Black Ransom (8 page)

Slowly, he shifted his body and turned to face Ehron Lee. At first his face was partially shadowed, but it soon came full into the fading light of day.

Ehron Lee's first glimpse of the man almost caused his breath to catch in his throat.

He had witnessed all manner of terrible sights during the war: mutilation, disfigurement. After a while, if only to maintain his sanity, he'd become immune to most. But the face looking at him now truly chilled him.

It didn't even resemble a face, really, but rather, a ghastly mask.

The flesh was as white as a freshly laundered sheet. The only coloring evident was a long, brownish-red scar that stretched from the far corner of the right eye down to the upper lip. The eye drooped, veered outward, and had a twitch, suggesting that it had just escaped being permanently put out. A black bowler rested atop the head, under which long white hair, almost translucent, flowed straight and stringy over the shoulders and halfway down the back.

Gradually the man sat himself upright, his short legs dangling over the side of his bunk. He didn't say anything for a long while, just observed his new cell mate intently, boring into him with pale, lifeless eyes.

Ehron Lee tried not to appear ill at ease, and he kept shifting his eyes so they would not be drawn particularly to the disfiguring scar. The wound was deep and evidently had never properly healed. Perhaps because of the prominent scar and affected eye, the man's face seemed sort of lopsided.

His odd appearance made it difficult to determine his age: maybe late teens, early twenties. Whether he was, in fact, a younger man or if it was due to his strange condition, there was no suggestion of whiskers or facial hair; outside of the scar, his skin was smooth and shadowless.

Physically, he had a thin, weak build that suggested he could be bested in any fight. Yet despite his apparent frailty, he exuded a malevolent presence.

Finally, one side of his mouth started to widen in a strange semblance of a smile. The injury to his upper lip had clearly caused some nerve damage as the other half of his mouth seemed almost immobile, making his attempt at a smile appear more cruel and cynical than friendly.

It was the same when he spoke. Only half the mouth moved, though his words were easily understood and came quickly. His voice held the trace of an accent that suggested he wasn't bred in the West.

“The name's Milo. Woodrow Milo. Don't bother shakin' hands. I don't like for people to touch me.”

That was fine with Ehron Lee. He had no intention of extending his hand.

“You can call me Woody,” he then added. “No need for formality where we are, huh?”

Before Ehron Lee could consider introducing himself, Woody began conversing, expressing himself in an odd manner.

“If I'da gone along with them others, you coulda had this room all to yourself,” he said. “Thought about it. Mighta done it, too, only I don't fancy bein' dead or missin' a meal. Ain't no fancy dinin', for sure, but best you're gonna get.” He asked eagerly, “Tell me, did yuh get supper?”

Ehron Lee got the impression he was being toyed with. If this Woody was wise to the prison routine, he'd know damn well he had arrived too late for the evening meal.

Ehron Lee just gave him a sullen look and shook his head “no” to the question. It was still difficult for him to talk, even if he was so inclined; his throat was so dry he felt as if he'd been swallowing sand.

Woody gave his head a vigorous nod. “Yeah, they'll do that to yuh. Keep yuh hungry at first, get yuh weak so's yuh can't put up no fuss.”

Ehron Lee stayed silent.

Woody got an impatient look to him, waiting for his cell mate to say something in return. The talk didn't come.

“Guess you ain't never seen no one like me before, huh?” Woody then said, almost boastfully. “Was born this way. Ain't so bad. 'Cause of it, I can't do no work outdoors. Gotta keep outta the sun.” He pointed a long, slender finger at Ehron Lee's sunburned face. “Yeah, I'd end up lookin' like you. Only worse. So's they keep me busy inside doin' cleanup and all. Rather be moppin' floors than bustin' rocks. No, it ain't so bad at all.”

Ehron Lee nodded absently. He was in no mood for conversation, and this guy was a talker.

Woody spoke rapidly. “Yeah, so's I was tellin' yuh 'bout them other guys, the ones that used to share this cell. Yeah, two of 'em are dead. Guards never even gave 'em a chance. Shot 'em like they was rabbits. The third guy, and the worst of the bunch 'cause he did this to me . . .” At that, Woody traced a finger straight down the length of his scar. “Yeah, well, the guards fired a coupla shots into him, hurt him pretty bad, though they coulda killed him just as easy. Wish they woulda. But they're settin' him as an example to the rest of us and they ain't gonna make it easy on him. Once he's patched up, they'll throw him into the punishment pit. If the pit don't kill him, he'll be comin' back. Name's Ward Crawford. Well, I don't like him and he don't like me. He's mean and he's trouble. Watch out for him when he gets out. Yeah, got him mad 'bout somethin' and he pulls out this blade and tries to cut off my face. Right here in this cell. Woulda done it, too, if the guards didn't hear my yellin' and get here in time. That got him his first stay in the pit. Was madder'n hell at me when he got out. Funny thing is, the guards told him some things 'bout me, stuff I'd done, and then he kinda backed off. We still hate each other, but we don't cause trouble with one another. Heh-heh, ain't to no one's benefit, don't yuh know. One of us will be dead and the other will wish he was. The superintendent don't condone no murder in his prison, 'less it's done by the guards. Can't say how he'll be with you, though. Crawford, I mean. When he gets in the mood, he's meaner than a rattlesnake. Y'know, venom and all.” He leaned forward conspiratorially on his bunk and spoke in a whisper, though with a wild gleam in his unaffected eye. “'Tween us, I ain't forgot what he done to me.”

