The Hanging of Charlie Darke

by Will DuRey

  Annie Darke was a pretty girl. Her hair was fair and tied back with dark ribbon. She wore a chequered shirt above well-worn, dusty blue pants. Her figure was good, her body looked strong and the set of her mouth showed determination. An ideal frontier wife. She turned her head and caught me studying her. I removed my hat and flapped it against my leg to remove the trail dust. Charlie suddenly remembered I was there.

  ‘Oh, this is eh….’

  ‘My name’s Wes Gray, Mrs Darke.’

  They spoke together. She said, ‘Wes Gray? I know that name.’ He said, ‘How did you know my name was Darke?’

  ‘I heard your name in Beecher’s Gulch,’ I told him, ‘and perhaps, Mrs Darke, your uncle has mentioned me. That’s why I’m here. In response to the letter you sent your uncle, Caleb Dodge.’

  ‘Uncle Caleb sent you?’ There was a note of hope in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

  I explained about his injuries and got them to tell me about the incidents mentioned in the letter. Annie Darke told me the story.

  ‘After the accident that killed Ma and Pa nothing’s gone right.’

  ‘Tell me about the accident.’

  ‘Their buckboard overturned on the way home from church. They were found at the bottom of Congress Ridge by some of the Silver Star riders.’

  ‘The Silver Star?’

  ‘That’s the biggest spread around these parts. Duke Barton is the owner. His word is all but law with the other ranchers and people of Beecher’s Gulch.’

  ‘A powerful man.’

  ‘A good man. Fair-minded. He was one of the first to settle around here. People trust him and look to him for guidance.’

  ‘And if people don’t agree with him?’

  She shook her head. ‘Can’t think of anything that hasn’t been resolved sensibly.’

  ‘Did your parents have any dispute with him?’

  ‘No. The two families were neighbours and friends.’

  ‘Were?’

  ‘Duke and his sons don’t visit much since the accident.’ A look passed between Annie and Charlie which told me there was more to the story than she was telling. For the moment I let it pass.

  ‘How many sons does he have?’

  ‘Two. Chet and Wade.’

  ‘They both work on their father’s ranch?’

  ‘Of course. They’ve got big herds on a whole lot of land. It takes them and a fair number of hands to run the place.’

  ‘How many hands do you have?’ I asked.

  ‘Six, at present. We take on more when we’re driving cattle to the depot.’

  ‘They all out herding?’

  ‘They are. Two of them stay out in a line cabin overnight. The others will be back before sundown.’

  I went to the window and pushed aside the light-yellow curtain that hung there. I looked to the ridge Charlie and I had crossed to make sure that no one was making their way to the ranch. ‘Tell me what’s been happening.’

  Annie caught a loose strand of hair and tried to fix it behind her ear. She looked directly at me, weighing up, I think, my probable reaction to what she had to say. ‘Five weeks after the death of my parents, Charlie and I got married.’ I had wrongly supposed them married at the time of the accident. My surprise must have somehow conveyed itself to Annie, but she misunderstood its cause. ‘I couldn’t run the ranch on my own. Besides …’ She let the sentence finish itself. ‘We had a party in town to celebrate. When we returned that night our barn had been destroyed. A fire. We lost the winter feed and our mare who was in foal.’

  ‘You think it was started deliberately?’

  ‘How else?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Do you suspect anyone?’

  ‘Most people were at the party,’ said Annie.

  ‘Most, but not everyone.’

  ‘No. Not everyone. But that’s not really significant. We came back in the buckboard. Someone could have ridden here more quickly.’

  ‘Was the barn still ablaze when you got here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Still smouldering?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then it had to be someone who left the party early, or who wasn’t there at all.’

  ‘Or perhaps Indians,’ observed Charlie.

  ‘Did you lose any stock?’

  ‘No. The other horses were still in the corral.’

  ‘Then it wasn’t Indians. What reason would they have to fire your barn?’

  Annie didn’t answer. Kept her eyes lowered to her hands resting on the table.

