Murder! Brett swallowed hard. “I wasn’t with those men when they robbed the bank, Sheriff. I only met them two days ago. You have to believe me.”
The sheriff took the gun belt from Deems. “All I know is, I seen you with ’em, and Clyde Bruce is dead.”
“But I’m innocent!” Brett protested.
The sheriff spat on the ground then turned cold blue eyes on Brett. “We shot the kid that was holdin’ the horses, but the rest of your buddies got away. I don’t know which one of you fired the bullet that kilt Clyde, but yer the one we caught, so yer the one that’s gonna swing.”
Billy. He was just a kid. Brett looked into the sheriff’s hard, unrelenting face and tried to explain. “I wasn’t there. You have to believe me. I’m innocent.”
“You was with ’em.” The sheriff insisted. “I said I seen ya and I did. Deems, get yourself on out and see if ya can’t find those other three. Take a couple of men with ya. Reckon me and Caldwell can handle this one.”
“Sure you don’t want us to string him up right now?” One of the men asked the sheriff.
“I got the rope.” Another held up his lariat.
“There’s a tree just made for a necktie party.” The first man pointed to a thick branch hanging over the road.
Brett looked from the men’s angry expressions to the tree and felt the blood drain from his face. This was all a bad dream. It had to be.
“Naw.” The sheriff answered. “I’m takin’ this here feller in and nobody’d better stop me. Even a cold-blooded killer deserves a trial, and I aim to see he gets a fair one.” He paused while a sneer crossed his face. “Then we’ll have us a real official necktie party right uptown where everbody can see.”
Brett’s blood flowed again when the men put away the rope and split off to go with the deputy. Surely if he got a fair trial, he’d be set free.
With the sheriff on one side and the man he called Caldwell keeping him covered on the other, Brett nudged his buckskin toward Purgatory.
Brett slumped in the saddle. How many times had his father told him a man is judged by the company he keeps? He hadn’t robbed the bank, nor had he killed anyone. The men he’d chosen to ride with had, making him guilty by association. More than likely, he’d hang for his poor judgment.
He was only twenty-three years old. His whole life lay before him. He had never even been in love. Now he’d never hold that special someone in his arms. Never watch his children run through the summer night chasing fireflies. Never see his family again. Never be able to tell his father how sorry he was.
Everything he’d left behind when he was young and foolish seemed so important. Why now? Why had this happened just when he’d decided to go home and make things right with his family?
By the time they reached the old abandoned farmhouse near the edge of town, Brett could see people gathering, watching for the posse. He stared ahead when they rode down the center of Main Street. Hostile glares burned into his back as people poured from store buildings, cheering and praising the sheriff for bringing in one of “them murderin’ varmints.”
As the seriousness of his situation hit him, three short words formed in Brett’s heart and grew until they could no longer be contained. Tears moistened his eyes as he uttered the heart-felt plea for the first time in his life.
“God, help me!” he whispered.
Chapter 3
Sounds of a commotion outside drifted in to Connie while she kneaded bread dough. Sounded like the entire town out there yellin’ about hangin’ them outlaws. That meant the posse was back. She shaped two loaves of bread as quick as she could, dropped them in the waiting pans, and shoved both in the warm oven. She grabbed a tea towel and wiped her hands as she hurried to the window and hid behind the curtain to watch.
Uncle Everett caught only one of the bank robbers. Her heart sank when she recognized the good-looking young man who had smiled at her. His shoulders hunched like a man without hope. The poor fellow looked awful scared.
She sighed as she turned away from the window and gathered up the dirty bowls and utensils. He had every right to be afraid. If she knew her uncle, the young man would swing at daybreak tomorrow or day after at the latest.
A knock at the back door interrupted her clean-up. Bill Caldwell stood on the porch, hat in hand. “Miss Connie, the sheriff said for me to tell you there’s another horse out back. He said if you wouldn’t mind seein’ to him and givin’ him some oats, he’d surely appreciate it. I already unsaddled him and rubbed him down for you.”
Connie brushed a strand of blond hair from her face. “Thank you, Mr. Caldwell. That was mighty thoughtful of you.”
