Atonement

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  Big Jim held up a hand. “Stay back,” he warned, looking to the hands for help. None came.

  “You think your money gives you power, Jim, but you’re wrong. It’s fear that gives power.”

  Charlie grabbed the rancher and dragged him back toward the cliff. He took Big Jim by the collar and pushed him toward the edge. The heavy man struggled, his weight acting as an anchor, but Charlie would not be denied. He grunted and thrust the rancher closer to the precipice.

  Big Jim glanced at the bottom. Sweat dripped down his large face, which was trembling.

  “Don’t do this,” he protested. “I’ve given you everything.”

  “I appreciate that,” Charlie said. “I really do. But why should I settle for what you can give me when I can take it all for myself?”

  With one final burst of strength, Charlie hurled Big Jim from the cliff. The rancher plummeted from the mountaintop. He died with a scream on his lips.

  Charlie watched him fall before looking out over the town once more. Quinn knew what he was thinking. The townspeople had crossed him, and for that there would be consequences. It was time for a reckoning.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Christian awoke with a start. He felt woozy, as if all the blood was rushing from his head. He leaned forward to steady himself. His fingers grazed the soft blanket covering the cot. Blinding light streamed in around him from the room’s solitary window. He shielded his eyes with a hand and waited for his vision to adjust to the light. As the world slid into place, the form of a woman sitting in a chair next to him became clearer.

  “Where am I?” he said, trying to discern the somewhat blurred image.

  “You’re at Doc’s, of course,” said May Turner.

  Christian’s chuckle hurt his chest. “For a second there, I thought I had passed on.”

  May shook her head. “Not yet, I’m afraid,” she said warmly.

  There was a bucket of water and a washcloth at her feet. Christian looked down at his clothes. He was wearing a clean white cotton shirt and flannel pants. Someone had changed him and cleaned him up. He lowered the blanket and lifted his shirt. His wound had been cleaned and bandaged.

  His smile faded. The last thing he remembered was being stabbed atop the mountain. By all rights, he should be dead.

  “How did I get here?” he asked.

  “It was Finley,” May replied. “Everyone else gave you up for dead, but not him. He snuck up the mountain after dark by his lonesome. Imagine everyone’s surprise when he came riding into town with you in the saddle. I’ve never heard of anything so brave in all my life.”

  Christian didn’t reply. He was overcome with emotion. Finley shouldn’t have stood a chance against any of Charlie Sheldon’s men. Surely he must have known he could have been climbing to his death. And despite that, he went anyway. Christian’s eyes stung. There were no words for that kind of loyalty.

  “I’m glad he did,” May added. She touched his hand. “You saved my life a second time, Mr. Emerson.”

  Christian looked into her somber eyes, which were full of expectation. He squeezed her hand softly.

  “What you want,” Christian said, “I cannot give you.” He released his grip from her hand, which fell limply to her side.

  May’s face fell. “You can’t mean that,” the young woman said.

  Christian shook his head. He thought of Emily, whom he would never stop waiting for. “I do, Miss Turner. My heart belongs to another woman.”

  Before she could speak, the door opened, and Finley walked in, along with Doc Brooks and Morgan.

  Finley took one look at Christian and broke into a wide grin. “You’re up,” he said.

  “Thanks to you, from what I hear. I am in your debt.”

  “You’ve already saved all of us more times than we can count,” Finley said. His eyes found May. “That’s a debt that can’t be repaid, Mr. Emerson.”

  Christian almost laughed. Instead of the buzzards picking at his body, he was surrounded by friends who cared for him. A few months ago, the idea would have sounded absurd. Life truly was a funny thing. He swung his legs around and set his feet against the floor. He cringed at his soreness.

  “You have endured a great deal,” Doc Brooks said. “You must give yourself time to heal.”

  Time was a luxury he doubted he could afford. “How many days have passed since I gave myself up?”

  “You’ve been in and out of sleep for almost three days.”

  Christian looked at the window toward the mountains. “And Charlie?”

  Morgan followed his gaze. “He hasn’t showed his face in town since he took you prisoner. There was a large fire on the mountaintop the night before last. Word has it that Big Jim is dead.”

  “Dead?” Christian blurted out. “How?”

  Morgan shook his head. “I heard tell Charlie did it himself.”

  Christian considered the words. His warning to Big Jim appeared prophetic.

  “Charlie sent some riders to look for you,” Finley added. “We hid you in the cellar under the school.” His expression darkened. “When they couldn’t find you, the men went around torching entire farms trying to shake you loose.”

  “They burned the ranch,” Morgan said. The farmer tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but Christian knew how much the land meant to him. He remembered watching Morgan stare out over the farm from the hilltop graveyard. All the years of work from family members long gone―all the memories―destroyed.

  Christian felt a surge of anger course through him. Charlie had taken enough from Casper. It was time to put an end to all the death and suffering. He pushed himself forward and tried to stand.

  Doc Brooks’ eyes lit up with concern. “You shouldn’t be walking,” the physician protested. “You need to rest.”

