Delilah held her younger sister as her body convulsed with the force of her grief and wondered how the Lord could be so cruel as to take everyone they loved from them. Their mother, then just two years later their father, and now. . . Tom. Someone of Eve's tender age should not have to suffer so much.
A moment later, Eve regained control. Pulling away, she dried her eyes and looked up at Delilah. "Will you stay with me?"
"You know I will."
Delilah followed Eve down a narrow hallway to a back room. The smell of sickness was horrid, but she did her best to pretend she hadn't noticed. An intense young man with dark hair and spectacles worked over Tom; he didn't even glance up as they entered. "I've cleaned the leg as well as possible," he said. Delilah gasped as she caught sight of the limb to which he referred. Tom's trouser leg had been sliced from hem to hip, exposing his leg for the doctor's care, but Delilah doubted there was much that could have been accomplished by anything short of a miracle. The limb was quite literally black with putrefaction. Ugly red streaks radiated upward from the decaying limb over Tom's exposed chest offering mute evidence of the spreading infection. "If he does happen to wake," the doctor continued, "and is in pain you can give him some more laudanum.” Doctor Hale indicated a brown bottle sitting on a stand that also contained a number of strange looking metal instruments. "It can't hurt him now. Other than that, just sponge him occasionally to keep him as comfortable as possible."
Eve nodded. "All right, thank you. Doctor, this is my sister, Mrs. Delilah Sterne."
He glanced up then and nodded. "I've seen your handiwork, Mrs. Sterne. Nice job of stitching you did on the sheriff. Don't suppose you'd be interested in a job as my assistant. It's demanding work and doesn't pay much except in satisfaction, but you have some definite talent there."
Delilah's eyes widened in startlement. "Well, I, um . . . "
He waved away her stumbling response. "Never mind. Just let me know if you change your mind."
"I will, sir. Thank you."
"Delilah is going to stay with me for a while if it's all right with you, Doc," Eve interjected.
Doctor Hale nodded as he draped a sheet over Tom's inert form. "Sure. I only have one other patient," he gestured toward the wall on his right, which presumably shielded another room, "and he's the kind that's secured to his bed with a pair of handcuffs anyway. I doubt that her presence will bother him."
The doctor left them then, and Eve and Delilah pulled up chairs next to the table on which Tom lay. The change in his appearance since Delilah had seen him last was startling. His skin was pale, but flushed with the unnatural blush of fever. His lips had a bluish tinge. And he'd lost so much weight that he was mere skin and bones with the exception of his grotesquely swollen leg.
The afternoon passed slowly, the only sounds in the room were those of Tom's ragged, labored breathing and Eve's occasional sobbing as she rose to sponge Tom's wasted body. She wouldn't allow Delilah to help with Tom's care. "I won't have the opportunity to do things for him much longer," she murmured in explanation.
With all of her energies focused on Eve and Tom, Delilah pushed aside her own problems for a time, though Samson's plight was never far from her mind. She had to help him!
Later.
Time passed. Her tears spent, Eve sat staring at Tom's sunken face with dry, tortured eyes. Feeling inadequate, Delilah placed a hand over her sister's; the comfort of her presence was all she had to offer. Eve turned her hand palm upward to grip Delilah's fingers with crushing force. After that, she simply held on, as though in Delilah's hand she'd found the anchor she needed to keep from falling into a pit of despair and self-blame.
Some time later, the bell over the door in the outer room jangled and Delilah heard muted voices. A moment later, Doctor Hale came in carrying two supper plates. "Mrs. Schmidt sent these over with young Erich.” He set the dishes on a cabinet nestled against the wall and then moved to the examining table where he lifted Tom's eyelids briefly to peer into his eyes. "How's he been doing? Has he roused at all?"
Having blanketed herself in numbness, Eve didn't stir to reply, so Delilah looked at him and shook her head. "He's the same," she murmured.
Hale shook his head sadly and checked his patient again, taking his pulse and checking his leg, though it was obvious even to Delilah that there wasn't anything he could do for him. Then the doctor met Delilah's eyes meaningfully and shook his head again. "If you need anything, just call," he said. "And try to get Mrs. Cameron to eat a bite or two."