“No problem. Guess ya know we caught the killer.” The man seemed to be waiting for her approval.
The jail across the street came to Connie’s mind. How many innocent men had been locked in there to pay for another’s crime? She met Mr. Caldwell’s eager expression with a smile. “Yes, I heard the cheering. Was you able to find the rest of them varmints?”
The man’s expression fell. “No, but Deems and a couple of others are still on their trail. Won’t be long and we’ll have ’em all behind bars.”
“I hope so.” She took a step back, letting the screen door swing closed. “I’m obliged for your help with the prisoner’s horse. I’ll see to it here in a minute.”
After Bill Caldwell left, Connie finished setting the kitchen to rights. After a bit, she went into her uncle’s room. Picking up the dirty clothing he left scattered about repulsed her as much as bein’ in his room made her feel hemmed in. As soon as she had his room straightened, she ran upstairs and made her bed before going out to the barn.
Her uncle’s chestnut gelding lifted his head and whinnied a welcome when she stepped inside. She remembered the greedy look in the sheriff’s eyes one day six months ago when a stranger rode into town on the tall thoroughbred. That night there’d been a fight in the saloon and Burns had shot the stranger for resisting arrest. She shuddered at the memory. Sure didn’t seem to be much justice in Purgatory.
Connie gave the chestnut a lump of sugar. She stroked his neck as he nuzzled the sugar from her hand. “Ain’t that good, Chester?” He was a magnificent animal. She gave him one final pat and sighed. The man who owned him had died because he was such a fine horse and for no other reason.
She turned to the next stall where a big buckskin stood. She reached a wary hand toward his nose. He stretched his neck to nuzzle her fingers. She laughed and patted him. “You’re as gentle as Chester, ain’t ya?”
She went in the stall and put a measure of oats in the feed trough. While he ate, she checked him out, running her hands down the long legs and lifting his feet to check his shoes. She noticed a notch in the left hind shoe.
“You probably ain’t got a pedigree like Chester does, but you’re a mighty fine feller any ways.” She gave him another pat. “Don’t you be feelin’ bad. I don’t know who my pa was neither. I’d reckon we’re both in the same boat.”
Her job had been to tend the horses when she rode with Davis and his gang. Davis admired good horses—in his line of work they were essential—and he’d taught her to appreciate fine horseflesh. Most of the horses she took care of now were little more than nags, but the prisoner’s buckskin and the chestnut gelding she’d named Chester were quality mounts. Davis would have pronounced both of them first rate.
As soon as Connie finished with the horses, she ran back into the house. In the next half-hour she needed to get lunch ready for her uncle and his prisoner. For a reason she couldn’t explain, she wanted to get a closer look at the young man she figured was innocent. Wouldn’t be the first time the good sheriff arrested the wrong man.
~*~
Sheriff Burns shoved Brett so he stumbled across the floor of the jail, past a large wooden desk, toward two cells. He lifted a ring of keys from the wall, unlocked one and pushed Brett through the door. The metallic clank slammed against Brett’s nerves.
He swung around, graspin
g the cold steel in his trembling hands. “You’ve got to believe me, Sheriff. I didn’t kill anyone. I wasn’t even with those men when they robbed the bank.”
The sheriff glanced over his shoulder and laughed. “They’s one of your buddies over at the undertaker’s gettin’ measured for a pine box.” His eyes narrowed. “Reckon we oughta go ahead and measure you so’s he can get yours ready, too.” His evil laugh filled the jail. He turned away and walked to his desk.
Brett stared at the man’s back. If the sheriff had anything to do with it, he’d be dead within a week. He gripped the steel bars as his legs failed to support him without help. A tremble passed through his body before anger at the total injustice of his situation hit him. He gave the bars a shake, then turning with a curse, slammed his fist into the wall, bruising and scraping his knuckles on the cement in the process. Calmed by the pain, he stood, watching the blood ooze from the back of his hand.
He’d better get his emotions under control if he wanted any hope of surviving this. A hoarse laugh tore from his throat. That was the whole point. He wasn’t going to survive. He sank to the hard cot in the corner and lowered his head into his hands.