It was rambling talk, though Ehron Lee's wandering attention halted abruptly at that last remark. Woody didn't have to elaborate; just the inflection in his voice and look in his eye made his intention clear, and Ehron Lee shivered inwardly with the realization that the deformed little prisoner was perfectly capable of carrying out his subtle threat. His first impression of his cell mate was accurate, with one disturbing addition: Woody Milo was likely insane.

Ehron Lee directed his focus away from Woody's distorted though intense gaze. That was when he noticed a bucket and ladle against the back wall.

“Drinkin' water,” Woody said, settling back on his bunk. “Help yourself.”

Ehron Lee was wary. There could be something else inside that bucket.

Woody took note of Ehron Lee's hesitance. “I ain't lyin' to yuh. Drink from the bucket myself. They fill it every morning.”

Ehron Lee couldn't afford to be doubtful; his thirst was overwhelming. And while it was an unappetizing thought to be sharing the same water as his cell mate, he walked over, lifted the ladle, and took a tentative sip. It was warm but tasted all right.

“Go ahead . . . just don't drink it all,” Woody said.

It was sage advice. Drinking too much too fast on an empty stomach could have unpleasant consequences. Ehron Lee drank slowly and just enough to satisfy him.

Woody said, “Might not always feed us, if'n we don't follow the rules, but each day we get a fresh bucket of water.” He halted, waiting for Ehron Lee to consume his second ladleful. Then he added slyly, “'Course I prefer to wash in it.”

He waited for Ehron Lee's reaction, which was immediate.

Ehron Lee spit out what he hadn't yet swallowed all over the floor. Woody's face took on a vacuous, almost uncomprehending expression, and then he started laughing, flopping back onto his bunk, pounding his hands and kicking his feet like a little kid who'd pulled a nasty prank as his laughter grew to a near-hysterical pitch.

Ehron Lee tensed, and impulsively, he started to move toward Woody, prepared to send a fist into his bleached, twisted face. But he managed to restrain himself. If he started any trouble, especially on his first day, that would be noted and could make things rough for him. He'd learned from Superintendent Watson during his orientation that prisoners were allowed visiting privileges—once a month, depending on behavior. Ehron Lee couldn't risk losing that. But it instantly became clear that he would need to call upon all his discipline to maintain self-control, which he feared wouldn't be easy with the brutal conditions of the prison and a lunatic for a cell mate.

He desperately needed that first visit to talk with Melinda, warn her about what her sister planned on doing, and hopefully convince her not to be swayed by any of her lies and accusations. As it was, it tormented him when he considered how much damage Abigail could cause in just those thirty days.

Ehron Lee settled back on his bunk and let himself calm down, trying to shut out Woody's crazed laughter from his ears. He gazed upward out the small side window with the bars deeply embedded in granite, and saw that dusk was settling.

These were only his first hours at Hell's Doorway, and already he wondered how he would survive the next five years.

And the type of man he'd become if he did.

FOUR

SHERIFF BUCK LEIGHTON
had kept a concerned eye on Melinda Burrows during the days she and her sister, Abigail, remained in town following the trial. It went beyond his official duties, but he felt he owed it to her as he had begun to look critically at the evidence surrounding Ehron Lee Burrows's conviction.

Sitting in the saloon courtroom that morning listening to Ehron Lee's lawyer, Addison Telborough, argue his client's case, Buck started to observe that there might be some truth to Ehron Lee's story. Afterward he'd met privately with the attorney to review the details of the case, and convinced there was sufficient reason to pursue the matter, he decided to do some follow-up work on his own.

One thing he felt he should do was have a talk with Melinda Burrows to tell her of his intentions, as well as find out more about the kind of man Ehron Lee was from the person who knew him best.

* * *

Late one morning Buck went to see her at the hotel to ask her to lunch. Curious over the sheriff's invitation, she agreed.

Buck noticed how she was still confused and distressed over all that had happened. He hoped to provide her with a few words of encouragement.

Buck was relieved to see that Abigail had gone out for a while. He wanted to speak to Melinda without interference. What he had to say, he knew distinctly Abigail would not appreciate.