Delilah nodded in silent agreement as the doctor left the room.
A while later, although she wasn't very hungry herself, she rose to retrieve the plates the doctor had left. Each plate had a small dish of custard nestled on one edge. In addition to the custard, Mrs. Schmidt had provided them with a hearty beef stew and homemade buns. Taking one of the plates over to where Eve sat staring blankly at her husband's face, Delilah gently nudged her. "Eve honey, I want you to take this. You need to try to eat something."
In blind obedience Eve accepted the plate, lowering it to her lap, without so much as looking at it.
"Will you try a bit?" Delilah asked.
Eve shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she murmured so quietly that, even standing right before her, Delilah had to bend forward to hear the words.
"I know Evie. I'm not either. But we have to eat just a little bit. Please? For me?"
For the first time in hours, Eve looked at Delilah. Then, slowly, she nodded and picked up the fork on her plate. Piercing a small piece of carrot, she put it in her mouth. Satisfied that Eve would at least try to eat something, Delilah turned to retrieve the other plate for herself and then resumed her seat next to Eve.
Neither of them was able to eat more than a few bites, but at least it was something. Sometime later, she didn't know how long, Delilah replaced the plates with their now cold fare on the cabinet. She was tired, discouraged, and feeling particularly helpless, so she took a moment to lean against the cabinet, close her eyes, and simply breath. A groan came from across the room, and she whirled at the sound. Tom was stirring, very slightly, and Eve had risen to lean over him.
"Tom, I'm here."
Tom opened fever-glazed eyes to look at her. "Evie, darlin'?"
"I'm here.” Eve clasped his hands and squeezed. "I won't leave you."
A lump rose in Delilah's throat, choking her, and tears swam in her eyes, blurring the scene before her.
"Are you in pain?" Eve asked.
Tom nodded. "But it's worth it to be awake. I wanted to see your beautiful face just one more time," he murmured. "If there is one memory I want to take with me it's that.” He raised a trembling hand to trace the curve of Eve's cheek while she tilted her face into his touch. "Can you smile for me? Just one last time?"
A sob caught in Eve's throat, but she nodded and smiled for him. The smile wobbled, but it was apparently enough for Tom.
"Thank you, darlin'. You know how much I love you, don't you?"
Eve nodded and the sob finally escaped. "Oh, Tom, I don't want to lose you."
"I know darlin'," he murmured as he stroked her hair as though attempting to memorize its texture. "Now give me a hug so that I can smell your perfume."
Eve nodded and bent forward to kiss the side of his face. Tom's arms wrapped around her briefly and he sighed. And then slowly, so slowly his arms dropped back to his sides. "Tom?" Eve said.
But there was no reply for Delilah had seen what Eve had not. On his final sigh of contentment in holding the woman he loved, Tom had left this life.
Eve pulled back to look down at him but his eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling. "Tom?" she cried more loudly.
Delilah went to her. "He's gone, sweetheart. Tom's at peace now."
"No," a wail of denial rose in Eve's throat. And then turning into Delilah's embrace she asked, "How will I live without him?"
Delilah didn't bother murmuring reassurances now. Nothing she could say would ease the pain Eve was feel
ing. Later she could remind Eve that although Tom had passed, his love for her wasn't gone. Later she would remind her that she would always hold Tom in her heart. Later, she would remind her that as long as she remembered him, a part of Tom would always be alive and with her. For now though, she simply held her sister and let her weep.
"I don't know. . . how I'll manage without him," Eve sobbed brokenly.
But Delilah had recognized what Eve had not yet realized: the fact that Eve had been functioning quite well without Tom for quite some time now. She'd been doing everything that managing a ranch entailed. She would now lack her husband's counsel, but she had her own strength, determination and intelligence. Eve would triumph. But Delilah said only, "You'll manage. You have my word on it."
At that moment, the doctor entered the room. He looked at Delilah wordlessly, but the question was plain in his eyes.
