"None of my pranks ever killed anybody."
The largest of the men in the stove top hat watched Julian for a moment and then said, "You know what concerns me about you, mister? It would appear that the reason for you taking the law in your own hands is that you don't have any proof whatsoever to take before a magistrate or jury. You have plenty of wild speculation, but no proof. If you ever yelled out such a thing in a crowded place, a gross accusation to tarnish a man's good name with no proof, you would be deserving of the mess of trouble you would receive. Go home, young man. Brom didn't kill anybody, and he didn't kill Ichabod Crane."
"Brom killed Ichabod because he wanted him out of the way to marry Katrina Van Tassel. He dressed up as this imaginary Headless Horseman, chased him down in the night, and killed him. Where he disposed of the body is the only thing I don't know. That's what happened, and I shall not allow him to get away with the crime. My poor uncle deserved a better death in life than to be run down in the middle of night like a rabid dog."
"Mister, we're sorry, but you must leave this town. The first lawman who gets back into town will arrest you, not him, for plotting murder. And if the law doesn't arrive in time, Brom never killed anyone, but he will kill you, or his men will, out of justified self-defense."
"How did Brom kill Ichabod?" another man asked with a disgusted look on his face.
"What?" Julian asked.
"You heard me. How did he kill him? You are so certain of it. How did he do it?"
"I know he killed him. Someone saw him do it!"
None of the men were impressed. None of them believed him.
"Who would that be?" the man asked.
"Why? So you can tell Brom Bones, and this imaginary Headless Horseman can suddenly appear to take the witness away in the night, too? I'll keep the information to myself."
"Young man, if you have a true witness, then you are obligated to take him to the law."
"I shall do it my way."
"Young man, we have already sent for the U.S. Marshal. We are not going to allow gunplay in our streets with families and children."
"There will be no great gun battle, only my bullet shot into the carcass of one Brom Bones."
"We cannot allow that, mister."
The largest man lunged at Julian. The other men jumped forward, too. Julian smacked the first man's face so hard that he stumbled back into the other men.
"The Elders of Tarry Town reveal their true loyalties!" Julian's face was flush with anger as he aimed his rifle at them.
"Mister, we would do the same if it were Brom. You two will not be allowed to accidentally kill any of our men, women, or children in this town. That's what always happens when two men set on killing arrive in the same town."
"Mr. Julian Crane, get your things and the inn will refund your money," the innkeeper added. "We have the right to refuse our welcome to anyone and ask them to leave."
"I thought you reserved that right for Indians and Negroes."
The men gave him an odd look.
"Mister, we are fast growing from simple farming towns to great trading centers of the Mid-Atlantic states," the large man said. "But every man standing here is also a member of the New York Manumission Society, despite the sentiments of other parts of the state. Many of us were members of abolition societies before people even knew what abolition meant. The Negroes formerly of this area are in New York City hoping to create the first free-black township in the state. I was there a few months ago. Do you wish to join my wife and I when we visit again?"
"We told the last pro-slavery folks that passed through here to keep on passing through far away from here," the man next to him said.
"Mister, you have an unpleasant way about you," another man said. "These parts have also always been good to the Indians. We fought side-by-side against the Red Coats. The Indians and Whites who fought with the British, we equally have no use for."
"I don't care if you fought on the same as us in the War," the large man said. "You are a real bastard, Mr. Julian Crane, and we are starting to dislike you immensely."
Julian moved back, still aiming his rifle. "Then I must get back in your good graces. You don't have to send for the U.S. Marshal."
"Why is that?"
"I sent for him two weeks ago before my arrival. I anticipated this friendly reception from the townspeople. He'll be here soon, and I expect to have Brom's dead body waiting for him. That's why I'm here. Not to cause trouble, but to wait for the marshal. But I know that murderer Brom Bones will seek me out, so it will be a righteous shooting of self-defense. Me, defending myself against him."
Julian's head leaned forward and he pointed at one of the men. "You're bleeding."
"What?" the elder asked.
"Oh, for goodness sake," De Graaf chimed in. "Your nose is bleeding."
The man touched his nose and drops of blood dripped down and dotted the wooden floor. He quickly snatched his handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose."
Julian lowered his rifle and walked back up the stairs. He kept his eyes on them until he disappeared from sight. "Don't come to my room again," his voice yelled out.
"Mr. Julian Crane, we're surely not going to take your word that you called the marshal yourself, so we'll be doing that immediately!" an elder yelled after him, though they knew he was already back in his room.
De Graaf looked at the man with the bleeding nose. "He didn't do that did he? I didn't see him hit you."
"He didn't do anything. It just starts bleeding whenever the weather's going to be bad or there's going to be trouble."
Dutch and his posse trotted slowly to town. There was no need to rush, as they already knew where he was. On his right was his best man, and on his left were two of the next best. He was especially keen to settle the score with this stranger for what he did to his boss, Ace and the others. Four more men followed behind them.
"This time we get him," Dutch called out. "There's no back doors or trees or darkness for him to hide in this time. We get him, and we don't leave until we do."