The image of Billy Fagan filled his mind. What chances had the teenager enjoyed in life? What a waste. The boy’s outlaw father raised him to rob banks. How many times had he held the horses while his father and the others went into the bank and took good, honest people’s money? Did he have a mother to grieve that her boy would never come home again? Did Fagan care that he’d lost a son? Did anyone in this town care that the outlaw they’d shot down was no more than a youth who had no choice?
A ray of light touched the cell, and Brett looked up. The outside door stood open, admitting a brilliant shaft of sunlight and a young golden-haired girl carrying a wicker basket. He recognized the child he’d seen yesterday morning on the porch across the street. Her presence shoved the dark image of Billy from his mind.
“I brung dinner, Uncle Everett.” Her voice brought dark molasses to Brett’s mind. Rich and sweet.
The sheriff glanced toward Brett then swung his feet off the desk. “What’d you bring, sugar?”
“Chicken and noodles.” She set the basket on the desk and stepped back.
The sheriff lifted the snowy white dishtowel tucked around the contents of the basket and sniffed. Brett’s stomach twisted and growled at the tantalizing aromas that drifted to his small cell.
“Seems a shame to give anything that smells this good to the likes of him.” The sheriff indicated Brett with a jerk of his thumb. “But I reckon we gotta feed him.”
He lifted a napkin-covered plate from the basket and handed it to the girl. “Take this to the prisoner, but mind you don’t get too close, Connie.”
She left the door open and walked slowly toward Brett while the shaft of brilliant sunlight haloed her golden hair. In spite of the ugly brown dress she wore, he imagined her in shimmering white. A beautiful, little angel. She stood no more than two feet from him to slide the plate through a horizontal opening in the bars.
His eyes never left her face as he took the plate. Up close, she was unbelievably beautiful. Her mouth had the soft, full innocence of childhood. A light dusting of freckles crossed the bridge of her short, straight nose and softly rounded cheeks. He’d never seen such extraordinary eyes as hers. They were a dark, almost violet blue, framed by long, thick lashes a shade darker than her hair. She couldn’t be more than fifteen. He guessed closer to twelve, but her eyes held knowledge far beyond her tender years as they boldly met Brett’s.
Brett dragged his gaze away. What was wrong with him? Staring at a young girl that way. At her tender age, she might not recognize his behavior as improper, but he knew better. “I’m sorry, Miss.” He looked back at her. “I have two little sisters. I’ve been thinking about them a lot since—well, since I got to Purgatory. You sort of remind me of them.”
She didn’t say anything, but her soft, sweet mouth smiled at him before she turned away.
Brett dropped to the narrow bunk and dug into the best meal he’d had since he left home.
~*~
The sheriff’s snores from the cot in the other cell kept Brett awake most of the night. He lay staring at the ceiling early the next morning when the girl returned with their breakfast. The sheriff strolled out of his cell to meet her. His face lit up and his eyes took on the nearest thing Brett had seen in them to an expression of warmth. The man must love his young niece very much.
“Did you miss me last night, honey?” Sheriff Burns put a heavy arm around the girl and pulled her close.
Her small body stiffened, and a look of loathing flashed across her beautiful face. She must not feel the same love for her uncle. Then she smiled and stretched up to kiss the big man’s unshaven cheek. “I know your duty comes first, Uncle.” She shrugged away from him. “I got along fine by myself.”
She set a plate of bacon, eggs, and biscuits on the desk before carrying the second plate to Brett. “Thank you, Miss.”
She smiled at him.
Her uncle looked up. “Connie, honey, don’t stand too close. That man may look harmless, but he’s a cold-blooded killer.”
Connie turned on her heel and walked away. “I’ll come get the basket later.” She let herself out.
Brett sat down on his cot to eat. He’d thought the sheriff’s wife cooked the meals and sent them over with the girl, but from what they’d said, the two of them must live alone. “Your niece is an excellent cook.”
The sheriff grunted. “Me and my wife took her in a few years back. Rose passed on a couple months ago. I’m all Connie’s got now.”
“She’s an orphan then.”
