Yeager eyed him for a moment, then said, the shadow of death on him, “Well, write ’em down, Miller. I can use a little credit where I’m goin’.” He took a deep breath. “Henry Plummer, he’s the boss.”
“Come on, Red!”
“Think I’d lie about it at a time like this?” Yeager said bitterly. “He set the whole thing up.” Then as the freezing wind whipped across the yard, Miller wrote the names Yeager gave: Plummer and Bunton and Ives. Cy Skinner and Steve Marshland, Dutch John Wagner, Alec Carter and Whiskey Bill Graves. Stinson, Hunter, Gallagher and Ned Ray. George Shears and Johnny Cooper and Mex Grant and Bob Zachary. Boone Helm, Hayes Lyons.” He named many others, and ended with a final name. “Billy Page. He was in on the Stone killing.”
“That all, Red?”
“That’s it.”
With that the men were hanged and their bodies taken down.
“We goin’ home now?” one of the men asked.
“Not yet,” Miller replied. “We’ve got one more job. You fellows get some sleep. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He left the spot, turned his horse’s head to the west and rode through the cold, dreading the task ahead.
****
Zack was asleep when he heard the horse stop outside. He grabbed his gun and came off the bed like a cat.
“Zack? It’s Miller.”
Zack lowered the gun and opened the door. “Come in, James.”
Miller entered and said, “Let’s eat, Zack. Then we’ve got a chore to do.”
“All right.” Zack saw the troubled look and knew pretty well what was coming. He fixed a quick breakfast, and an hour later they were on their way, moving through foot-deep snow.
“We hung Yeager and Moore,” Miller said. “Yeager gave us some names. Henry Plummer was on the list. He’s the boss.”
Zack thought on it, then nodded. “Guess that makes sense. He’s got the power to handle the toughs. I never liked his way=-.”
They went through Virginia City and picked up John Lott and Parris Pfouts. Miller read most of the names, and said, “There’re a few others.”
They stopped at the Lodge, picked up the other men and then proceeded.
“Where we headed?” Lott asked.
“Up to Sullins’ ranch. Got a report that a man was holed up there. We’ll look.” They made their way over the Stinkingwater into the barren land lying between the river and the mountains, and at full dark they pulled up in a shallow coulee.
“There’s his light,” Miller said, indicating a yellow gleam. “The rest of you circle around. Zack, you and me will take the door.”
They slipped off their horses, and as soon as the others were in place, Miller said, “Let’s go.” They made their way to the shack, and when Miller gave a sign, Zack lifted the latch and stepped into the cabin.
Only one man was inside, and he made a grab for his revolver; but when he saw who it was, he relaxed. “Hello, Zack.”
“Billy, what are you doing here?” Zack asked. He put his gun away and turned to Miller, who had entered. “Wasted trip, James.”
“No, not wasted,” Miller said. He walked over and picked up Page’s gun, then turned to go to the door. “Come in, you fellows.”
Billy’s face turned a sickly green and asked, “What’s up?”
“We came for you, Page,” Miller replied. “You’re one of the Innocents.”
“Don’t be a fool!” Zack snapped.
“Billy, you were in on the killing of Nolan Stone.”
Zack’s head jerked back, and he stared at Miller, but said nothing.
“I was in town when he was killed,” Page protested.
“No, you rode out that day. Burke Prine says he saddled your horse. You left early and brought the horse back late.”
A fine sheen touched Billy’s brow, but he shook his head. “No, I wasn’t there.”
“Red Yeager says you were. He gave us the whole story before we hung him.”
“You were in on the holdup when Deke Masters was killed,” Darrel Jones said. “I was in that coach myself and—”
“You couldn’t be sure it was Billy, Darrel,” Zack broke in.
“He was wearing that bright green coat of his—the only one like it in camp—and he was ridin’ that big bay with the white stockings, Zack. I couldn’t be wrong about both them things, could I?”
A deathly silence fell, and Billy’s face changed.
“Red named you on the list, Billy,” Beidler put in. And then Zack saw the light go out of Page’s face as he stepped backward, his breathing shallow.
