Killing Halfbreed

by Mason, Zack

  He handed me the document with a glassy, cool smile. I took the paper and studied it for a minute, noticing the signature at the bottom that clearly read ‘Benjamin Talbot’.

  Andrews continued his satisfied speech. "I didn't imagine it would be very difficult for you to make the payments, since the loan is for quite a long term. I had even thought to offer you a postponement on the due date for your first payment if needed until after you have been able to sell some cattle, with interest of course.

  "However, looking around I don't see much of a herd. Exactly how many head do you have at the moment? If you only have a few, you obviously won't be able to make the payments, and we should probably just transfer ownership of the ranch over to the bank without delay."

  This last statement of his sent waves of heat through my cheeks. His attitude was insolent enough without him trying to pressure us into anything. I glared at him in a way that left little doubt as to my opinion of him.

  "Mr. Andrews, I'm sorry, but your drive out here was, in fact, for nothing after all. That signature is not my brother's. This document is not a valid mortgage agreement. Neither you, nor your bank, have any rights to this ranch, so I don't think we have much to discuss."

  I tossed the document back at him disdainfully.

  Andrews’ fat eyes narrowed in displeasure. "I should have expected as much from you. You really expect me to believe that you are so familiar with your brother's signature you can recognize a false one instantly? By implication, you are accusing me of falsifying documents, I must assume. Let me assure you, your brother did indeed come into my bank and apply for this loan, which was approved. I handled it personally.

  "I resent this play of yours, Talbot...or Halfbreed...or whatever your name is. Your accusation is nothing more than a cheap trick to try and shirk your duty to pay your brother's debt!" As Andrews made this final pronouncement, he puffed his chest out in complete assuredness of his position.

  "Are you calling me a liar?"

  The icy steel in my eyes together with the memory of Tom Logan's recent fate visibly deflated the banker. I had killed another prominent Cottonwood man recently for calling me a thief, and the fear shining in his eyes showed he remembered that fact all too well.

  What shocked me was the realization that I was, actually, ready to shoot him. Why? I couldn't say. It had to be more than just having my honor called into question. I felt a building fury, stoked aflame by every frustration I’d encountered since arriving in Cottonwood Valley.

  I had to keep my calm, not just this time, but every time. I'd escaped death once already. I couldn't let my temper put me back on the execution block.

  Andrews finally got up enough nerve to respond.

  "No, no, of course not, Talbot. That was a very rash thing of me to say. Please forgive me. I spoke without thinking, I'm sure you're just mistaken about the signature.

  "You really should consider your situation, Talbot. My bank is a pillar of this community. I'm well established here. I'm on the town council, as are most of the other leaders of our town. The Sheriff is a personal friend of mine.”

  "Now, add to that the fact that most everyone in town, including the Sheriff, feels you murdered one of our most beloved ranchers. You only escaped justice because of a weird fluke. If you claim this document is not valid, and I say that it is, which one of us do you think everyone's going to believe?"

  Andrews had regained most of his confidence now, though he was still wary.

  I didn’t care. When somebody gets my dander up, I have a bad habit of throwing caution to the wind.

  "I don't know who they'll believe, but we can sure find out. Why don't we ride into town right now? We’ll see the Sheriff together and see what he thinks."

  Andrews' mouth fell open at my boldness, but he quickly recovered, shrugging his shoulders resignedly as if to accept.

  I turned to go for my horse. As I went, I saw Will watching me with a kind of odd, reluctant admiration.

  ***

  I rode quietly alongside Andrews and his wagon the whole way to town. Each of us resented the other’s presence on the same planet, not to mention the same trail. It’s hard to hide feelings like that.

  When we got to Cottonwood, Andrews wanted to stop at the bank for a moment, but I said no, we were going to settle this matter right away, once and for all. I made a beeline for Sheriff McCraigh’s office and Andrews followed unhappily.

