by Janet Dailey
“I can show you where to find them,” Bull stated.
“Tell Barnie I said to saddle a horse for you.” Benteen accepted the offer to ride with them, hearing all the explanation he needed.
When Bull Giles left, they stood alone by the partially filled grave. Benteen shifted, angling toward Lorna. She felt the vague movement of his hand on her back and lifted her face. Her eyes clung to him with naked love and anguish.
“I won’t say good-bye, not to you,” she whispered, and borrowed the phrase from the Texas border country. “Just … go with God.”
The pressure of his hand pulled her to him. His mouth was hard on her lips, promising to return, promising a life tomorrow, and promising a love that would endure as long as grass grew green in the spring. Her eyes stayed closed when the kiss ended, her lips trembling apart on a breath. The muted jingle of his spurs marked the strides that carried him from her to the waiting horses.
Saddle leather creaked and hooves shuffled. Lorna opened her eyes to watch the band of riders leave. Benteen swung his horse toward her and held her gaze across the distance, then reined it north. She lost sight of him when the other riders fell in behind his horse.
At Lorna’s invitation, the minister stayed for an early lunch, then escorted Mary to her home. Lady Crawford was brittlely silent, taking little part in the table conversation. Within minutes after Reverend Worth and Mary had departed, she left Lorna with the dishes and disappeared in the direction of the Homestead.
Rusty and the recuperating Shorty had taken charge of Webb, which left Lorna with empty minutes to fill. She’d already had her time of tears and prayers. She needed another outlet to work off her pain. She began by storing Arthur’s things in the bottom of a trunk. From there, it graduated to a general packing.
As she folded a dress and laid it on top of one of Benteen’s shirts, the cabin door swung open. Lorna paused only long enough to glance over her shoulder and identify his mother, then began folding another dress.
“Is this why you encouraged Benteen to leave?” Lady Crawford challenged calmly. “So you could run off while he was gone?” Lorna slowly turned, stunned by the suggestion. “I can’t say that I blame you for wanting to leave. I’ve noticed how fond you are of your children. Losing your son in such a brutal fashion was undoubtedly the last straw. You can take my buggy. Just leave it at the livery in town.”
“You are mistaken. I am not leaving and I have never had any intention of leaving,” Lorna corrected stiffly. “This ranch is my home. Do not presume that because you could not tolerate this kind of life, every other woman feels the same.”
“I don’t presume that,” she replied. “But you’ve been unhappy here. I’ve seen that. No one should have to fight and struggle, and live like this, especially a woman.”
Lorna’s fingers curled into the worn dress in her hand before she tossed it briskly aside. She walked over to grip Lady Crawford’s arm and direct her to the map drawn on the piece of canvas.
“Do you see that? Do you know what it is?” she demanded.
“It’s a map, of sorts.” The woman shrugged her indifference to it.
“It’s a map of the ranch and our future,” Lorna stated, and released the black-sleeved arm to walk to the map. “These are the hundred-and-sixty-acre tracts that Benteen has claimed.” She pointed them out individually. “He has declared ownership of all the rest as stock range.” She faced his mother. “That’s why I’m here, working with him to build this ranch. If you had stayed with his father, maybe the two of you could have built a place like this in Texas. When you left him, he lost heart in trying. All he cared about was hanging on to the place until you came back. Benteen told me that.”
“Seth was never half the man that Benteen is,” his mother stated. “He couldn’t separate dreams from reality.”
“You start with a dream, then build a foundation under it. This ranch was a dream the day we set foot on it and walked up on that hill where the house is standing now,” Lorna said. “I’m beginning to realize that all your life you have been taking, grabbing for all you could get. Just exactly why are you here?”
“Maybe I discovered it wasn’t enough.” Her head was held high.
Lorna tipped her head to the side, seeing a beautiful shell and not much inside it. “I think you would have been glad if I left Benteen,” she realized.
“That’s nonsense,” Elaine denied. “I have nothing against you. A man has need of a wife. Benteen is no different.”