Julian walked down second floor hallway past his room to the door at the end. He firmly knocked once. There was movement inside and then the door opened slowly. A chubby man appeared.
"It's time," Julian said. "Go out now and get your wagon."
"All you want us to do is drive?" the man asked as another hand opened the door wider. Two other men stood there. All of them were sleeping.
"That's what I'm paying you for. And where did you hide my horse?"
"He's mixed in with Mr. Flander's in his barn on the other side of town."
"Good, go now. It should be happening soon."
"I hope you know what you're doing, mister."
"Why do you care? You don't live here and you're getting paid. Go now so that no one sees you."
The Elders stood outside the front of the inn talking so loudly and frantically that people in the town were starting to gather in the street. Dutch and his men rode up on their horses.
"He says he has a witness to Ichabod's murder! You didn't tell us—" the main elder started to say.
"He's lying!" Dutch yelled. "Brom didn't kill nobody! The Horseman took him. We all know that. What room is he in?"
"Dutch, we can't have gunplay here," the innkeeper said.
"There won't be. Give me the master key to the room and we'll get him. There's eight of us and just one of him."
The Elders looked to De Graaf. The large man nodded reluctantly to one of the men. The proprietor of the inn walked back inside and returned in an instant with a large key in his hand. Dutch leaned down from his horse and grabbed it.
"Dutch," the main elder said. "No gunplay. No killing. Just take him and go."
Dutch smiled. "Of course, Mr. De Graaf. Mr. Van Brunt is an elder of the town, too, and wants to maintain the peace as much as you do."
Dutch got down from his horse and his men did the same. He looked at them as they all drew their guns. They left the horses where they
stood and walked into the inn.
Warpath
"I want Julian Crane dead!"
The three men couldn't hide the nervous shock on their faces. None of them were accustomed to seeing so much blood. They madly rode the wagon as fast as their two horses could go. One the men tried with all his might not to look, but he couldn't control himself. He turned his head to look again at the original sight that so distressed them. In the wagon was a pile of bloody bodies with a battered Julian sitting Indian-style in the center of them, looking back at him.
The men shuddered to think what a savage beating he must have given them.
The dining table took up almost the entire length of the room, and the room was by no means small. It was perfect for hosting their home parties, though they did not use it last night. It was more often used for meetings rather than family meals, as it was too ostentatious for Brom, even in his role as a wealthy businessman of the region. He sat at the head of the table, gently holding his wife's soft hand. He peered at her from his corner chair as if he were on trial. But then he was.
"It wasn't me," Brom pleaded. "It is all lies."
"Why is this stranger so convinced then?" she retorted.
"He's a stranger. Who knows what is in his mind. I doubt he is even his nephew. Ichabod had no family and no relatives."
"That we know of," Katrina corrected.
"Look into my eyes and you tell me if I would do such a horrible thing, could do what he is accusing. It's all lies."
For a long time they stared at each other without a word said.
"I would never do such a horrible thing," he repeated. "Playing pranks on a man is one thing, but murder? This stranger is lying, and I will get to the bottom of it."
"Abraham, let the law handle it. We can stay away from him until the marshal arrives."
Brom jumped up from the table. "So he can continue spreading his lies? So he can continue to ruin my good name and yours? No, I cannot allow this to continue."
They could both hear voices outside, but ignored them.
She sighed. "It has already happened, and there's not a thing we can do to stop it at this point. When the marshal arrives, you can defend yourself publicly and properly. Abraham, Sleepy Hollow isn't a tiny town anymore. It will one day soon be a sizable city that will continue to grow. We have to do things proper. We can't have men settling their quarrels with duels and shoot-outs. Do it that way and people will doubt you. Besides, he hasn't provided one bit of proof to anyone."
Brom returned to his chair. "Precisely. That's why I'm so angry. Everyone believes a lie instantly, but the truth takes a whole week to digest. I should know."
Katrina grins. "Yes, you and your gang did it to plenty of people before."
Brom nods. "That's the past. I gave that all up when I married you."
The voices and commotion outside the room had now grown louder, attracting their full attention. The Van Brunts got up from their chairs and walked out of the dining room. The agitated voices came from outside the house. Mrs. De Paul, the head maidservant, came out of the kitchen to also see what the disturbance was.
The front door flew open and Jansen, the head manservant, rushed in.
"Mr. Van Brunt!" He immediately stopped as he saw them. "Come quick!"
"What's happening?" Brom asked.
Jansen led Brom outside, both men running.
The spot was a quarter mile away. At the main gate, all the field hands were gathered.
"What is this? Get back to work!" Brom yelled.
Jansen pointed at the tree and stopped. Major Andre's tree was an enormous tulip tree that towered over all other trees on the land. It was said to be older than the Hollow itself, far older than fifty years. Its limbs were massive and twisted down to the ground and rose back into the air. At night, the sight of the tree with its gnarled limbs gave rise to many a ghost story.
Major Andre was a real person. He was a Tarry Town man who had the misfortune of being taken prisoner by the British during the War. The tree bore his name out of respect, and out of superstition as it, too, at least in many years past, was said to be haunted by the unlucky man. Nowadays, it was considered a natural landmark of the Hollow.