Delilah nodded. "Tom's gone," she murmured.
"Did he wake?"
"Yes. He talked for a moment and then. . . he just sighed."
Doctor Hale nodded. "It happens like that sometimes.” He glanced at Eve and then back to Delilah. "You're going to take care of her?" he asked.
"Of course."
"See that she gets some sleep. I'll get hold of Mr. Howard and Reverend Duncan to make arrangements for the funeral. It'll probably be best if we get that accomplished tomorrow."
Delilah stared at him numbly, glad that he was thinking about necessities because her own mind suddenly felt as though it was slogging through a dense fog. "Mr. Howard?" she repeated in a deadened tone.
"The undertaker."
Delilah nodded. Of course. They would need an undertaker.
Some time later, once Tom's body had been taken by Mr. Howard, the undertaker, to be prepared for his funeral in the suit that Eve had had the foresight to bring along, Delilah took Eve back to the hotel with her and tried to get her to rest.
* * *
Samson sat astride Goliath, concealed in the shadow of a huge cedar where he'd been sitting for the past few hours observing Simon Earl's Rocking E ranch. He needed to catch Simon Earl red-handed if he was going to jail the man for rustling. Otherwise, he had only Powell's word on Earl's involvement. And truth to be told, Samson would not bet his life on Powell's honesty. Neither would a judge. 'Course the other hands had backed Powell's statement once they learned the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Still, Samson had no proof that Earl was involved. He'd caught the others red-handed, but not Earl. And the idea that the powerful rancher might get away with saving his ranch at the expense of his more respectable neighbors grated like sandpaper on Samson's sense of decency.
So Samson had done something he would have preferred not to have done. He and Deputy Wilkes had made a deal with One-Eyed Jim. They would talk to the judge on One-Eye's behalf if old Jim helped them get Simon Earl. Jim had balked at first: He wanted to be set free—period. But when he realized that Samson wouldn't agree to that, he accepted the offer he'd been given. Or rather he had seemed to accept it. Samson wouldn't put it past him to try to escape if he got the chance. That was why Samson and Carl had provided an escort for One-Eyed Jim, bringing him out here. Then, they'd hidden in the hills above the ranch to watch him ride in.
The plan was that One-Eyed Jim would go to Simon Earl and tell him that the rest of the gang had been caught with some of the cattle outside the canyon. He'd tell Earl that the remaining cattle—animals that Samson had ensured were still carrying brands belonging to Simon Earl's neighbors—needed to be moved that night before the sheriff came back and found the access to the canyon. If Earl was real smart, he'd do nothing, and Samson still wouldn't be able to link him to the operation with any tangible proof. But Samson figured that Simon Earl's greed would hang a lickin' on his intelligence. Samson and Carl Wilkes figured that Earl would make one of two moves. Either he'd try to herd the cattle out of the area immediately, concluding that he could avoid the deputies that would be combing the hills. Or, he'd herd them back to his place real quick and hide them amongst his own cattle. Samson's bet was on the second move because he figured that's what he'd do in Earl's position, but he was prepared for either eventuality.
Once Simon Earl and whomever among his own hands he would trust were in the process of moving the cattle, either back here to the ranch or off to sell, Samson and Carl would arrest them. It wasn't a very elaborate plan, and even from Samson's point-of-view it was as full of holes as last year's socks, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice.
And he needed to catch Earl quickly. If he didn't and, for whatever reason, Earl didn't set up another rustling operation, the rancher would get off scot-free.
With the exception of One-Eyed Jim, Earl's other partners were still languishing in Samson's jail under the guard of Bill Tillis who, although he was hobbling around on crutches, could still wield a gun well enough.
Jim had entered the Earl's ranch house a few hours ago. There'd been a brief flurry of movement on the part of the ranch hands after Jim's arrival, then nothing. Samson itched to know what was going on down there. But as the waiting dragged on, his thoughts inevitably turned to Delilah and the social.
