Dorothy Garlock (40 page)

Logan started to speak, but Mercury suddenly emitted a shattering squeal. Logan looked around and saw him frozen at attention, his eyes searching the woods beyond the house; but when he followed the direction of his gaze he saw only the empty timbered bench on the hillside. And then, some bit of motion in the timber caused him to go on watching. Uneasiness touched him and he glanced at Case with a puzzled frown.

“Somebody’s up there,” Case said, then dropped his smoke to the ground and stepped on it.

Logan searched the thick screen for several minutes before he saw the head of a horse, then another. Uneasiness mounted and then escalated when riders came into view and wound swiftly down out of the timber. Then he heard the sound of pounding hoofbeats coming down the road toward the house. They were descending on them from two sides.

“Josh! Ben! Stay in the barn,” Logan yelled as he and Case broke into a run for the house which to Logan, at that moment, seemed a million miles away. He cursed himself soundly for drifting into culpable negligence. He sprinted far ahead of Case, trying desperately to reach the house before the riders. He made it to within a dozen yards and was stopped by a harsh voice.

“Hold it right thar, Injun!” A man with a florid face and a fringe of red hair showing from under a battered hat brim stepped from the back door. He held a pistol in his hand. “Don’t try nothin’, redskin, er yore white squaw’ll get gutshot shore as shootin’.”

Logan skidded to a halt, his frantic eyes searching for Rosalee, stubbornly hoping for some miracle that would give him a chance to defend himself, his wife, and his friends. Mary was pushed out the door as were Meta and the three girls.

“Stop pushin’, ya . . . warthog!” Minnie snapped.

Mary’s eyes clung to Case and she would have gone to him, but the man with the gun motioned her back. A man came through the door with Rosalee held tightly against him. His forearm was around her neck, pressing into her windpipe, and the end of his gun barrel was pressed to her side.

Fear, like a numbing coldness rising from the ground, worked its way through Logan. Rosalee’s tormented eyes locked with his. He fixed his gaze on the red-haired man with the gun.

“Let them go. It’s me you want.”

“Make a move, Injun, and he’ll kill ’er. Drop yore gun . . . careful like.” Logan lifted his gun from the holster with his forefinger and dropped it to the ground. “Now you,” the man said to Case, and Case obliged.

The foremost of the riders were now at the edge of the yard and the rest closely following. Adam Clayhill moved his head back and forth to scan the yard, then halted within half a dozen yards of the group beside the back door.

“I tol’ ya it’d work, boss. We sneaked in pretty as ya please.” The redheaded man was so pleased with what he’d accomplished that he felt compelled to make certain the big, monied man was aware of it. “This here’s the white squaw!” He jerked his head toward Rosalee.

“I know who she is,” Adam snarled.

Logan kept his eyes on Rosalee, refusing to look at the big man on the horse. He was quivering with rage, sick with rage.

“What are you doing here?” Mary demanded. She spoke then, realizing even as she heard the sound of her own voice how completely inane the question was. Adam ignored her.

“Tie ’em up,” he ordered. “Malone, too. We’ll call a town meeting and have a trial. When we hang ’em it’ll be within the law.”

Mary gasped. “You can’t have a
trial
! You’re not the law. Besides, they’ve not broken any law.”

“Malone killed one of my men, and the Indian raped a white woman. A trial’s more than they deserve.”

“You . . . lying bastard!” Mary looked pleadingly at the men in the tight circle behind Adam Clayhill. “He’s lying and you men know it. He sent a man to kill Case. Case was only defending himself. And . . . Logan and Rosalee are married! Don’t you see, he’s using you to get rid of his enemies.” She searched each face. The only men who met her eyes were the drifters who had wandered into town and needed the money Adam offered. The rest of the men kept their eyes averted. Their faces were cast in hangdog looks.

“You’re a bunch of cowards,” she screamed. “Haven’t you got any backbone? Are you going to let this arrogant bully push you into doing something you’ll regret all your lives? Logan Horn bought the land Clayhill wants. Case shot the man who shot him first!”

“Shut up, whore!” Adam roared. “Shut up or I’ll slap a gag in your mouth.”

Case’s hands were bound, and when he jumped at Clayhill he was jerked roughly, his arms pulled back. He stumbled against Shorty Banes’s horse. With a violent curse, Shorty put his foot against Case’s back and shoved him to the ground.

“Ya friggin’ bastard! Ya ruined my foot! I said I’d see ya hang ’n I will!”

Logan kept his eyes on Rosalee’s face. He knew if he looked at Clayhill he would explode in a rage and be shot on the spot. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d live. Somehow he’d live to make this man die a thousand times.

“He ain’t no full-blood.” The red-haired man’s pale green eyes flicked insolently over Logan. “I betcha he had ’im a white daddy ’n thinks that sets ’im up high as a white man.”

Logan’s voice was hoarse with impotent rage. “As high as you? I’d rather be dead!”

Shorty Banes laughed. “Ya will be, Injun.”

“Put ’em on a horse. Put that one belly down.” Adam spit into the dirt at Logan’s feet. His face was flushed with suppressed fury. He wanted to swing the bastard from the nearest tree, but he didn’t dare or word would get out he’d been in on a lynching. If there were a trial, and Della, without going into detail, were to say that he put his hands on her, he could hang him and the matter would be dropped. He was sure the deed to the south range hadn’t been recorded. With the Indian dead the land would be his.