“A wife. You make it sound like the woman is a nonentity, to serve but not to speak. That’s what you wanted me to be.” In the beginning, it was what Benteen had wanted from her, but Lorna didn’t mention the past. “What is it you want from Benteen? It isn’t a son. You won’t even claim him openly.”
“It isn’t practical.”
“No,” Lorna agreed with a measure of sadness. “If you admitted he was your son, then you’d have the problem of explaining your marriage to the Earl of Crawford when you were legally wed to Seth Calder. You’d not only forfeit your inheritance from his estate, but your title as well.”
“Why should I give it up?” Elaine challenged. “It would be foolish.”
“Yes, it would be.”
“I don’t believe you understand the situation.” Elaine gathered herself to stand a little taller. “With my money and influence, I can make Benteen a powerful man in this territory.”
“I have no doubt that you can,” Lorna admitted. “But I don’t think that’s what he wants from you.”
“You are obviously implying that it’s a mother he wants. Since we are being candid, I will freely admit to you as I have to him that I don’t regret leaving him. The maternal instinct that is supposed to be so strong in women has eluded me. I can’t be what I never was.” There was no apology in her statement.
“Then stop trying to arouse a son’s love for you,” Lorna demanded. “If you have any feeling for Benteen at all, don’t use him this way. Be his business associate, his financier. Be his friend, but don’t let him go on wondering if the mother he’s always wanted has come back to him.”
There was no response to her plea as Lady Crawford turned away and appeared to wander leisurely to the trunk Lorna had packed. She picked up the dress that had been tossed aside.
“Why are you doing all this packing?” She acted as if none of the previous conversation had transpired.
“I’ve decided to move all our things into the house,” answered Lorna. “There are two rooms we can live in until the rest of it is finished.”
“I see,” she murmured, and laid the dress down. “I’ll fetch two of the workmen to carry these trunks for you.” She exited the cabin in an unhurried, gliding walk, leaving Lorna to wonder if anything had been accomplished.
Benteen brought his horse out of a lope into a sidestepping trot when he spied the crude buildings nestled against the bluff that sat back from the river. The other riders crowded together as they slowed their horses.
“That’s it.” Bull Giles confirmed they were looking at their destination.
Benteen’s nerves were whetted to a fine edge as he surveyed the site. The trees had been cleared away, making it impossible to approach without being seen. The main building, the trading post, was butted up against the bluff. A shed with a corral sat forward on the right, and there was a shack sitting across from it. Any attempt to ride straight up to the post could trap them in a crossfire. The bluff eliminated any approach from the rear. The buildings were located with defense in mind. He stopped his horse. So far, they hadn’t been seen.
“How many are there?” He shot a look at Giles.
“There were seven with him the last time I was here,” he admitted. “Can’t be many more than that in his bunch.”
Unwilling to leave the range completely unmanned, Benteen had split his forces, which left him with ten riders, twelve counting himself and Bull Giles. He turned in his saddle.
“We’re gonna have to divide up and
hit ’em from two sides. Barnie, you take five men and make for that cabin. The rest of you can follow me,” he ordered.
“You reckon in circlin’ around to the corral?” Bull asked.
“That’s the idea,” Benteen answered briskly.
“I’ll come with you, then,” he said.
Barnie swung his group of men close to some trees and waited while Benteen led the rest of them in a wide circle, hugging the riverbank. There was some movement around the buildings, but it seemed normal activity.
They were nearly in position when Benteen heard a shout from the buildings, followed by the bellow of a Sharps rifle. He laid his spurs to the speedy grulla and broke from the trees at a flat-out run. The hooves of the other horses pounded alongside him, racing for the corral. The sound of the Sharps had been a sobering reminder that most of the renegades were ex-buffalo hunters and excellent shots. Given time to pick their targets, they’d drop whatever was in their sights. The secret was going to be not giving them time or a stationary target.
The air was split open by the explosions of gunfire. Figures were scurrying around the clearing, taking up their positions. They were thirty yards from the corral before they were spotted, all of the concentration previously directed at Barnie’s group. A bullet tugged at Benteen’s coat sleeve. Puffs of smoke were coming from the shed. Benteen started emptying his gun as lead whistled around him.