  My next question seemed a foolish one to ask a gal as young and pretty as Annie Darke, but it had to be asked. ‘Do either of you have enemies?’

  ‘The Bartons,’ said Charlie Darke.

  ‘Charlie!’ Annie’s voice held an edge of desperation, not wanting to accept what was possibly true.

  I looked directly at Charlie to encourage him to tell me what they were hiding.

  ‘Chet Barton wanted to marry Annie. She chose me and he can’t accept it.’

  ‘Charlie, please.’

  ‘Is this true, Annie?’

  ‘It’s true that Chet and I were close friends. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.’

  I asked, ‘Was he at the wedding party?’

  ‘He wasn’t around at the time. He’d gone east with his father.’

  ‘Did the sheriff investigate?’

  ‘Out of his jurisdiction,’ explained Charlie, ‘though I doubt if he’d question a Barton at any time.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Charlie. Dan Bayles does a good job.’ If Dan Bayles was the man I’d seen coming out of the sheriff’s office earlier, then I wasn’t sure I could agree with Annie. Any sheriff who permitted a lynch mob in his town wouldn’t get my vote at re-election time.

  Charlie seemed to read my mind. ‘It would be interesting to know where he was when they tried to hang me this afternoon.’

  Annie lifted her gaze to his face, a look of terror frozen on her own. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean someone trumped up a charge of cattle rustling against me. I was in the saloon, playing cards with that man Butler and Harthope, the undertaker, when that new top hand of Barton’s came in with a couple of Silver Star riders. Accused me of overbranding some of Herman Lowe’s steers with our Circle D mark. Said I’d chased them across the boundary creek and overstamped the Circle L sign with my own.’ Annie’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Got the people all worked up and dragged me out to be lynched. I tried to tell them there were people who could vouch for where I’d been all day, that I’d been nowhere near the boundary line, but they wouldn’t listen. If Wes hadn’t happened along you’d be a widow woman now.’

  Her eyes turned to me for confirmation. I didn’t think this was the moment to tell her that had I not heard the name Charlie Darke I’d have ridden by without giving the matter another thought. Another recipe for survival: Don’t poke your nose in other people’s business.

  ‘Silver Star riders again,’ said Charlie. ‘It ain’t coincidence.’

  Annie Darke looked confused by the whole affair. ‘Who would believe you would steal cattle?’

  ‘It was a lynch mob,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s what they wanted to believe. Once the cry of “hang him” went up nobody was prepared to listen to explanations or consider justice. The Silver Star is determined to kill me or drive us out and they don’t care how it’s done.’

  ‘And this is on account of you marrying Annie?’ I’d heard of feuds between men who chased the same girl but they mostly petered out when the girl in question made a decision. Trying to get their competitor lynched seemed to me to be the extreme end of jealousy.

  Charlie shuffled across to the window. ‘The Bartons had an earlier grievance,’ he said. ‘I killed their top hand. A man called Straker. It was a fair fight but they don’t see it that way.’

  ‘Why’d you fight with Straker?’

  ‘He lost some money playing poker. Accused me of cheating.’
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br />   ‘In the saloon?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Must have been other people around to see that it was a fair fight.’

  ‘The sheriff stopped us fighting in the saloon. Straker caught up with me later. At the livery stable, when no one else was around. He wasn’t as fast with a gun as he thought he was.’

  ‘And you think the Silver Star riders have been after you?’

  ‘I’m new in town. Nobody sides with a stranger.’

  ‘Ma and Pa did,’ said Annie.

  Charlie smiled at her. ‘Yeah. Your ma and pa brought me out here to work for them when everyone else would have stretched my neck from the same tree they tried to hang me from today.’

  ‘That when you two met?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I’d seen Annie about town a couple of times. Helped her pa load some supplies on his wagon one day. That’s why they spoke up for me when everyone was riled up and wanted me out of town.’ He turned suddenly and looked out the window. ‘Someone coming,’ he said. ‘Riding hard.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘One,’ he said.

