed. “I don’t know what that would be.”

  “You talk to her, and you two decide which way you’re going. If you decide to tell her you love her and you’ll share each other the rest of your life and she tells you the same thing, we’ll talk some more.”

  “I’ll talk to her, but it seems a waste to me.” Waco got up and left the room. He picked up his gun, strapped it on, and looked at it with disgust. “I hope I never have to shoot you again,” he said.

  He made his way toward the hotel where he knew the Warrens were staying. When he walked up on the porch, he saw that Sabrina was sitting there.

  “Did you talk to Dad?”

  Surprised, Waco said, “Yes, I did. How did you know?”

  “Because I told him to talk to you. Sit down, Waco.”

  Waco sat down feeling as uncomfortable as he ever had in his life. “Your dad’s got some funny ideas.”

  “Funny like what?”

  “He thinks—” Waco could barely say the words. “He thinks we’re in love.”

  “What’s funny about that?”

  Waco suddenly grinned. He felt miserable, but this woman always had something to throw at him when he wasn’t ready. “Nothing much except you’re rich, from a fine family, and used to good things. I’m nothing but a bum, never done anything really good in my life. Why shouldn’t we fall in love?”

  Sabrina suddenly rose and said, “Stand up.”

  Waco stood up at once and stood to face her.

  She suddenly reached up, put her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him.

  Waco felt something turn over in him. He knew that he had had some feeling for this woman, but the tragedy of Callie had driven it all away. When she released him, he looked down at her and said, “I guess I’ll have to tell you, Sabrina, I love you. Never thought I’d say that.”

  “Well, I love you, too, Waco. I know we’re different. I know there’s going to be hard times. I’m a spoiled brat, and some of that’s still in me, but I ask you to help me to become a godly woman and a good wife.”

  “Well, who’s going to help me?”

  “Everybody. My father will help you and my mother. Marianne, too. She worships you almost. You know you saved her from death. And I care for you, too. I love you, Waco.”

  Suddenly Waco Smith found himself unable to speak. “One thing, Sabrina… I’ve been thinking about God for some time now. I don’t know how to go about it, but I’m going to become a servant of the Lord.”

  “Waco, I’m so glad. Come on. Let’s go tell my family that we’re engaged.”

  “Why, we can’t just bust in and tell them that.”

  “I can. Come along.”

  The two walked into the hotel. “I saw Father come in a minute ago. He’ll be with Mother.” Sabrina smiled. “They’ll be waiting on a report of our matrimonial expectations.”

  “It’ll be mighty poor doings if we get married. No honeymoon.”

  “As long as we have each other, Waco, that’s all I ask.”

  The two walked upstairs and paused in front of a door. Sabrina knocked on the door, and Charles Warren’s voice said, “Come in, daughter. Bring him with you.”

  As soon as they stepped inside, Waco felt that he was trapped. He saw the whole family was there, including Marianne and Frank Morgan.

  “Well, what’s the status? Did he say he loved you, daughter?”

  “He said so.”

  “And Sabrina, do you love him?” her mother asked anxiously.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Marianne said. She was standing beside Frank Morgan, and her eyes now glowed. “You saved my life, Waco, and I’ll never forget it.”

  “Neither one of us will. This is good news,” Frank added.

  “Not very good news,” Waco said. “I never heard of a more unlikely pair. I don’t even have a job.”

  Charles said, “You sure this is what you want to do? You love my daughter?”

  “Yes, I do, Mr. Warren. That’s the one thing that’s sure.”

  “Well, let me tell you something. I’ve been investing in fine horses for a couple of years. I bought some land and hired three louts to take care of the horses. They don’t know one end of a horse from the other. You think you got sense enough to make it pay?”

  Waco laughed. “It’s the only thing I did growing up, take care of horses. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

  Mrs. Warren came over and put her hand on Waco’s cheek. “Do you really love Sabrina?”

  “Yes, I do, Mrs. Warren, with all my heart. She’ll never know anything but love from me.”

  “Well, I’ll have to have a little bit more than that,” Sabrina said loudly.

  Waco’s eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re going back to our home. You’re going to show us you know something about horses, and you’ve got to come courting me. You’ve got to buy some nice clothes and learn how to say sweet and lovely things. Say something sweet to me now just to get into practice.”

  Waco suddenly laughed. He winked at Charles Warren and said, “Marshmallow.”

  Sabrina laughed. “Well, that’s sweeter than anything you’ve ever said. Come on, let’s go have our engagement party.”

  “Judge Parker will be sad,” Warren said. “He’s losing a marshal.”

  “Yes, but you’re gaining a good son-in-law,” Sabrina said. She took Waco’s arm and said, “Come on, husband-to-be, let’s start our courting.”