Zack searched for a defense. “It’s not enough to hang a man on. Say something, Billy!”
Page shook his head and said weakly, “I’m not the man.” But there was no force in him.
Zack was not satisfied and pressed, “Billy, did you do it?”
Page gave him an agonizing look, then nodded.
The sense of hopelessness that had plagued Zack for weeks rushed in upon him. He had to do something! He looked at the faces of the posse. “Billy knocked up Stinson’s arm when he was about to kill me, you’ll remember.”
“It’s not enough, Zack,” Miller said. He turned the full force of his gaze on Winslow, saying quietly, “I saw this coming, Zack. You’re Page’s friend, and I didn’t want you to hear about this from somebody else. I wanted you to get it firsthand. He’s one of them, Zack, just like Helm and Yeager and Ives.”
An idea popped into Zack’s mind and he stepped back and dropped his hand to his gun. Instantly Beidler flung up his shotgun and the others drew their handguns. “You can’t do it, Zack,” Miller said gently. “You want to talk to him while we go vote?”
“Yes.”
“Give me your gun.” Miller took the gun; then the party left, closing the door.
“Guess it won’t take long to get a vote on me,” Billy said wryly. He licked his dry lips slowly, giving Winslow an agonizing look. “That’s the way it goes sometimes, Zack,” he whispered.
“Billy—” Zack began. He wanted to cry. “Why? Why did you do it?”
Page shrugged, his eyes shifting to the door. “Don’t know the answer to that. Nobody does.”
“What can I do, Billy?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing any human being can do for another, is there? Tell Bron that—that she was one bright light for me in a pretty dark world.” The talk in the front yard died down, and he said hurriedly, “Zack, I helped you a couple of times against Ives that you don’t know about.”
“I appreciate it, Billy.”
The door opened and Miller came in. He said nothing, but stood waiting.
Billy blinked rapidly as fear ran along his nerves. He said, “I’d like to put on my coat. It’s cold.”
“Sure, Billy,” Miller said.
Page moved to the wall, pulled down the coat and put it on. He buttoned it up very slowly, then turned and with a terrified look in his eyes, whispered, “Goodbye, Zack. I thought I was tough enough to play it alone—but I wasn’t.” He swallowed, and forcing himself to turn and walk toward the door, he added just before he left, “No man’s tough enough to make it on his own, Zack!”
He passed through the door, and it closed. Zack walked over to the bed and sat down, his legs too weak to hold him. He put his hands over his ears, muting the sounds that might come. Finally he heard the door close again.
He looked up as Miller stood there, his face red with the cold. “All over,” he said.
Zack got to his feet and paused, feeling as empty and dead as the man outside dangling from the rope. “Miller,” he said, “I’m going to bury him on my place.”
“Sure, Zack.” Miller gave an order, and turned back to Zack. “Will you be coming in when you get him buried?” he asked.
“Can’t say.” He raised a pair of eyes so empty that Miller was shocked. “To tell the truth—I don’t know what to do anymore, James. Seems like everything I touch goes bad.”
Miller walked over and put his hand on Zack’s shoulder. “Might be good if you d
id stay up at your place for a spell, Zack. Think things out. Then you come into town and we’ll get drunk together. We’ve both lost good friends. I’ll tell your folks you’ll be gone a few days.”
Zack nodded. “Thanks, James.” He moved outside the cabin, mounted his horse and took the reins of Page’s horse, not looking at the body strapped in place.
As he rode out, Beidler said, “I guess he’s hit pretty hard, Miller.”
“Yes. About as hard as a man can get hit. I didn’t know he thought so much of Page.” He took a deep breath. “Well, we’ve got some more names on that list, Dutch. Let’s move along.”
