Weathered Too Young

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Samson Kane reached beneath the table, taking hold of Lizzy’s arm.

  “Come on, now, girl,” he said as he struggled to remove the sobbing child from her mother’s embrace. “Come on now. Let’s me and you wait for Marshal Evans to ride on back to the house.”

  Katherine, however, held tightly to Lizzy.

  Lark gasped as Samson Kane pressed the blade of his large knife to Lizzy’s throat.

  “Give her over to me, woman,” he told Katherine. “Unless you wanna see her carved up right before yer eyes…you give her over to me. I won’t hurt her. I don’t mean to harm children. I just don’t want the marshal’s woman tryin’ anything stupid. And I figure if the little one is waitin’ with me…she won’t.”

  Lizzy sobbed as her mother released her—as Samson Kane picked her up with one arm and carried her with him as he stepped back from the table.

  “We’ll just wait here,” he said. “It won’t take the marshal long to kill ol’ Chet and bring that boy back. Let’s all just sit here and wait for him.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Lark said.

  Samson Kane chuckled. “Naw. Maybe in the past, but not now…not with lovin’ a woman. Women weaken men, distract ’em, get ’em killed. This time Marshal Evans is gonna find his guts spillin’ out on the ground before he even knows what hit him.” He smiled and winked at Lark. “And you got yerself to thank for that.”

  Lark brushed the tears from her cheeks. Was Samson Kane right? Would the fact that Slater loved Lark weaken him somehow? No! No, she wouldn’t believe it. Love made people stronger—not weaker. Slater would return, and when he did, it would be Samson Kane who would die.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Slater growled as he felt the bullet whiz past his head.

  “He’s in that cluster of rocks yonder,” Slater shouted to Tom. “Get around behind him.”

  “No,” Tom shouted. “I’ll draw his fire. You get to his back. You’re a better shot than me.”

  “Tom!” Slater called. It was too late, however. Tom spurred his horse to a faster gallop. Drawing his pistol in favor of his rifle, he squeezed off several rounds toward the cluster of rocks ahead of them.

  “Aim high. You don’t want to hit Johnny by mistake,” Slater growled.

  Gritting his teeth, Slater reined Smokey to run in opposition to Tom’s horse. Either he or Tom would take a bullet—he was near sure of it. Chet was a good shot and had a perfect defensive position. Still, if Chet was shooting at Slater or Tom, he couldn’t be holding a gun to Johnny.

  Slater felt the bullet graze his arm, but he didn’t flinch. Tom fired over the rocks, and Slater rounded the cluster of large boulders. He saw them—Johnny and Chet. Johnny was tied up and sitting on the ground nearby.

  Slater pulled Smokey to a hard halt and dismounted.

  “I’ll shoot the boy!” Chet hollered, leveling his rifle at Slater.

  “Samson Kane’s usin’ you for a fool, Chet Leigh,” Slater growled, striding toward them.

  “You stay there, boss,” Chet growled, taking aim.

  “He wants me to kill you…else he wouldn’t have sent you out to do such a thing as takin’ this boy,” Slater said, though he did stop in his tracks.

  “You made a fool of me, Slater Evans!” Chet shouted. “You made a fool of me. And after you sent me off…I run into Samson Kane. He and me robbed a stage…and I shot a man. You did that to me, Slater Evans.”

  “You did that yerself, Chet…and you know it,” Slater said. “Now put that gun down, and let the boy go. Don’t make me shoot you.”

  Tom rode up behind Chet then, reined in, and dismounted. Chet glanced behind him.

  “Now, Tom…don’t you go doin’ nothin’ here,” Chet warned. Chet leveled the rifle at Johnny.

  “Chet Leigh,” Tom began, “now…you ain’t no child murderer, boy. You ain’t. Don’t let this outlaw turn you into one.”

  Chet was nervous—hesitant. Maybe he’d killed a man in robbing a stage, but killing a child was different. He knew Chet didn’t want to hurt Johnny. Oh, he’d kill Slater if given half a chance maybe, but that was different than killing a boy.

  “Don’t you point that rifle at that boy!” Slater growled. “You point that rifle at me…if yer man enough to do it.”

  Chet’s temper was piqued, and he leveled the rifle at Slater.