Instead of chancing to run into Abigail by walking along the streets to one of the town restaurants, Buck suggested the hotel coffee shop, which was fine with Melinda. They took a table not far from the big curtained window that overlooked the main street, the early afternoon sunshine spilling through the light fabric into the dining room, providing a welcoming bright touch to their conversation.

Both took a perfunctory look at the menu, but neither felt much like eating. Instead Buck drank strong coffee while Melinda sipped on a cup of tea.

The sheriff immediately got to the point.

“Think you understand I can't be makin' you no guarantees, Mrs. Burrows,” he said. “A lot of time has passed and no tellin' where those men are now. It's a sure bet they're outta the territory. But I've notified other counties nearby askin' that they keep alert to any pair of strangers who might be passin' through. Reckon the biggest problem we got is that we don't have a good description of them two. None from that store they're said to have robbed in Shalett, nor from Elmer Bryant's boys. And, of course, your husband couldn't offer me nothin', outside of the fact that one of 'em was wearin' buckskins, and that ain't no definite identification. Like I said, no one got a clean enough look at 'em.”

Melinda spoke quietly but hopefully. “But
you
, Sheriff,
you
believe Ehron Lee is innocent?”

Buck sighed. He reached for his coffee cup and held it to his lips. He had formed an opinion but decided it best to maintain professional objectivity.

“Really ain't for me to say,” he said carefully. “Court found him guilty, but the judge himself showed he had reservations. And with the lack of hard evidence presented at the trial, plus a conversation I had with Mr. Telborough, I surely do feel there's sufficient room for doubt.”

He refrained from adding another pertinent point: that no innocent man should be subjected to the tortures at Rockmound Prison.

Buck edged away from the topic.

“If you don't mind my askin', what are your plans?” he gently asked her.

“Thought I'd stay around town for a week or so; then, if my request is approved, I'll take the stage up to Allensfield. From there it's only a half-day ride to . . .” Melinda's voice trailed off.

Buck understood and waited patiently for her to continue.

Melinda smiled a trifle self-consciously and went on. “Mr. Telborough explained what has to be done. As it looks, I probably will only be making the one visit—least for a while, 'til after the baby comes.” She smiled wanly. “Won't be in no condition to be doin' much traveling. Not right away.”

Buck acknowledged her comment with a nod.

There was something else the sheriff felt he should say, but he was unsure if he should voice it, as it really was none of his affair. He debated momentarily before deciding to proceed.

“Mrs. Burrows—” he started to say.

“Please, Sheriff,” the girl interjected with a pleasant parting of her lips. “I'd like it if you would call me Melinda.”

Buck's craggy face likewise softened in a smile.

“Melinda.” He paused for a moment, trying to figure on the best way to broach the subject. It was a sensitive matter.

Finally he just spoke his piece. “Mrs.—I mean Melinda, your sister said some pretty strong things ag'in your husband. She made it plain she ain't feelin' too kindly toward him.”

Melinda lowered her eyes and placed both hands delicately around her teacup.

Buck spoke quickly. “If you'd rather for me not to be bringin' this up . . .”

Melinda drew a breath, then she sighed. She didn't directly answer his question. Instead she spoke her own words.

“Abigail . . . she's always cared for me. Protected me. Ever since we were children. After our folks died, it was Abigail who raised me. You see, there's quite a big difference in our age. She was already a teenager when I was born. So she took on that responsibility even though she really didn't have to. There were relatives who could have taken me in, but Abigail made the decision to look after me herself. She took care of me even after she married Winston.” She paused to take a breath. “I know she's said some hurtful things, but—she's dealing with her own loss. She and Winston didn't always get along . . . she sometimes spoke harsh words toward him, but I know in her own way she loved him. This hasn't been easy on her, any more than it's been for me.”

Buck scratched the back of his neck as he tentatively pushed on. “From what I've heard—and again, stop me if it ain't none of my business—she wants to take you away. Reckon under the circumstances she . . . might be wantin' you to leave your husband.”

Melinda's lips pursed and her color started to redden. As Buck expected, the conversation was becoming difficult for her.

Melinda held herself back from expressing her displeasure at what the sheriff was saying. She didn't see how this should in any way concern him—or how especially it would be of any assistance in his trying to help her husband.

Buck took note of her troubled expression and hastened to clarify. “Reckon what I'm sayin' is now's the time your husband is gonna be needin' you. Rockmound is a tough place. I'll do whatever I can to set this right, if Ehron Lee is truly innocent. But he'll be needin' to know you're there for him, too.”

Melinda felt a little easier. The sheriff had made clear his point, and Melinda now could both understand and appreciate his concern.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said mildly.

He was relieved. “And why don't you make that Buck?” he told her.

“Buck?”

“Shortened from Buckley,” Buck explained. “Think you can understand why I prefer Buck.”

Melinda smiled at his remark and nodded.