****
Zack dug a grave in frozen earth, under an oak that overlooked Dancer Creek. It was a view Billy had admired once, Zack remembered. The earth was like rock, and by the time he was finished, the wind was howling in earnest. He made a coffin out of boards left over from building the cabin, then put the body of Page in it. He lowered the box with a rope, and filled the grave in, snow mixing with the frozen clods of earth. When he finished, he stood looking at the mound, thinking of the good things about Billy. Bron had often told how Billy had helped her. He remembered how Page had stopped Yeager from kicking him half to death, then again of how he’d saved Zack’s life by knocking Stinson’s gun up.
The emptiness that had fallen on Zack deepened as the wind howled like a demented timber wolf. “Sure wish there was a preacher here, Billy,” he said through half-frozen lips. “I guess you never held with preaching much—but I’d like it mighty well.” He lifted his eyes to the rounded sweep of snowy earth that stretched out and thought of how Billy had hated the cold. “It’ll be spring soon, and then this spot will get warm; and the grass and the trees, they’ll turn green. Warm breezes instead of this freezing wind! It’ll be better come spring, Billy!”
But the wind whipped around his feet, and he tried to pray. “God, there’s nothing I can tell you about Billy. He was my friend, faithful and just to me. God, I’ve got to ask you, be easy on Billy, will you?” He stopped. He could say no more. He turned and walked away, and as he made his way to the cabin, Zack thought of Billy’s bone-white face and the last words he’d spoken: “No man’s tough enough to make it on his own, Zack!”
He entered the cabin, washed his hands in some melted snow water, then built up the fire and sat watching the flames. The fire crackled, making the logs weep drops of pitch. The warmth around soaked into him, but he knew that just outside the door winter lurked, waiting for him to venture one step too far.
For hours he remained by the fire, staring into the leaping flames, thinking of Emma and George Orr. How little he felt of the pain and anger that had driven him to the woods then. He thought of the battles in the war that had raged around him. The war, too, seemed but a dream. Events of the past year streamed before him. In the beginning, he’d been a man filled with resentment with no faith in anyone. Then Sam, Jeanne, Hawk, and Buck had come into his life. The cabin seemed empty without the cries of Paul and Alice, or Lillian’s pugnacious ranting. He thought of Sam’s dying mother and the frail hand she’d held up to Zack. Most of all, he thought of Bron, and the longing for her grew so intense, he got up and lit the lamp.
He went to the bookshelf to get a novel—but his eye fell on the Bible, the Christmas gift from Billy Page. He picked it up, his eyes falling on the inscription: “There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother . . .” and his eyes blurred. He took the Bible back to the chair in front of the fireplace and sat holding it for a long time. With a sigh he opened it, and read the first thing his eyes fell on.
Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone, but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.
He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world, shall keep it unto life eternal.
The words reminded him of something Bron had said once: “You’ll never know what it means to be strong until you’ve been broken, Zacharias!” He read the verses again. He read them many times that day. And for days afterward, as the winds blew outside, he read and read.
He ate and slept, but the cabin was a little cosmos, sealed off from the world, and he had no sense of place or time. Hour after hour, he soaked up the words, reading the Gospels over and over. The character of Jesus had been only a vague figure, but now as he read, it seemed he could see the carpenter of Galilee as He moved among men. As he read of Jesus healing the eyes of the blind man, it was thrilling and Zack could almost feel the excitement of the man who could finally see. The story of the woman at the well fascinated him. He had not known of that story, and he marveled at the way Jesus won the woman’s confidence before telling her who He was.
Days passed, then the snow stopped falling and the sun came out. He went out to care for the stock, to break the ice in the creek; but even as he moved, his mind was still on the stories of the Bible. The hard snow turned to mush, and he was surprised to see by the calendar that he’d been there three weeks.
That night he decided he would have to go to town the next day, but he stayed up late. He read in the Gospel of John, the third chapter, and the words of the young Rabbi to Nicodemus seemed rich and strong, though mysterious. “Ye must be born again.” He put the Bible aside and laid his head against the back of the chair, thinking of Jesus.
Time passed, and he shook his head, muttering, “I don’t know how to find God!” He thumbed through the Bible and discovered that several verses had been underlined. He had not done it! Who had? Bron? Parris? He read it carefully: “If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.” Lower down another verse read: “For whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”
Many times he had heard Bron speak of being “saved,” but had always felt uncomfortable with the term. Now, however, he read over and over that Jesus said He came to save men.