Brom neared the tree, but he could not believe what he was seeing. Jansen and other field hands followed closely behind. He saw his men, his enforcers—bound, gagged and strung up, hanging upside down from the tree by their feet—Dutch and all seven of his cowboys. From their bruises, cuts, and the dry blood on their faces, it must have been an epic battle. One they lost and paid the humiliating price.
"Cut them down!" Brom yelled. His face was so red with rage that he seemed like he'd explode.
Ayden recoiled when Brom turned to glare at him. He feared what Brom might do at that instant.
"I want every man armed with whatever gun or rifle that can be put in their hand and ready to ride within the hour." He looked at his head butler. "You, too, Jansen! And have all the male servants in the house do the same!"
Jansen knew better not to protest. He kept his mouth shut.
A red-haired man, one of the townsmen, frantically rode into Tarry Town. From the expression on his face, people casually conducting their business stopped what they were doing—walking, talking, etc.—and took notice of him. He jumped down from his horse and ran to the inn where the town elders waited.
"It's bad, Mr. De Graaf. Brom is unleashing a posse. He's going to hunt down and kill that man who says he's Ichabod Crane's nephew. There's no stopping it."
The Elders looked at one another with dismay.
"What happened to Dutch and his men?" De Graaf asked.
"The stranger beat them nearly to death and strung them up from Major Andre's Tree."
"How on earth could one man do all that to eight men?" an elder asked.
"We don't know, but he did. And now Brom is a volcano of anger on his way here to settle the score."
"This is exactly what we were trying to prevent," another elder said.
"What do we do?" another asked.
"We have no choice but to swear in some temporary lawmen and take him into custody for his own safety and for the safety of the town," De Graaf decided.
"But we don't even know what happened exactly," an elder said. "I can't believe this supposed nephew of Ichabod Crane could do what he did to Brom's men. Dutch is a former lawman himself. He couldn't be done like that by one man."
"If Mr. Van Brunt is gathering a posse, then we know it was bad, and that's all we need to know at this time," De Graaf answered. "We must act quickly. Koning, get all the townspeople off the streets. Boer, take De Wit and station yourselves at the entrance into town. Maybe you can say something to Brom and at least get him to think or slow the posse down, even if it's for a short time. I'll be there, too. For now, I'll appoint as many temporary lawmen as we can find."
The streets were abnormally crowded as people congregated in groups, large and small, eager for any news they could get about what had the town in such a frenzy and the coming of Brom's posse for Ichabod's nephew.
"I knew the man was all about trouble," one of the townsmen said.
One of the groups contained an over-representation of people who had personally met or come across Julian Crane.
"Did you hear?" a woman asked.
"What did we hear?" a man responded.
"Brom's coming to town with every man he has to get this stranger claimin' to be Ichabod's relative."
"No?"
"Yes. The showdown is coming any minute now."
"A gun battle in Tarry Town?"
"What'd the stranger do?" a man asked.
"I heard he butchered Brom's men in cold blood...with an ax! And he's not poor Ichabod's nephew but actually an agent of the devil Horseman himself."
"No," the entire crowd exclaimed in shock.
"Yes," the man continued. "That's what I heard."
"I knew there was something about him. I knew it."
"You knew nothing. You wan
ted that inheritance reward money like everyone else."
The man blushed.
"Where's the law in all this? If he kilt Brom's men, where are they?"
"They sent for the marshal."
"Oh, no," Mrs. Van Boor said aloud.
"What?" her husband asked.
"We had the stranger in our own house...if he's an agent of the Horseman...could he—?"
"Stop that talk. Could he nothing!"
He hugged her to acknowledge that he did take her fears seriously.
"Mr. Van Brunt is going to put an end to this whole thing today. You'll see."
"What do we do if we see him?"
"What do you mean? Why do anything?"
"If he's an agent of the Horseman, shouldn't we do something?"
"Yes. Run the other way."
Some of the people in the gathering laughed
"No, I'm serious. He could mark us."
"Mark us? What does that mean?"
"Just like they say those witches do," the man continued.
"Mark us how?"
"If he touches us or comes into close proximity to us, he could mark us for the Horseman. Mark us for its return."
"Oh my God," Mrs. Van Boor called out.
"Stop frightening my wife!"
"Stop frightening all of us," another man said.
The panic was growing. They all had been in close proximity with the stranger.
"How many here had the stranger in their homes?"
No one answered, but everyone knew who those people were.
"How many here had contact with the stranger?"
"We should shoot him," a new man said.
The entire group of townspeople looked at him.
"We should shoot him on sight. He may be an agent of the Horseman, but he's still flesh and blood like us for the moment. Until he makes whatever final devil pact with the Horseman."
"I've never heard such nonsense," a deep voice called out.
De Graaf stood at the edge of the crowd.
"I have now seen with my own eyes how mass hysteria comes about. I leave this group alone long enough, and I'm more frightened of what schemes you'll come up with. When you're finished with your group rantings, you'll say he's the Horseman."
Hollow Blood (Sleepy Hollow Horrors, Book 1) Page 5