There were a half-dozen horses in the corral, whinnying and racing in a panicked circle. When Benteen reached the fence, he swung off the grulla and hit the ground at a run. He ducked behind a water trough to reload and check the spare pistol tucked in his waistband.
A bullet caught Vince’s horse. Benteen watched the horse sink as Vince threw himself free and flattened along the ground to scramble for cover. He threw a glance at the cabin and saw Barnie had made it. His mouth was dry and he licked the nervous sweat from his upper lip. Bull was weaving and ducking his way through the horses in the corral, making for the wall of the shed. Benteen peppered the doorway to give him cover fire.
Water splashed in his face, kicked up by the bullet splatting into the trough. A second shot splintered the wood, but he had the man spotted then. He fired before the man squeezed off the third shot, hitting him in the chest. The rifle was thrown in the air as the man was knocked backward by the force of the blow.
A barrage of bullets showered the water trough. Benteen left it at a crouching run and scrambled under the bottom rail of the corral to join Bull. A horse veered in front of him. He used its protection to reach the wall. Instinct had him shelling fresh bullets into the gun to keep it full. Powder smell settled around him.
He heard Bull say beside him, “It can’t be any worse inside the shed than out.”
“Let’s find out,” Benteen agreed.
Woolie and another cowboy were flattened on the corral ground, pouring lead into the shed. Benteen signaled them that he and Bull were going inside. They edged along the wall to the doorway.
“I’ll take the left,” Bull said, and Benteen nodded.
They went through the opening at nearly the same time, Benteen throwing himself low and shooting up, while Bull swung around the frame and let fly with both guns. When the dust and the smoke settled, one of the three men on the floor was groaning and Benteen was getting up. Bull kicked the gun out of reach of the one still alive and rolled him over with the toe of his boot. He was gut-shot.
“The other two?” Benteen asked, breathing harshly.
“Dead.”
He edged toward the window, careful not to show himself. A voice boomed from the trading post. “Paulie? Hey, Paulie!”
Crouching low, Benteen darted to the other opening that looked onto the clearing and the cabin. He felt a wetness along his ribs. When he slipped a hand inside his coat, it came away red with blood. A bullet had grazed him. He didn’t know when it had happened.
Bull came up beside him to peer out. “How’s Barnie doin’?”
“They’ve still got the cabin.”
Suddenly a renegade made a break from the cabin, racing across the clearing for the trading post. Both Benteen and Giles squared around the opening, squeezing off shots while a hail of bullets spattered from a side of the cabin. The man gave a little leap, then sprawled facedown in the dirt. He twitched once, then didn’t move again.
“Barnie’s got the cabin,” Bull stated.
There was a noise in the doorway behind them. Benteen swung around, his gun cocked.
“It’s me.” Woolie dragged a wounded cowboy into the shed, one of the vaqueros. “Vince and Bob are at the corner of the shed. Diego’s been hit in the hip.” He paused to lean against the wall and ease the vaquero down. “We gonna rush the post?”
Benteen spied a lantern hanging on a peg by the door. It was more than half-full of kerosene. He slipped it off its hook. “We’re going to burn them out. Tell Barnie.”
While Benteen scraped a match over his pants to light it, Woolie darted to the window and called to the cabin with the orders. He was breathing hard when he came back. “Barnie will go with your move,” he said.
“Give us some cover fire.” Benteen waited another second until the wick was burning strong.
The air was filled with the roar of gunfire as he stepped out of the doorway and hurled the lantern at the front window of the trading post. When he ducked inside, a bullet whapped the frame, sending slivers of wood into his cheek. He heard the crash of the lantern and the whoosh of flames.
“Get ready. They’ll be comin’ out,” he warned the others.