  The sheriff looked puzzled to see both of us together and was especially unhappy to see me. I explained the issue at hand, and the banker told his side of the story, the same tall tale he'd told me. I told McCraigh what I thought of Andrews' story. The lawman’s face remained neutral.

  He asked to see the document in question and studied it closely for several minutes. I got the sinking feeling I was wasting my time. This man hated me and had made no effort to hide it. Why had I thought he would act fairly in this case?

  "I'm sorry, Carlton, but if Talbot here disputes this document and says it’s not his brother's signature, it's his word against yours, and I can't honor or enforce your alleged legal claim to the property. Of course, if you want to appeal my decision, you can take it to court."

  Andrews' eyes narrowed. He almost hissed his dissatisfaction. I was flabbergasted. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

  Silence hung in the air while the banker stewed in this revelation.

  After a while, McCraigh said, "Well, if there's nothing else, gentleman, you'll excuse me."

  "Thank you, Sheriff." I tipped my hat, genuinely grateful for his impartiality. His eyes told me he wished he could have done anything but help me. Overstaying my welcome was not something I made a habit of, so I headed for the door. Andrews, however, stayed rooted where he was, staring down the seated officer of the law.

  ‘So be it,’ I thought, ‘Not my problem anymore.’

  ***

  "What on earth are you thinking, Harry? This is a legal document. You know good and well that just because he doesn't like it, that doesn't make it non-binding."

  Sheriff Harris McCraigh swiveled his chair to face the banker squarely.

  "What I'm thinking, Carlton, is that I recognize the signature on that mortgage, and it's not Talbot's brother's, it's yours. You did a poor job disguising it. I've seen enough of your writing to know."

  "So what? I couldn't find the original. Ben Talbot did take out a mortgage, so I just made a new one. What do you care anyway? Don't you hate that man for getting away with murdering Tom? He murdered your friend, man!"

  "Any hatred I might have toward Jake Talbot doesn't matter. Just because I dislike the man doesn't mean I'm about to start corrupting this office by helping you falsify documents or steal the man's land!

  "You and I both know that if you lost the original mortgage document, you're out of luck. Plus, I happen to know that document never existed anyway. I had a drink with Ben Talbot two days before he disappeared. He told me you had offered him a loan backed by his ranch as collateral, and that he had refused. He made it clear he was in no need of financial assistance.

  "Don't try to snow me, Carlton. You're a friend of mine, but I'm not about to allow you to start breaking the law in this town, or anyone else for that matter, even if the victim happens to be a man I despise.

  "And don't try to lay guilt on me about him getting away with murder and such. I know that more than anybody, but he's not the only one who's gotten away with murder, is he?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It just means, get off your stinking high horse and get out of my office before I really get mad over your shenanigans. Don't ever try to pull anything like that again, you hear?” He waved disgustedly at the mortgage paper. “You're lucky I didn't tear into you while Talbot was still here. I thought to spare you that at least."

  Carlton was fuming, but realized the futility of his anger and took some deep breaths to calm himself. He was not one to let his temper get the best of him. After all, losing your temper in bus
iness can rob you of your success.

  "Well, thank you for your time and candor, Harris, I apologize for bothering you,” he said sincerely.

  Business is business, after all. No need to get in a huff. We’ll just move to Plan B.

  Pushin' horns weren't easy like the movies said it was

  And I don't recall no dance hall girls

  Or hotel rooms with rugs.

  "The Cowboy Song"

  - Garth Brooks

  Come fall, I decided to go ahead and run what head we had up the trail instead of waiting for spring. Will didn't seem too keen on the idea. He preferred to stay on the ranch through the winter, but saw I was determined and reluctantly packed his saddle bags to go along.

  We had to go all the way to Kansas to sell the cattle, so we branded the new calves before we left. Will and I worked well together and fell into a routine. After a few months working together, we’d gotten to the point we could tell what the other was thinking much of the time.

  In the evenings, we’d shoot the bull around a fire, drinking coffee. Will began pressing for more details about the hanging incident back in Cottonwood. It seemed to fascinate him that I had escaped a hanging because someone else had been hung in my place.