  RAINA’S CHOICE

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  November 1891

  The room was nothing but four walls with no windows. The eight bunks lined up against the edges were filled with six Mexicans and two Americans. It was one of ten small prison cells that were blazing hot under the sun in the summer and freezing when the weather turned bad as it had now.

  Ty Kincaid tossed restlessly and came out of a fitful sleep at the sound of the guards, who were playing poker and shouting and cursing each other. They usually got drunk during the night when they were off duty. Ty tried t
o block the noise out of his mind, but he could not. He had no idea what the time was, for without windows in the prison hut there was no way of telling. There was only one door, made of solid oak, with three bars across a small window.

  One of the prisoners began to curse under his breath. Not loudly because none of the prisoners wanted to call attention to themselves.

  With an effort Ty rolled over and lay on his side. He was taken with a coughing fit as he did, and pain like ice picks going through his chest struck him. He finally gained control.

  His cell mate, Jim Adams, whispered, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m all right,” Kincaid muttered. This was not true, for he was ill and had been for several days. It had begun with a runny nose and a mild but persistent cough, but each day’s toil in the bowels of the earth working in a copper mine in the unseasonably cold weather had taken its toll on him.

  “You sound terrible,” Jim said. “There ought to be a hospital or a doctor for you to go to.”

  Kincaid did not answer, for both men were well aware that the Mexican prison system paid little attention to the ailments of convicts. Many of them were allowed to die when a little medicine or a doctor’s care might have saved them. When they did die, they were simply thrown into a hole and covered with lime. Ty had seen this happen more than once in the three months he had been in the prison.

  “I don’t think I’m going to make it, Jim.” Kincaid’s voice was feeble and scratchy. He rolled over on his back, threw his forearm over his eyes, and tried to control the coughing that was constantly tearing him to pieces.

  “You’ll be all right. We’re going to get out of here.”

  “No, we never will.”

  “Don’t talk like that. It’s pretty grim right now, but we’re gonna make it.”

  “I don’t know what makes you say that.”

  “The Lord will get us out of this.”

  “I’m glad you believe that, Jim, but I don’t.” Kincaid again began coughing, and even as he did a whistle split the dawn air.

  Then there was a rattling at the door, which opened a crack, and a raucous voice shouted, “Get up! Get up! Get your scrawny rear ends out of those bunks!”

  Using all his strength, Ty managed to sit up, then paused, hanging on to the edge of his bunk. The mattress was made of coarse feed sacks. The straw had not been changed in weeks, and the stench of urine and rotting food was enough to make a well man sick. He tried to stand. Suddenly Ty was so weak he couldn’t do it.

  Adams, who had the bunk next to his, said, “Get up quick, Ty. You don’t want the Pig on your case.”

  Ty again struggled to rise.

  The door swung open, and a big man filled the opening. In the growing dawn Bartolo Azner stepped inside. He made a huge, ominous shadow and was called “the Pig” by the convicts. Not to his face, of course. “What are you doing on that bunk?”

  “I’m sick,” Ty whispered and coughed scratchily.

  The Pig laughed. “You’re not on a vacation. Get up!” He suddenly swung the short billy club made out of hard oak and caught Ty across the chest.

  It knocked him back onto the bed, and he struck the back of his head on the wooden wall. The blow sent a myriad of sparkling colors like fireworks through his head and before his eyes.

  “Get up, I told you!”

  Ty felt the huge paws of the Pig grab him and drag him out of the bunk. He fell on the floor and received a kick in the back.

  Ty was stunned and had no strength as Azner reached down, jerked him up, and held him upright as if he were a child. “You gringo dog! You come to my country and try to destroy my government! You’ll stay here until you rot! Why don’t you die?”

  Ty was shoved toward the door then fell against Jim Adams, who caught him and held him upright. The two men joined the other convicts who trooped out into the frigid night air. All of them wore simple cotton garments. The biting air of winter was like a knife cutting through Ty’s chest.

  “Get going, you dogs!” the Pig shouted.

  The men joined the prisoners from the other prison huts and headed toward a larger building.

  Tyler Kincaid hardly knew whether he was awake or unconscious. There was a murky light in the east, but as he stumbled into the mess hall—-so it was called—-he had to be held upright by Adams, who took him firmly by the arm.

  Adams was a big man and had lost weight as had all the prisoners, but still he was not sick and he was stronger than Ty. He eased Ty down onto one of the benches, and then he joined him. “Hang on there,” he whispered. “Maybe we’ll get a hot breakfast this morning.”