  ‘You stay here,’ I told them. ‘I’ll handle it.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  I cradled my rifle in the crook of my left arm and opened the door. The rider was almost at the house, his horse sliding to a halt in an untidy slither of dirt. From behind my right shoulder I heard Annie’s voice. ‘It’s Chet. Chet Barton.’ I looked back at her. Her expression had altered. The strain of reliving past events had lifted from her face. Her eyes were brighter, as though she was receiving a visit from a long absent friend.

  ‘Stay here,’ I said and went outside.

  Apart from eyes that were as blue as a summer sky and which were not subdued even in the shade cast by his wide-brimmed hat, there was nothing remarkable about Chet Barton. His features and his frame were youthful, his hair was an undistinguished brown and his skin was a lighter shade than is normal for a working cowboy. His horse snorted and stamped after its exertions. Chet seemed prepared to step down from the saddle when I got out on to the veranda.

  ‘Don’t get down,’ I said.

  He lifted his head and looked at me. ‘You must be the hombre who got Darke out of town.’ He paused as though expecting some words from me. I said nothing. Eventually he spoke. ‘I’m Chet Barton.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Come to warn Darke and Annie that a posse is on the way.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘I was on the ridge back there when I saw them. They’re only minutes behind.’

  ‘What’s it to you, Barton?’ Charlie Darke, rifle in hand, stood in the doorway.

  ‘The happenings in town today, I want you to know that that was none of my doing. I didn’t know about the double branding and I didn’t send the Silver Star men after you. I was on my way here to tell you that when I saw the posse’s dust cloud. If you take my advice you’ll get out now.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Take your advice and desert our home so that the Silver Star can grab our land for themselves.’

  Chet Barton’s lips set in a firm hard line. There was a long pause before he spoke again. ‘I don’t like you, Charlie Darke. I’ve got reason not to like you, but even if the business with Annie didn’t lie between us I want you to know that I still wouldn’t like you. I don’t care what happens to you, but I wouldn’t like to see Annie injured, or have her see them take you and hang you on your own property. I suggest you ride off until the whole business dies down.’

  His words sounded honest enough to me but before I could decide whether, as Charlie had declared, it was nothing more than a bluff to get the Darkes off their land, Chet suddenly jerked upright, his back arching, then he fell from his horse. At the same time I heard the report from a rifle drifting to me from the direction of the ridge. I looked up quickly and saw the tell-tale wisp of smoke that pinpointed the shooter’s location.

  ‘Charlie,’ I yelled, ‘come and help me.’ I got to Chet Barton by using his horse as cover. He was face down on the ground. A blood patch, spreading rapidly, stained the left shoulder of his plain shirt. He was motionless and as I lifted his head I feared he was dead. The shooter put a couple of shots near the horse’s feet, hoping to encourage it to move away from the house. It danced about but remained loyal to its master, not straying more than a few feet from where he lay, denying the rifleman on the ridge a clear shot at me. I looked around for Charlie Darke. He’d gone back inside. I yelled his name again. The answer was a series of rifle shots from the front window and some shouted advice for me to get back to the house while he kept the shooter on the ridge occupied.

  It seemed he expected me to leave Chet Barton where he lay, and, if he were dead, there was little reason why I shouldn’t, but I’d felt a fluttering of breath on my hand when I’d lifted his head, so deserting him was out of the question. The only thing I could do was to hoist the unconscious body on to my shoulder and make a run for the house. Charlie had left the door open, one obstacle less for me to worry about.

  ‘Keep firing,’ I called, ‘I’m coming in.’ It wasn’t easy. Chet was a dead weight, and I could no longer keep his skittish horse between me and the ridge. Under cover of a sustained volley from the house – and I realized that Annie, too, was using a rifle – I lifted Chet, picked up my own rifle and ran for the open door. It wasn’t until I set foot on the veranda that answering shots sang past my head, two of them, both tearing splinters from the door-frame as I passed. Then I was inside. I kicked the door closed behind me. Annie came away from the window and opened an inner door that led to a back room. There was a bed there that I laid Chet Barton on. Annie looked at him and then at me.

  ‘I think he’s still alive,’ I said, ‘but he needs a doctor if he’s going to pull through.’