  His questions provoked renewed pangs of guilt, which would sweep over me in sorrowful waves. My only defense to the onslaught from my conscience was to downplay the significance of the incident and try to forget about it. Then, Will would bring it up again. Sometimes, the pain made me snap at him for his curiosity, but my sensitivity to the subject only seemed to inspire more questions.

  More and more, my desire to erase that fateful day grew desperate. At times, I found myself longing to turn back time, to go back and die instead of Joshua Miller. I didn't want his blood on my head anymore. But, there it was anyway.

  Those blood stains soiled my heart, leaving a spiritual filth seemingly beyond hope of cleansing. Invisible stains which penetrated deep and took root, like a dirty fungus feeding on fallen timber.

  I realized once we got to the end of our trail and sold our cattle, we'd be pretty close to Joshua’s hometown, at least according to what I'd been told back in Cottonwood.

  An uncontrollable desire to visit southeastern Colorado in search of Miller's family overwhelmed me. I wanted to make amends for what happened somehow. At the very least, I could speak with his family, maybe understand his motivation for doing what he did.

  It was crazy, I knew. If his parents were still living, they would surely hate me for their son's fate. What parent wouldn't?

  But I had to find out more about Joshua and what had made him tick. I couldn't stand the mystery anymore.

  I told Will my plan. He vigorously tried to dissuade me, but once again my determination won out. So, after we’d sold the cattle, we pointed our horses toward Colorado.

  ***

  Smoke curled up in light wisps above our campfire. The cool night air forced us to huddle closer to it to keep warm.

  "We have to part ways tomorrow."

  Will had a matter-of-fact look on his face.

  I wasn't surprised. Ever since I'd made the decision to go to Colorado and see Josh Miller's family, I'd sensed Will strongly disapproved of the idea. I hadn't realized quite how strongly, though, until tonight.

  "I have to be heading east to take care of some stuff."

  "Well, ain't nothing tying you to me, that's for sure. You’ve sure been good company. Not often a man can find a good friend to ride the range with.

  ‘Friends?" I added after a minute.

  Will looked puzzled, ran a hand across his chin, and then said, "Yeah, I guess we're friends." He paused. "Can't explain why I have to go, just do is all. We may run into each other again someday."

  “Don't owe me no explanation. You're your own man."

  A moment of darkness passed across Will's eyes, then quickly cleared. All the time I'd been riding with Will, he'd been a hard man to read. Never could tell what he was thinking. Regardless, I didn't make a habit of prying into other men's business. I’d never asked him any personal questions, and I wasn't about to start now.

  Not having him along was going to make the trail a mighty lonely place. I suddenly realized what a good friend I considered him. It wasn't in me to tell him though. I wasn't going to beg.

  I stirred the coals in the fire with a stick, sending sparks cascading upward into the night sky. Once you got used to traveling with somebody, it sure made it harder to go it alone afterward.

  That night, my sleep was restless, filled with uneasy dreams. When I awoke, Will was gone.

  The simple white house sat on a grassy hill facing the eastern sun. It was a small clapboard home. I could tell it was well cared-for, in spite of the peeling paint. Western weather was hard on paint.

  It had two floors from the looks of it, but there didn't seem to be much to the second, probably just one bedroom. A wrap-around porch graced the lower level, draping the dwelling with a homey feel.

  My hand trembled as I held the reins.

  I approached the house with trepidation. The woman who lived here was Joshua Miller's mother. Did she know her son was dead? I guessed she had to. Did she know he’d been killed in my place?

  I was certain she’d become angry as soon as she found out who I was. Her son had died for my crime. I'd be lucky if she didn't pull out a gun and shoot me on the spot.

  My feet propelled me up the hill as if some invisible force was pushing at my back. Not knowing who Joshua was or why he volunteered for that horrible fate was driving me crazy. I needed answers.