The sheriff’s head snapped up, and he glared at Brett. “Connie ain’t no business of yours. Your trial will be held this mornin’ and tomorrow you’ll hang. Now, shut up and eat yer breakfast.”
Brett ate slowly, savoring every bite of the delicious food. His stomach had settled down to only minor queasiness, a reaction to his predicament rather than any sickness. He knew the deputy thought he was innocent. Surely, other people had seen the bank robbers. They would know he wasn’t with them. When the judge heard the evidence, or lack of evidence, he’d set Brett free.
The deputy showed up at the jail mid-morning empty handed. “We was on their trail when it just disappeared. You know Haskell’s the best tracker around, but he never did get sight of them outlaws again.”
Sheriff Burns frowned, but didn’t say much. He stood and buttoned his vest over his bulging stomach. With a nod toward the cell, he said, “You stay and guard the prisoner. I’ll be back shortly.”
As soon as the door closed behind the sheriff, Deems sauntered over to the cell. He leaned against the wall and looked at Brett with a smirk on his face. “You wasn’t anywhere near that bank yesterday, was you?”
Brett sprang to his feet as hope surged through his heart. Here was the ally he needed. He clutched the bars with both hands. “No, like I already said, I was camping out near where you found me. I’m innocent.”
Deem’s pale blue eyes took on a sinister gleam as his smirk deepened. “Reckon you picked the wrong place ta be innocent. You’ll hang anyways.” He gave a short laugh and turned away. A few steps took him across the room to sit in the sheriff’s chair and hike his feet up on the desk. He hooked his fingers together behind his head and leaned back. “See, it’s this a-way, Norris. ’Round here, Sheriff Burns pretty well runs things. If you wanna stay alive in Purgatory, you gotta make friends with the sheriff.”
Brett sank back to his bunk. The deputy would be no help.
Footsteps on the boardwalk outside brought the deputy’s feet off the desk and out of the chair before Brett realized what was happening. Sheriff Burns opened the door and stepped inside. “Sure wish you’d found those other three, Deems, but never mind that now. We got us a trial lined up down at the saloon. Let’s get the prisoner there before the place is mobbed.”
Though it was the largest bui
lding in town, the saloon soon filled to standing room only with noisy men. Some came out of curiosity, and a few wanted to see justice done. All were there for the entertainment.
Brett scanned the crowd but didn’t see anyone that looked like a judge.
“Got the gallows checked out for you, Sheriff,” a man in the corner called out. “The trap door works just dandy.”
Brett looked toward the man as another voice called out with a laugh, “He ain’t the sheriff now, Shorty. He’s the judge.”
“The judge!” Brett’s heart plummeted. “How can he be the judge?”
Deputy Deems stood close to Brett. He shrugged. “I told ya it’s best ta be friends with the sheriff. He’s our Justice of the Peace. He acts as judge, too, since we ain’t got none.”
Deems led Brett to a chair, and he crumpled into it. What chance did he have of being acquitted? Sheriff Burns had talked of nothing but hanging him since he took him into custody.
The trial passed in a haze. While the judge pared his fingernails, several men testified they’d seen Brett in Blue’s Café along with the bank robbers, but they hadn’t seen him with them the morning of the robbery and killing.
Whether they’d seen him that morning or not didn’t seem to matter. When Burns excused the last witness and the farce of a trial had ended, he stood and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “As judge of this here county, I pronounce this here man, Brett Norris, guilty of the murder of Clyde Bruce. And a second count of armed bank robbery.”
“Reckon the sentence ain’t hard to figger out.” Judge Burns cast a smirk toward Brett. “We’re gonna have us a hangin’ tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. Ya all be sure and be there.”
Brett sat in a daze of disbelief while a buzz of voices filled the saloon. “Drinks on the house.” Someone called out.
“Better get you outta here afore this celebration gets out of hand. Wouldn’t want the hangin’ done early.” Sheriff Burns pulled Brett to his feet and dragged him toward the door.
Brett forced his feet to move. With the sheriff on one side and Deems on the other, he walked down the street to the jail with every bit of dignity he’d inherited from his Norris ancestry.
Connie and the Cowboy (Outlaw Gold) Page 3