  Ty was too sick to answer. He just sat there trembling. Finally when one of the prisoners who served with the cook came by and put a bowl in front of him, Ty opened his eyes and saw that it was a bowl of thin rice gruel with beans floating around the top. It was the typical breakfast and would have to do them through a hard morning’s work… until the same dish would be served at noon, and then again, when it got too dark to work, it would provide the evening meal.

  “Eat up, Ty,” Adams whispered. “It’s rotten, but we’ve got to get as strong as we can. Need to keep your strength up.”

  “What for, Jim?” Ty took a spoonful of the rank mixture, chewed, and managed to swallow it. The taste was atrocious, and he had to overcome a sudden urge to throw up. “We’re gonna die in this place anyhow. Why don’t we go on and do it?”

  Adams leaned over. He had piercing, dark black eyes, and his hair was as black as the darkest thing in nature. He was basically an Irishman through his mother and had been strong as a bull before he was captured along with Ty. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

  “I don’t know what makes you think that. Nobody ever does.”

  “God’s going to help us.”

  “I already told you I don’t believe that.”

  “You need to believe it, Ty. God’s our only hope in a place like this.”

  Ty ate slowly, but other men were scraping the bottoms of their bowls when he was only half through. He washed the rest of it down with tepid water that had a terrible taste and then said, “I didn’t know you were such a fervent Christian until we got in this mess, Jim.”

  “Well, I was going with a woman, and she talked me into going to a revival meeting with her in Arkansas. I went and got saved.” He reached over and punched Ty lightly on the arm. “Of course, I ain’t always lived like I should since then. I let the Lord down several times, but I know I’m saved. That’s what you need, Ty.”

  “Too late for me.”

  “Don’t be foolish.”

  “It’s not foolish. Why would God be interested in a reprobate like me? I’ve broken every one of the Commandments a hundred times.”

  Adams had been through this many times with Tyler Kincaid, and he never seemed to tire of it. “Well, I did, too, but the Bible says God forgives us when we do what He says.”

  “You mean get baptized?”

  “No, I don’t mean that. Getting baptized never saved nobody. It’s what you do before.”

  “I don’t believe that anymore. I had some faith at one time, but it’s gone now,” Ty muttered.

  The Pig hollered, “All right, on your feet, you dogs!”

  As Ty rose, he grew dizzy.

  Jim once again had to grab him to keep him from falling. “When we get in the mine you kind of get over behind me. Those guards don’t pay no attention to who’s doing the work.”

  “I can’t let you do that, Jim.”

  “You can if I say so. Now come on.”

  The two walked outside, and it was all that Kincaid could do to walk the quarter of a mile to the mountain and the hole that enclosed a set of miniature tracks. On the tracks ran small carts that the prisoners filled with the rock after they’d broken it with picks.

  Ty went in, and as soon as they were put into place, he reached for a pick.

  They were in a side tunnel, and Jim whispered, “You just get there and move every once in a while. They
don’t pay any attention to us.”

  “I feel bad,” Ty whispered, “letting you do all this because I don’t do anything for you.”

  “Well, when we get out of this, you can buy me a good supper to pay for it.”

  Ty knew Jim was trying to be lighthearted, but the copper mine had become his version of what hell must be like. True, it was somewhat warmer in there at this time of the year than outside. In the summer it was a welcome coolness. But now the freezing weather that swept over northern Mexico was phenomenal. No one could remember when it had been this cold. There had been snow in strange places, and in some areas it had even piled up to several feet, which was unheard of in this territory.

  Ty tried to swing the pickax, but it was all he could do to bring it over his shoulder. It made a pinging noise as it hit the rocks on the side of the wall, but it made no imprint.

  “I told you. You just stand there. That guard ain’t looking at me. I get enough rock for both of us.”

  Ty wanted to argue, but he was too sick. The last thing he remembered was getting dizzy. He felt Jim lowering him, and he slumped against the rocky wall as unconsciousness pulled him down.

  Time had no meaning for Kincaid, but then he heard Jim whisper, “Come on, Ty. Time to go get something to eat.”

  Kincaid had to struggle to get up, and in the end it was Jim Adams who pulled him upright.

  One of the prisoners stared at him by the light of the flickering lanterns. “He’s going to die, Adams.”

  “You shut your mouth or you’ll die.”

  The Mexican, a little man with a weasel face, shrugged. “He’ll die no matter what you do to me. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to him, Ty.”

  “He’s probably right.”

  Ty and Jim staggered out of the mine and went back toward the mess hall. There was somewhat more talking there as the prisoners whispered to each other.

  The Pig wandered around ready to crack their heads if they showed any sort of resistance. He was a monster, and Ty Kincaid knew hatred for one of the few times in his life. The man loved to inflict pain, and he had killed more than one prisoner with that stick of his.