  As my foot touched on the porch, a strong, but elderly "Hello!" called out to me from inside the kitchen. Before I could poke my head in, she stepped out….with a cup of tea in each hand.

  ***

  "You must be the boy. It is nice to finally make your acquaintance."

  She stood there, calm as could be, as if she were greeting a long, lost relative. The woman couldn't have been taller than five foot two, nor weighed more than a hundred pounds. Her faded blue, flower-print dress was accentuated with a thin, plain cotton shawl pulled over her shoulders. Streaks of grey ran throughout her once raven black hair and wrinkles had begun to line her kindly face. She was almost grandmotherly, yet still held onto a bit of youth.

  "Would you like some tea?" She motioned for me to take a cup and have a seat. I inexplicably found myself doing so, speechless.

  Finally, I stammered, "You...you know who I am?" almost afraid to hear the answer.

  "Oh, yes. I knew you'd be along some day, kind of felt it in my spirit, if you know what I mean."

  I didn’t know what she meant. I stared. First at her, then at the horizon. In my wildest imagination, I'd never imagined a meeting like this. She seemed so calm, yet she knew who I was. How?

  Sipping from her cup, Mrs. Miller smiled as if we were old friends. "So, how much do you know about my Josh?"

  "Nothing. That's why I'm here. I wanted...I needed to know more about him, about why he did what he did. An’ how can you be so civil to me?"

  She smiled at that.

  "Ma'am, I must say I find all this mighty unusual."

  "Yes, I'm sure it is. I'll do my best to explain what I can."

  I reclined against the back of my seat, expectantly.

  "Josh was a dear boy. Always such a good boy, so sweet. Raised him by myself, you know. Him and his sister, Elizabeth. Their father died when he was three. Josh never could remember him, though Elizabeth did — she was six at the time — but I digress.

  "You know… I'm a God-fearing woman, Mr....?"

  "Halfbreed, Jacob Halfbreed."

  "Well, I'm a God-fearing woman, Mr. Halfbreed, and I raised my boy to be the same. I believe he first knew God when he was very young. Elizabeth did too. I've always counted myself blessed because of that."

  Now, I beginning to fear the woman might have lost her mind. Lord knew she was starting to sound like it. At least, if she were crazy, that could explain Josh Mille
r's actions too. She continued.

  "Josh grew up to be a responsible and very affable young man. All the young ladies ‘round here were crazy about him, by the way, but he never let it go to his head. I was so proud of him. You probably would have liked him too."

  "Never got the chance,” I remarked dryly.

  She went on without pausing.

  "Anyway, he was a very good boy. Without him, I don't think I could have managed to keep up our little farm over the years. He was strong too.

  "One morning, at breakfast, he told me God had appeared to him in a dream. Said he had no doubts it was God who spoke to him.

  "Naturally, I asked him what God had said. Josh said He’d told him to go to a small town down in New Mexico by the name of Cottonwood. He said there would be a man there who was about to be hung, and that Josh should be hung and die in his place.

  “It was so matter of fact, I thought he must have been joking…but his eyes told me different.” Her eyes grew misty as she relived the moment. “He was not only serious, but dead set on obeying too."

  Her eyes welled with tears now, but she wouldn’t allow them to spill over.

  “I wept. I wept for days and nights. I begged and pleaded with him not to go. Why would God ask something like that of anybody? It didn’t make sense. It didn’t seem like something God would command. I couldn’t believe Joshua had heard the message right. But, in the end, there was nothing I could do. He was determined to obey what He thought was God’s call.

  "He must have reassured me over a hundred times that it was God who had spoken to him in the dream, that he was sure of the message. Sure enough to bet his life on it."

  "I was on my knees the entire night before he left in prayer, pleading. In fact, during those last few weeks, I doubt I got more than a few hours of sleep at all.

  “The next morning, a calming peace descended upon my spirit, a peace that I knew could only be from the Lord. It was then that I knew this was indeed from Him, even if it cost me my dear son.