  ‘What can I do for him?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Nothing for the moment. We’ve got our own lives to preserve first.’ I told her to barricade the doors and keep clear of the windows.

  For the moment the guns were silent. I asked Charlie what was happening.

  ‘Perhaps I hit him,’ he said.

  ‘Was there only one shooter?’

  ‘Couldn’t say. Just a minute, here they come.’ I joined him at the window. There was a bunch, perhaps fifteen men, riding down the trail towards the house. Charlie fired two rounds at them and they scattered, jumping from their horses and finding cover among the rocks and boulders beyond the fence line. I’d rather he’d held his fire. If the posse was legitimate, if the sheriff led them, there was a chance for talking, a chance for Charlie to declare his innocence of cattle rustling. In a siege situation we had no hope of winning. As if to emphasize my thoughts a volley of rifle fire struck the house. Windows broke, wooden frames splintered and lead ricocheted around the room. A small sob escaped from Annie. I signalled to her to lie on the floor.

  Charlie acted as though he was unaware of her presence. He poked his rifle out the shattered window and pulled the trigger a couple of times, not firing at any specific target, just being defiant. The glint in his eyes told me that he was as frightened as Annie.

  ‘Charlie,’ I said. ‘Think what you’re doing. You’ve got your wife here. She may get hurt.’

  ‘What do you suggest,’ he answered, ‘that I just open the door and walk out there. If they don’t shoot me they’ll hang me.’

  ‘If the sheriff is out there he’ll listen to your story. He’s a fair man, isn’t he?’

  ‘My wife believes he’s a fair man but that was when her family and the Barton family saw eye to eye. It’s different now. You’ll see. They’ll hang me as a common cattle-thief.’

  ‘You can’t fight them,’ I said, and again, as though they were being marshalled in military manner, a fusillade of rifle fire hummed and clattered around the window above our heads.

  When the noise of gunfire died away we heard a voice calling from the yard.

  ‘This is Sheriff Bayles. I’m here to arrest you, Charlie Darke, and I ain’t going away until I’ve got you. Yo
u can’t outshoot us so you might as well give yourself up now. You’ve got my word there won’t be any lynching. I’ll see that you get a fair trial. Come out with your hands up, Charlie and no one will get hurt.’

  Charlie’s response would have been to shoot at the sheriff but I recognized the tension in his shoulders as he began to bring his gun into line with the window. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ I said.

  Outside, Sheriff Bayles shouted. ‘You’ve got your wife to think about, Charlie. I’m sure you don’t want Annie hurt in a crossfire. I’ll give you a minute to decide.’

  ‘Listen to him,’ I urged. ‘He’s talking sense.’

  ‘Sure. It’s sense for you. But it’s my neck that’ll be in the noose.’

  ‘Look at the logic of the situation,’ I said. ‘You won’t clear your name by trying to outshoot the sheriff. Killing him would only make you a more wanted man. You’d never be able to live here. If you can prove you weren’t involved in overbranding those steers then put yourself in the sheriff’s hands.’

  His frame relaxed and for a moment I thought it was all over. He stood up and presented himself at the window. ‘Sheriff,’ he called, ‘I’m telling you I didn’t have any hand in trying to steal any cattle.’

  Sheriff Bayles’s words came back low and slow from across the yard. ‘That may be so, Charlie, but are you going to deny you’ve killed Chet Barton. His horse is still here and there’s blood on his saddle.’

  The look from Charlie Darke told me that his actions were justified by the sheriff’s words. ‘The people of Beecher’s Gulch have been against me since the day I arrived,’ he yelled, ‘and you all being Barton’s men will see to it that I’m guilty for Chet’s death no matter what the truth is.’ He fired his rifle and I heard a yell from the yard. It didn’t sound as though the sheriff had been hit, just forced into scuttling for cover. One or two shots struck the building, then all went quiet. I figured they would be making plans to flush us out. They were sufficient in number to surround the house so all hope of escape was gone. How long they would wait before attacking was debatable but, if I was the sheriff, I would want the action over before dark.