There were three in the trading post. It didn’t take them long to choose which way they wanted to die. The three renegades burst out of the door with guns blazing. One’s coat was on fire, but he was rolled to the ground by a shot. A second man was knocked back into the flames, screaming once. The gun was shot out of the third man’s hand, the bearded one in the buffalo coat.
“That’s Sallie,” Giles said.
“Hold your fire!” Benteen shouted around.
As the Triple C riders emerged from their cover and began stalking the unarmed man, Big Ed Sallie made panting, staggering attempts to find an opening to run through. His eyes were rounded until the whites were showing. He was a panicked animal with no more places to hide.
“What’s this all about?” he pleaded. “Somebody tell me what this is all about?”
“You know what it’s about, Sallie.” Benteen kept his gun leveled on the man.
“No. I swear I don’t.” His breath wheezed through his voice, shrill with panic. “You jest came ridin’ in here, shootin’ up the place.”
“Have you forgot that Triple C herd you tried to run off two nights back?” Benteen challenged. “My son was killed in that.”
“I was here. I swear I was right here.” Behind him, the flames were roaring through the wooden structure, their hissing, popping sounds making a hellish backdrop. “I never stole anybody’s cattle. Not the Triple C. No one’s.”
“He’s lyin’, boss.” Vince Garvey pushed to the front of the tightening circle of cowboys and tossed to the ground a cowhide, carrying the Triple C brand. “This was dryin’ on his fence.”
“I trade with the Indians. I bought it off of them,” he explained frantically while blood dripped from the wound in his hand.
Bull Giles shouldered past Benteen, his ugly features curling with hate. “Let me talk to him. Sallie and me speak the same language.” He pulled his knife and reached down to slash off a strip of rawhide. Handing it to Barnie, he said, “Tie up his hands.” A second strip of rawhide, he took to the watering trough.
“No.” Big Ed Sallie started to struggle. “No!”
Two cowboys jumped forward to help Barnie, overpowering the renegade and forcing his arms behind his back. When they were tied, Bull strolled back with the wet piece of rawhide. He smiled at Sallie as he removed the renegade’s hat.
“I don’t have to tell you about rawhide, do I, Sallie?” He began to tie the wet stri
p around the man’s head, despite his attempts to dodge and duck away. “When it’s wet, it stretches fine.” He pulled it taut and tied a knot by the temple. “But when it dries, it shrinks. It’d pop your skull plumb open, Sallie.”
“No, don’t,” he cried in fear. “It was all your doin’, Bull. You was the one who set me up.”
“You mean with Janes?” he demanded.
“Yeah.” Sallie nodded wildly.
“But that was just to pay you to keep your Indians away from Ten Bar cattle.” Bull eyed the man with callous regard. “Maybe we should tie another piece of rawhide around your neck and see whether you strangle before your head cracks open.”
“No. He paid me to sic the Indians on the Triple C,” Sallie insisted.
“He did, huh?” Bull mocked.
“Dammit, yes!” he cried angrily. “It wasn’t my idea. Don’t make me die like this!!”
Bull slowly turned to face Benteen. “I set up a meeting ‘tween him and Janes. Boston said it was just to buy protection and keep the Indians away from the Ten Bar.” Bitterness and pain twisted through his face. “I didn’t know …” He choked on the words.
Benteen had seen Bull too many times with Arthur to doubt the man’s grief. He felt anger at the confession, but it was tempered by cool reason that said Bull had been used merely as a go-between.
“I’ve never killed a man for being a fool,” Benteen snapped.
“What do you want done with him?” Barnie jerked his head toward the renegade.
“Hang him.”
29
Nervous sweat ran from his pores as Judd Boston sat behind his desk in the bank’s private office. He kept dabbing at the moisture beading on his upper lip and forehead until his fine linen handkerchief was damp. He looked again at the clock and the tic-tic-ticking of the pendulum that seemed to prove time was running out.
At the knock on the door, he grabbed the gun from his desk drawer and forced himself to speak calmly. “Yes?”
“It’s me—Janes,” came the muffled reply.
Returning the gun to the drawer, he got up quickly to unlock the door. He locked it back when Loman Janes walked through.