She took a liking to the sheriff. Like her husband, he was a good man. She sensed that he had a genuine interest and wanted to help. She didn't question his reasons, saw nothing peculiar or suspicious in them, other than his wanting to set things right.

Buck encouraged Melinda to tell him everything she could about her husband, and in her telling, he detected nothing in Ehron Lee's character to suggest that he was a dishonest man. That was an opinion he himself had formed based on his own time spent with the man. It was his conclusion that Ehron Lee had been the victim of a series of unfortunate circumstances. But for which he—and his wife—were paying a terrible price.

Melinda deserved her husband back . . . and the baby she was carrying needed a father.

* * *

Three days later Buck received a message from the sheriff in Terrell County. Two men, one said to be clad in buckskins, had attempted to rob the general store. Buck's initial optimism faded once he learned that both men had been shot dead in the ensuing gunfight with the town law. Equally discouraging was the fact that the horses the two men had been riding were blue roans, not sorrels, which indicated that if they were the pair guilty of the crime for which Ehron Lee had been convicted, they may, prior to their failed robbery attempt, once again have traded off or stolen their mounts. Finally, they weren't carrying the saddlebag in which Ehron Lee's strongest proof of innocence—his bill of sale—might have been found. Buck conjectured that those probably had been discarded along some back trail, if not altogether destroyed to further cover the outlaws' tracks.

With the pair riddled with bullets, their corpses now laid out in the undertaking parlor, and buckskin clothing the only link to verify Ehron Lee's story—hardly compelling evidence—Buck knew he'd met defeat with his most promising lead.

Buck sat at his desk looking at the report for a long while before finally giving in to his frustration and crumpling the paper into a ball and tossing it aside.

Another bit of potential good luck had fallen by the wayside when Buck learned that Elmer Bryant had finally regained consciousness after his beating. Buck had ridden to the old man's place to find out if he could describe the two men who had attacked him, hoping that there might be enough discrepancy in his description to further remove the stain of guilt from Ehron Lee and Winston Maguire. But while Elmer had survived his injuries, Buck quickly discovered that the old man was not right in the head and retained no memory of what had happened to him.

There remained only one faint hope to free Ehron Lee, and that was in locating Albert Patterson, the man from whom Ehron Lee claimed to have purchased the land.

But with no lead to go on, with the likelihood of Patterson being virtually anywhere in the country, Buck could not see that effort bringing him or Ehron Lee much luck.

With a heavy heart he knew he had to break this news to Melinda. He held himself responsible because he had encouraged her to hold out some measure of hope. Now it looked almost certain that all hope had run out.

He returned to the hotel, where, to his surprise, he found Melinda and Abigail packing, not for Allensfield, but for their trip back to Brackett and the farm. He couldn't have known that earlier Melinda had argued with her sister that she wanted to see her husband before she headed back home, have at least that one visit with him, but Abigail was adamant that she return with her, her reasoning being that with Melinda expecting her baby, she'd need Abigail to care for her—and Abigail made it clear that she herself had no intention of visiting a prison. She added with perhaps exaggerated emotion that she was having enough trouble dealing with the memories of all that had happened. However, to pacify her sister, Abigail said that after the baby was born and Melinda was strong enough, then she could think about visiting her husband. Abigail sweetened her compromise by offering to look after the baby at that time.

Abigail, as usual, was firm in her decision and soon had Melinda convinced that what she was saying was for the best—though Melinda insisted she had to at least write to Ehron Lee to explain the situation so that he would understand the reason for her not coming and not worry. Abigail assured her that Ehron Lee would understand . . . and she even offered to post the letter for her.

Being the naïve, trusting girl that she was, the type of person she had grown up to be, Melinda accepted and appreciated her sister's offer. She stayed up a good part of the night composing exactly what she wanted to tell her husband—expressing in tender words her assurances and especially her love and belief in him.

After the letter was written, Melinda sealed it in an envelope and handed it to Abigail.

Of course, her sister had no intention of seeing the letter reach its destination. Much later, when Abigail was alone, she secretly opened the envelope, read the letter with disgust, and destroyed it. She was satisfied that Melinda would never learn of her subterfuge. After all, she reasoned, no one could really be sure of what happened to letters delivered to a distant and forbidding prison like Rockmound.

When Buck Leighton entered the hotel room later that day, Abigail greeted him coolly with a curt “Sheriff” before ignoring his presence entirely. Melinda looked timid and slightly ashamed. She knew what he would be thinking after their conversation of the other day. Buck did give her a knowing look, but he refrained from commenting. It wasn't his place. Yet his gut feeling told him that once Melinda left town with her sister, Abigail would exercise her considerable influence over the girl and Melinda would not be making
any
trips to Rockmound to visit her husband. With that knowledge, he felt there was no point in sharing with her the discouraging news he had received from the sheriff in Terrell County.