For the first time since coming to Red Rock and being pegged as the most eligible bachelor in town, Samson was looking forward to the monthly church social. He couldn't count the number of socials he'd attended where his primary thought the entire evening had been escape. Nor could he count the number of socials that he'd managed to avoid for the sake of duty. Duty being anything drastic enough to keep him out of the ladies clutches for just one more month. Being the sheriff, he'd been informed upon his arrival in town that it was his responsibility to attend all town functions with the exception of those times when his duties as sheriff precluded attendance.
By Samson's definition a sheriff's duties were pretty varied. Anything from rescuing kittens to catching bad guys. Young Sarah Jennings' kitten, Mischief, had offered him the excuse he needed for missing one social. It had taken him most of the evening to save that cat. Unfortunately, in a town the size of Red Rock, there weren't all that many timely rescues to be made, and Samson had had to attend more socials that he cared to remember. Heck, when he thought about it, he'd been embroiled in so many female machinations in the last two years that he figured the good Lord might let him skip purgatory when he died on account of time already served. Tomorrow night was the first time he'd be attending a social with a lady of his choosing on his arm.
And Delilah was all lady.
He frowned abruptly as he recalled Mrs. Williamson's reaction to Delilah Sterne's presence in town. He hoped he hadn't made a mistake in inviting Delilah. He would feel responsible for her discomfort if the town matrons were rude to her.
The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. Why hadn't he thought of that? "Damn!" he muttered to himself. Then, a stirring at the ranch house below distracted him.
Somebody went running from the main house to the bunkhouse. Then a couple of minutes later, three men emerged. They saddled five horses and rode up to the main house where they sat waiting out front with the two extra horses.
Something was definitely happening.
Samson looked over at Wilkes where he lay dozing in the shade of a tree with his battered hat pulled down over his face. Apparently the new addition to his household had not yet learned to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time, and Carl's sleep was suffering as a result. He'd been napping for almost an hour now though. That should help to refresh him. "Carl," Samson called softly.
When the man didn't so much as twitch a muscle, Samson pulled a cone off of a nearby tree and threw it at him. Carl jumped and shoved his hat back. "Come on, Wilkes," Samson said quietly. "Time to join the party."
Wilkes nodded, ran his hands over his face to clear the cobwebs, and rose to mount his sorrel mare, Bella, which he'd left ground-tethered a short distance off. He brought the mare to a halt next to Goliath. "What's goin' on, Matt?" he asked.
&nbs
p; Samson shrugged. "I don't know, but they're gettin' ready to ride out, so we'd best follow them and find out what old Simon has in mind."
The moon had set, and it was nearly dawn the next morning before Samson and Wilkes trailed Simon Earl and his boys back onto Rocking E land with their small herd of stolen cattle. To Samson's surprise, rather than immediately herding the cattle in with his own, Earl had them driven into a small dead-end canyon that formed a natural corral some distance away from the ranch buildings. A minute later, when he saw the branding irons being brought out, Samson understood why: Earl was going to destroy all evidence that the cattle weren't his. Or at least he was going to try.
Figuring that the commotion would help conceal their approach, Samson and his deputy waited until the branding was underway before riding down. He expected trouble: Earl did not have much respect for the badge Samson wore nor the law it represented. And once again the odds were five or six against two. But he figured that most of these men were good men who just happened to work for Earl. He hoped he was right. In case he wasn't, though, he'd sent word to each of the ranches involved letting them know that he was bringing Simon Earl in for the rustling of their cattle.
By his calculation if he failed somewhere along the way tonight and Earl won this little battle, the man would have about twenty-four hours before his neighbors took care of the problem. Samson didn't approve of vigilante justice, but it had worked in Montana Territory back in '63 when the miners had organized to get rid of Henry Plummer and his road agents. There were still times when it had its uses.
Samson and Wilkes rode almost within shouting distance of the rustlers before dismounting and secreting their mounts in the dense shadow of a large outcropping. They made their way forward on foot from there.
Cattle bawled. Men shouted. The fire crackled. Hair and flesh sizzled. Smoke hung in the chilled air of early morning. Samson waited for a lull in the action before drawing attention to their presence. "Simon Earl—" he shouted.
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