  “I’ve rested long enough,” Christian said. He stood for a few seconds before his legs went wobbly and he fell back against the bed. “But first, maybe I need something to eat.”

  “I’ll go round something up,” Doc Brooks said.

  “I figure I’ll stay here and keep you company for a time,” Morgan said. “It’ll be awhile yet before Rebecca starts wondering where I am.”

  Finley turned to May. “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private.”

  The young woman arched her brow and then nodded. She rose from the chair and stepped outside the room. Before Finley could leave, Christian stopped him.

  “Finley? I reckon you should start calling me Christian. It has been a long time since I’ve had a true friend. Every man should be so fortunate.”

  Finley nodded and left happily. The two men watched him go, then Christian turned his gaze to Morgan.

  “How are you holding up?”

  His boss snorted and took the chair across from him. “Better than you, from the look of things,” he said gruffly. “Though my shoulder is giving me a hard time.”

  “I’m sorry about the farm.”

  Morgan shrugged. “The farm is just a farm. It can be rebuilt. Rebecca is safe, and that’s what matters.”

  “I reckon so.”

  Morgan glanced toward a dresser in the corner of the room. “There are some clothes in there for you. These should be more your size. Your guns are in there too.”

  “And my horse?”

  “Finley’s been taking care of him, of course.” Morgan stared at Christian for a moment until his expression changed into a smile. “Looks like you never got around to leaving, boy.”

  “No sir,” Christian said.

  “I’m glad of it,” Morgan said. He paused. “When Abel died, I prayed that God would send someone to save this town. I never imagined he would send a man like you.”

  Christian bit his lip. “For the longest time, all I knew was life on the trail. I l
ost myself running, never knowing what the next day would bring. Being here . . . I’ve started to remember who I really am. And I have you in part to thank for reminding me.”

  Morgan stared at him with an unflinching gaze. “I figure I’ll never know all there is to you, but I know what kind of man you are. It’s the kind of man my sons were.”

  Doc Brooks appeared at the door with a plateful of sausages, eggs, and toast. The conversation became lighter in nature. The three men spoke of life on the range and tales of the past, with talk of Charlie Sheldon and the Black Bandanas abandoned for the moment.

  * * * * *

  Outside the store, Finley and May treaded lightly over the walkway. Neither met the other’s eyes. The two walked in silence for a few moments before Finley finally spoke.

  “It’s a nice day,” he offered weakly.

  May watched him with a penetrating gaze.

  Finley cleared his throat and looked her in the eyes. “May, I don’t know any other way to say this, so I’ll say it plain. I love you. I think I always have. I know I’m not rich, but I plan on making something of myself one day.”

  Surprise and expectation danced simultaneously in her eyes. Finley wished there was a way to know what she was thinking.

  “I don’t know what to say, Finley.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “At least not right now. I just wish I’d had the courage to say something before.”

  May laughed. “Finley Mason, you have more courage than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Not about this,” he said. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long. When I went up that mountain, and I didn’t know if I’d make it back down, I made up my mind that if I returned I would tell you that I aim to win your hand.”

  May’s smile faded. “I’ve had a great deal of sadness in my life, Finley.”

  The young man nodded. “Maybe it’s time for a little happiness.” He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. Finley leaned in toward her, inching closer to her face.

  A gunshot echoed through the town. Finley dropped May’s hand and looked up with a startled expression.

  “What’s happening?” May asked. There was fear in her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” Finley answered. “But I’m about to find out.”

  He ran down the street toward the heart of town and glanced back at her one last time before leaving her standing there under the shade of the walkway.

  Four rustlers were strutting around on their horses outside the courthouse. A crowd looked on, fear and deference mingled on their faces. One of the ruffians discharged his pistol into the air, scanning the crowd intently. Russell Hale stood on the steps of the courthouse, clutching one of the pillars for support.

  “We gave you three days,” Kane Pennington yelled. His horse kicked up a cloud of dust behind it. The rustler pointed his weapon out at the crowd, brandishing the revolver like a whip. “Where is he?”

  The crowd fell silent. “Someone knows where he is,” Kane shouted. His gaze darkened. “This is your last chance to save yourselves,” he added.

  Aside from the howl of the wind, there was no sound in the street. “Suit yourselves,” he muttered.

  “Tomorrow, we’re riding back here in full force. Unless Emerson shows his face, we will tear this town apart until we find him.” He turned to the other riders. “Come on, boys.” Kane spurred his horse, and he and the rustlers raced toward the mountain.

  A murmur spread through the crowd. Then, someone’s eyes looked to the mayor.

  “You did this,” a man said. “It’s your fault.”

  Russell Hale took a few steps back.

  “He could have stopped them,” a woman shouted. “He was working with them.”

  “Stop,” Russell tried to say, but the crowd drowned him out. They advanced on him with angry shouts.

  “Don’t do this,” Sheriff Newton shouted. He attempted to reach the mayor and put himself between Russell and the crowd, but the mob pushed the sheriff out of the way, and he landed on his rear in the dirt.