  “I’d kill you, Slater Evans,” Chet growled. “But that ain’t the plan now, is it?”

  Slater felt his eyes narrow. “What’re you talkin’ about, Chet?” Still, Slater’s instincts leapt with sudden understanding. “Where’s Kane?” he asked. It was a trap—sure enough it was. Yet in that moment, Slater realized that Chet luring Slater and Tom away with Johnny for bait wasn’t so Samson and Chet could ambush them. It was so they’d be away from the house—so that the women and children would only have two men guarding them instead of the five there had been before Ralston had been shot and Slater and Tom had gone for Johnny.

  Panic the like he’d never known gripped Marshal William S. Evans. Lark! Samson Kane was out for revenge. What better way to hurt a man than to hurt the woman he loved? Losing Lark—it would be worse than death. Slater would rather die than see her harmed.

  “I said, where’s Samson Kane?” Slater shouted.

  Chet smiled, chuckled, and said, “Where do you think he is, marshal?”

  “He’s back at the house,” Tom said.

  Slater inhaled a deep breath. Fear was fast overtaking him, and he had to fight it. He had to think clearly.

  “Is that true?” Slater asked.

  Chet chuckled. “That girl’s gonna pay for what you done to me,” he said. “And so are you.”

  As Chet leveled his rifle—as he took aim at Slater—Slater said, “If that’s true, Chet Leigh…then I don’t have time to deal with the murderin’ likes of you.”

  An instant later, a shot rang out.

  Slater spun his pistol and shoved it in the holster at his thigh as Chet Leigh crumpled to the ground—a bullet hole between his eyes.

  Tom shook his head as he lowered his rifle and strode to Johnny.

  “Ain’t one to waste words, are ya, brother?” he asked as he hunkered down to untie his nephew.

  “Nope,” Slater said. He turned and mounted Smokey. “You all right, Johnny?” he asked.

  Johnny nodded, obviously ashamed of having enabled Chet Leigh to help Samson Kane with his vengeful plans.

  “You’re gonna have to walk back then,” Slater said. “I need Tom right at my heels.”

  “Yes, sir,” Johnny said.

  Slater didn’t wait for Tom to finish untying Johnny. He didn’t wait to draw even one more breath.

  “Smoke!” he growled, spurring his horse into a gallop toward home.

  Terrifying thoughts ricocheted in Slater’s mind as he rode. What would Samson Kane do to Lark—to Katherine and the children? He couldn’t let his experience with outlaws devour his mind now. He had to get back; he had to end the nightmare.

  Slater ground his teeth as he rode. His heart was hammering hard—felt like it had leapt into his throat somehow. He’d never told Lark he loved her—never actually spoken the words anyway. In the barn, he’d confessed having fallen for her, but he’d never breathed the three words a woman needed to hear from the man she loved—the three words a man needed to speak to the woman he loved. What if he died fighting Samson Kane, never having told her that he loved her? Why hadn’t he just said it to her the day before, even that morning? Slater Evans swore to himself that, if he made it through facing Samson Kane without dying, the first words out of his mouth to Lark would be…

  “I love you,” he growled as he rode.

  

  Lark stared at Lizzy, brushed the tears from her own cheeks, and tried to think. Slater would return for them; she knew he would. But he’d be returning to an ambush. How could she warn him? How could she get Lizzy out of Samson Kane’s vile grasp?

  She thought of Slater—of his kiss and powerful embra
ce. She thought of her mother—of her loving heart and sad end. So many things bounced about in Lark’s mind that she could hardly hold a single thought for more than a moment. And then—then it came to her. As she thought of her mother—of her mother’s photograph hidden in the trunk at the foot of her bed—she thought of something her mother had once told her.

  All outlaws have tender egos, her mother had said. They’d been talking of her father. It was a time long after her father was gone, and her mother had been explaining that one of the reasons he was captured was because someone had called him yellow—called him a coward for not having the guts to kill another lawman. It’s their weakness, she could hear her mother’s voice whispering in her mind. It’s their Achilles’ heel. Every outlaw meets his end because of his own arrogance and pride.

  “I see you for what you really are now, Mr. Kane,” Lark said. She was astonished in hearing the words coming from her own mouth. Yet she couldn’t allow Lizzy to linger in the monster’s grasp; she couldn’t allow Slater to return to an outlaw’s well-laid trap.