Hours flew, and when the morning light fired the tops of the eastern hills, he slipped out of the chair to his knees. He had no idea how to pray, nor what to expect; and for a long time he made no attempt to form words. The longer he knelt there, the more aware he became of his need for more than life had given him. Finally, he began to speak to God.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“I THOUGHT I’D LOST YOU!”
The warmth of the sun’s rays touched Winslow’s face as he took one last look at the cabin. Loneliness gripped him as he surveyed the countryside he’d come to love, but against the pain of leaving and the memories that floated before him, he turned away. “Let’s go, Ornery!”
Behind him a loaded pack horse, Penelope, and the calf followed, all tethered on long ropes, the cow lowing in protest. The snow had begun melting two days earlier, but he knew winter was not over. Crossing Dancer Creek, he turned right and soon sighted Crenna’s shack, a spiral of smoke rising to the sky.
“John—hello!” he called as he pulled up in the yard.
The door swung open, and Crenna rushed out, pulling his shirt on. “Zack! Get down, man, and come in the house!” He pulled Zack through the door and said, “Jeanne, look what the New Year brought in!”
Jeanne came across the room, smiling. “Hello, Zack. I wondered if you’d ever come our way.”
She seemed content, and he gave her a handshake. “Guess I’ve not been very neighborly. You’re looking well, Jeanne. Hawk all right?”
Crenna reached down and picked up the black-eyed boy, tossed him in the air and said fondly, “He’s fine. Got me for a playmate all day long.” He put the boy down. “Jeanne, could we round up some breakfast for this stranger?”
“No thanks, John,” Zack broke in, but gave in, deciding he should spend a few minutes with them.
They drank coffee as they sat around the table. “How’s Sam doing?” Zack asked.
“Just fine. I brought him to Bron and the other children as soon as she was well. Parris found a house for them. Sam needs lots of loving.”
Crenna, anxious to get into man-talk, interrupted. “Don’t guess you’ve heard about the way Miller and the vigilantes hit the Innocents?”
“No.”
“Well, they got Plummer over at Bannack. He turned yellow when they hung him. Fell on his knees and started squalling. They hung Lyons and Ray at the same time. The next day they came to Virginia City and tried Gallagher, Skinner, Lane, and Frank Parish. All found guilty, of course.” He shook his head, adding, “Gallagher went out cussing and raving, Zack. The rest of ’em were in bad shape. I guess they’ve rounded up some more by now. We ain’t been to town for weeks, and Miller was sure pressing it!”
“It’ll be a different place from now on,” Zack said.
As the men talked, Jeanne felt a wall between her and Zack and wanted to explain her actions, so broke in. “I feel badly, leaving you as I did without speaking to you, Zack.”
“Why, bless you, girl!” Zack said and smiled at her and Crenna. “Nothing could have made me happier. Caught me off guard—but I’m a pretty dense fellow!” He looked at Crenna. “You’re a lucky fellow, John!”
“I know it,” Crenna nodded. “Been lonesome all my life—and now I get up in the morning and look at my wife and Hawk, and I think, ‘Lord, I feel sorry for every other man in the world!’ ”
Jeanne smiled and put her hand on his arm. “You’ll spoil me, John—like you do Hawk.” Then she said, “Will you be in town long, Zack?”
He put his cup down, pausing for a moment. “Not too long, I guess.” He got to his feet and asked, “Can you take Bron’s cow and the yearling? I’ve brought enough feed to carry them through until spring.”
“But—what about Bron?” Jeanne asked, puzzled. “She loves that cow!”
“Be hard for her to keep a cow in town.”
A swift glance passed between Crenna and Jeanne, and he said cautiously, “You and her talked it all out, Zack?”
He shrugged, forcing a smile. “I guess it’s past talking. I’m pulling out of the Gulch.”
“You’re leaving?” The regret in Jeanne’s voice was unmistakable.
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