  As the crowd encircled him, Russell found himself cut off from the safety of the courthouse doors behind him. There was no way out.

  Finley watched from the outskirts of the mob, conflicted. He too held Russell partially responsible for the events that had befallen the town. He remembered Russell’s betrayal of Christian and considered leaving the mayor to his fate.

  A fist struck the mayor in the face. Russell staggered backward but remained standing. A second fist caught him in the stomach. He doubled over in pain.

  “Please,” he pleaded.

  Finley spotted May watching in horror. He knew that he couldn’t let the crowd beat Russell Hale to death.

  “Stop!” he shouted while trying to push his way to the front. He grabbed one of the attackers and struggled to push him away. To Finley’s surprise, a blow struck him from behind. He sank to his knees and reached for Russell from the ground as a sea of hands closed in around them.

  A gunshot rang above the roar of the crowd.

  “Enough,” said a loud voice behind them.

  Christian stood in the dirt only a short distance away. His white cotton shirt flapped about in the wind. He held a pistol pointed toward the sky.

  The crowd went quiet, and every eye found itself drawn to the man standing before them. Christian wavered in the wind, and for a moment Finley thought his friend would lose his balance. Christian moved with great deliberation, and it was plain to see he was still in pain.

  “Do not let this man make you into murderers,” Christian said. He looked at the man who was holding Russell by the collar in one hand, with a fist inches from the mayor’s face.

  Christian’s eyes blazed with an inner fire. “Let him go,” he said softly to the angry man.

  The man gritted his teeth and stared at Russell. “You’re not even worth it,” he muttered. The man released his grip, and Russell fell against the stairs.

  “They aren’t after him,” Christian said. “They’re after me.”

  “You can’t give yourself up,” a voice rang out. It was Rudolph Griffith.

  “I don’t plan to,” Christian said. “I plan to stay and fight.”

  * * * * *

  Everyone was doing his best to avoid Charlie—everyone except Quinn Blackwell.

  “Well?” Charlie demanded when Quinn found him in the den, drinking a glass of whiskey in Big Jim’s easy chair.

  Quinn shook his head. “Still no word.”

  Charlie hurled his glass across the room. It shattered against the wall. He stood and paced the room. “They’ll regret protecting him. Are the men ready?”

  “They will be by tomorrow,” Quinn assured him.

  “Good,” the boss replied.

  After disposing of Big Jim, Charlie had seized control of the ranch. He had taken to sleeping in Big Jim’s master bedroom and treated the house as his own. Initially, there were a few employees opposed to the transition. Charlie shot them dead, which quickly put an end to any resistance. Over the last few days, he had killed a few more for good measure.

  Some feared Charlie was finally losing it, and Quinn suspected they might be right. The boss’ mood swings were becoming increasingly unpredictable. He had taken to snapping at any moment. He roamed the ranch like an overseer, looking down on the town below while he waited for a response to his ultimatum. When each day came with no word, Charlie grew more unhinged than before.

  “We’ll find him, boss,” Quinn said reassuringly. He laid a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Has anyone ever gotten away when you’ve had them in your sights?”

  Charlie grinned and shook his head. “I’m going to beat him to death with my own hands,” he said, holding his hands in front of his face.

  Quinn paused for
a moment and considered whether to speak.

  Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Is something bothering you, Quinn?”

  Now he had to say something. “After we finish with Emerson, what do you plan to do then?”

  The boss crossed the room and poured another drink. “I figure we’ll kill a few of the townspeople for good measure. Then we’ll come back here and live like kings.”

  Quinn frowned. Big Jim was well off by Casper’s standards, but most of his wealth was in his holdings and properties.

  “Are you sure, boss? Casper is a poor town, and we’ve almost milked it dry. We’ve already been here for months and taken what’s there to be taken.”

  “I like it here,” Charlie replied, “and I aim to stay.”

  This was madness. Eventually the marshals would come. Only Big Jim and Russell Hale had held them off this long. On Charlie’s orders, the rustlers had burned much of the harvest. There would be no bounty to reap. Dwelling in Casper was a waste of the gang’s potential. In Quinn’s eyes, it was the ultimate lack of ambition.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Quinn said, touching his hat. He left Charlie in the den and returned outside.

  “What did he say?” Lester asked when Quinn made his way back to the barracks. The Pennington brothers were there too. Brock slept in a bunk in the back of the room, oblivious to the world.

  “He wants to stay here after we’ve killed Emerson,” Quinn spat.

  “Charlie’s gone off his rocker,” Lester said.

  Heath looked to his brother. “I hate to say it, but I think Lester may be right. None of the men know who’s going to be next.”

  “This is dangerous talk,” Kane said darkly. “You saw what he did to Big Jim.” He looked to Quinn for support.

  Quinn had to keep himself from smiling. It was almost time for him to make his move. “You know Charlie and I go back further than anyone,” Quinn said, “but they’re right. He’s a danger to the gang. We shouldn’t be living off scraps when there’s a whole world out there ripe for the taking.”