  “And what’s that?” Samson Kane chuckled.

  “A coward.”

  Samson Kane’s smile broadened. “You plannin’ on gettin’ my dander up so I’ll be distracted when yer lover comes ridin’ in?”

  Lark shook her head. “No. I’m just telling you the truth of what I see. What kind of outlaw hides behind children? I know my father never did. He never put me between himself and danger. He put me in danger maybe…but never between himself and danger the way you’re doing.”

  “Yer father?” Samson Kane asked.

  “Yes,” Lark said. “Eddie Dean Wakley…he was my father. Perhaps you knew him. He died in Yuma prison.”

  Samson Kane smiled and began to chuckle.

  “Yer Eddie Dean’s girl?” he asked. Lark’s stomach churned with nausea, for Samson Kane’s obvious delight in finding out her father was Eddie Dean Wakley seemed proof enough that the two outlaws had known each other. Samson Kane chuckled. “Why, I know’d Eddie Dean. I killed him for beatin’ me at a game of cards. He weren’t cheatin’ or nothin’…but it made me mighty angry. So I killed him. It weren’t no easy task neither. Eddie Dean Wakley was one tough ol’ hombre.”

  Lark tried not to allow her emotions to show in her expression. It bothered her to know her father, even for the bad outlaw he had been, had died over such a small thing as a game of cards. Furthermore, she loathed Samson Kane all the more for being the one who had killed him. Still, she remained, for all outward appearances, unmoved.

  “Well, whether you killed him or not, he was a better man than you…a better outlaw too,” Lark said. “My father would never have hidden behind a little girl.”

  Samson Kane chuckled, but his eyes narrowed.

  “You cause a lot of trouble for ol’ Marshal Evans,” he said. “Leastways, that’s what Chet Leigh said.”

  “Chet Leigh is a coward too,” Lark told him. “It’s no wonder the two of you partnered up—two cowards…hiding behind children.”

  Lizzy cried out as Samson Kane flung her aside to take hold of Lark by the throat.

  The stench of his breath nearly caused Lark to lose the contents of her stomach. She rather wished she would—rather liked the idea of vomiting on Samson Kane.

  “Now…don’t you go provokin’ me too far there, woman,” Samson Kane growled into her face. “It’ll hurt Slater Evans to see you layin’ on this floor with your throat slit…as much as it will to see me cut yer gullet while he’s watchin’ me do it. So even though I want to see his face when I kill you…I won’t wait to do it if you keep peckin’ at me like you’re doin’.

  “Now,” Samson Kane said, maneuvering Lark’s body until she sat with her back against his chest, his hand at her throat and his knife held at her bosom. “Let’s you and me get comfortable. It won’t take long for Marshal Evans to ride on back after he’s saved that fool boy’s skin.”

  “He’s in the house, boss,” Eldon whispered as Slater bent over him. “I-I think he near clean cut my arm off here.”

  Slater looked at the massive knife wound at Eldon’s shoulder. In truth, he wondered if the cowboy would survive the wound. Still, there was hope—more hope than there had been for Grady. Grady’s throat had been cut ear-to-ear.

  “I’m sorry, Eldon,” Slater whispered. “All this is comin’ down because of me.”

  “All this is comin’ down because there’s outlaws like Samson Kane, boss,” Eldon said. “Men like you…they’re the only reason we ain’t overrun with ’em.”

  Slater nodded, trying to believe what Eldon was saying.

  “I’m goin’ in through the window Johnny come out of,” he whispered to Tom. “You get ’round under the kitchen window and wait for me.”

  “He’s got a gun or a knife to somebody’s head, Slater. You know he does,” Tom whispered.

  “I know,” Slater said. “But in the end…he wants to kill me. He don’t wanna hurt one of them and risk gettin’ my temper riled.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Tom said.

  “Me too,” Slater whispered. He knew Samson Kane—at least he thought he did. Samson Kane might think about hurting Lark, Katherine, or the children in order to provoke Slater, but he’d think better of it, knowing anger would only make Slater stronger instead of rendering him debilitated.

  Quietly, Slater climbed in through the window of Johnny and Charlie’s room. He could hear voices—Samson Kane’s and Lark’s. Though he wanted nothing more than to bolt into the kitchen, shoot Samson Kane, and take Lark in his arms, he knew he had to be careful—to listen.

  “I could stab this boy and put him clean out of his misery,” Samson Kane said, taking his knife from Lark’s bosom and holding it over Ralston’s body. “He’s gonna die anyway…one way or the other. I might as well stick this blade through his heart and make it quick.”

  “No!” Katherine cried, hugging her children. “You let him be!”

  But Samson Kane chuckled, pressing the tip of the knife to Ralston’s shirt over his heart.

  As Samson Kane’s grip lessened at her throat, Lark didn’t pause but snatched the opportunity to quickly leap from his grasp.

  “Get back here, woman!” Samson Kane shouted, rising to his feet.

  Lark didn’t pause, however, and raced to the opposite side of the kitchen. Samson Kane made to follow her, but Katherine reached from under the table and took hold of his ankle, tripping him.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” the outlaw growled, pointing to Katherine with the long blade of his knife.

  Katherine’s intervention allowed Lark time to reach into one of the kitchen drawers, however—the drawer housing the kitchen knives. She picked up the largest knife in the drawer and turned to see Samson Kane striding toward her. The outlaw was furious, lumbering toward her and wielding his deadly blade. Inhaling a deep breath, Lark took hold of the blade of the knife she held, hurling it at the outlaw. Samson Kane hollered as the knife hit him square in the chest. It hadn’t killed him, but it surprised him, and he stumbled backward.

  “Why, you little…” Samson Kane mumbled as he reeled toward Lark.

  “Slater!” Lark cried as she saw Slater burst into the room, his rifle leveled at the outlaw.

  Samson Kane whirled around, simultaneously throwing his own knife. Though Slater had had his rifle leveled at the outlaw, he raised his arm to shield his body from the knife. Samson Kane’s blade buried itself into Slater’s forearm as Samson Kane drew his pistol. But before he could trigger his gun, however, Slater pulled the knife from his forearm, throwing it at the outlaw as Tom burst through the front door.

  The blade of Samson Kane’s deadly Arkansas toothpick buried itself into its owner’s chest next to the kitchen knife Lark had thrown—buried itself in Samson Kane’s heart.

  Samson Kane gasped—stumbled backward. As he lost his grip on the pistol, it clattered to the floor.

  “Marshal Evans,” Samson Kane breathed, pulling the knife from his
chest, “I ain’t goin’ back to Yuma prison.”

  As Samson Kane lunged, Slater drew his pistol, shooting the charging outlaw between the eyes as Tom leveled his rifle at his back.

  As Samson Kane fell dead to the floor, Slater spun his pistol back into the holster at his thigh.

  “You got that right, outlaw,” he said. “You sure enough got that right.”

  Lark stood frozen, unable to move. Lizzy and Charlie scrambled from beneath the table and into Tom’s arms. Katherine too left the safety of the table, gasping and sobbing as Eldon Pickering stumbled into the room then.

  Lark remained stunned by what had transpired—stunned by the amount of blood on Eldon, Ralston, and Slater.

  Slater was there then—there and holding her in his arms.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her ear. “I love you, Lark.”

  Lark burst into tears of residual terror, of relief, of unmeasured joy.

  “I love you,” she cried as he took her face in his hands.

  He kissed her—kissed her hard and passionately. The warm moisture of his mouth served to revive her—to breathe hope and wonderment into her once more.

  “It’s all right, babies,” Lark heard Tom saying. “It’s all right.”

  “Where’s Johnny?” Katherine asked.

  Unwillingly, Lark allowed Slater to break the seal of their lips.

  His eyes never left hers, however, as he said, “He’s fine, Kate. Though I suppose one of us oughta go back and give him a ride home.”

  A thundering that had begun in the distance now moved closer. Eldon looked out the kitchen window.

  “Riders,” he said. “About five of ’em.”

  Lark’s heart leapt with returning fear for a moment until Eldon added, “They got badges, and Johnny’s ridin’ with one of ’em.”

  A moment later, five United States marshals stepped into the house, guns drawn.

  The lead marshal looked to the dead outlaw on the floor. “Would that be Samson Kane then?” he asked.