“What about the women?”

“Bring the
squaw.
The boy and hired man are in the barn. If they make trouble, shoot her. Sorry we ain’t got time for you to pleasure the
whores,
boys,” Adam said with a loud laugh. “We got business in town.”

“If’n ya come back here, I’ll piss in yore face,” Minnie shouted. “That means you, Dud Simms. And you, Billy Hopper, and Oscar the big prick Duncan! Ya’ll ain’t nothin’ but a bunch a pricks. I hope them little, twiddly things yo’re so proud of rot ’n fall off’n ya! Bastards! Sons a bitches! Shitheads! Put ya all together ’n yo’re not half the man the Injun is. That goes for you, too, Mister shit fer brains Clayhill what thinks his shit don’t stink! Ya kin take yore money ’n shove it up yore ass!”

“Watch your mouth, whore, or I’ll shove it up yours!” Adam gritted and wheeled his horse.

“Sure I’m a whore! I’m good ’n proud a it. I earn my money.” Once Minnie’s mouth was in gear she never knew when to stop, so she shouted after him, “What’a ya think that prissy, hot-twat out at yore ranch is? Ever’body in the territory knows she’ll shuck her drawers at the drop of a hat! What she’s got atween her legs ain’t no better’n what I got. Ain’t that right, boys?”

“Shut yore mouth!” With a roar of rage, Adam jerked his horse around and charged the girl. Minnie sped for the doorway and slipped inside. He pulled cruelly on the reins and the horse reared, front hooves flailing the air.

“Got ya where the hair’s short, didn’t I, ol’ man?” Minnie called daringly from inside the house.

Her taunts brought grins of admiration from many of the riders who sat waiting to move out. At one time or another each of them had wished to cut the boss down but hadn’t the courage. The skinny whore from Mary’s place had hit the nail square on the head, and, secretly, they enjoyed hearing her blast him.

Rosalee had eyes and ears only for Logan. He was lying belly down on the sorrel mare one of the men fetched from the corral. A rope going beneath the horse’s belly connected his hands and feet. She sat on the rump of the red-headed man’s horse, her hands tied together in front of him. She had not said a word. Somehow she knew Logan would not want her to beg on his behalf. She clenched her teeth and strained to hold back the growing panic as they moved away from the house.

She looked back at Mary, Meta, and the two girls standing in the yard. As she watched, Mary lifted her skirts and started running for the barn. Josh and Ben came out with rifles cradled in their arms. Ben shaded his eyes with his hand and looked in her direction. He looked so young and helpless standing there in the morning sun in britches that were too short for his lanky frame and in his pa’s old hat.

When they were lost from sight, Rosalee turned back to stare at the back of her captor. She was keenly aware that this could very well be the last day of her husband’s life. But she clung to the hope that if they had any chance at all it would be in town.

“Ain’t no sense fartin’ ’round with a trial,” Shorty snorted. “He ain’t nothin’ but a goddamn breed, ’n Malone crippled me ’n killed ole Shatto.”

“You’ve got no say in this,” Adam growled. “Get ’em up here on the porch and watch ’em like I told you, or get the hell out of the way and let a man do the job.”

The harshness of that voice slapped Logan across the face. It penetrated to his flagging consciousness and stung him to life. The ride to town, belly down on the horse, had been one of the most painful experiences of his life. There was a roaring in his head and a pain in his side. Somewhere along the way his stomach had been unable to stand the constant jarring and the contents had come spewing out of his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw dusty boots, then he felt his wrist come free from his feet and he fell backward off the horse. He landed hard and lay there while an enveloping dizziness tipped the world end over end around him. He’d kill the
Wasicun
! He’d kill the
Wasicun
! The thought repeated itself again and again in his mind.

Logan waited until the world ceased to roll and pitch under him, then inhaled deeply and pushed himself upright. Immediately, dizziness threatened to capsize him again, but he leaned against the horse until it passed and willed his legs to stiffen to hold his weight.”

“Move.”

The sharp command was accompanied with a prod in his side by a gun barrel. The very fact that Logan centered all his attention on the almost insurmountable task of staying on his feet kept his mind from the anguished thought of what this was doing to Rosalee. He stepped up on the board porch of the saloon and immediately a rope was looped about his neck. He felt a moment of panic. He was going to die without seeing her again! Then the rope was thrown up over a porch beam and tied. Case Malone stood beside him, his hands tied behind his back, a loop about his neck.

Logan’s wavering vision began to clear. Men and horses mingled in front of them. He searched frantically for a sight of Rosalee and finally saw her in the back of the crowd astraddle the rump of a horse. He was never more proud of her than at that moment. She held her head high and looked at him over the heads of the men and horses.

“We got ourselves in one hell of a mess,” Case said softly.

Logan looked at the tall Texan for a moment before he spoke. His face was expressionless, his dark eyes flat. “My mother’s people say that hate and greed are like maggots eating into the soul of the
Wasicun.
” He turned back, spread his feet to balance himself, and stared straight ahead.

Case vaguely wondered what that had to do with anything. He’d been in tight places before, but this was the tightest. He was pinning his hopes on Mary and Josh. His Mary wouldn’t take this sitting on her backside. She’d be here fighting till the end. The only comfort he could find was in the fact that men were generally protective of women, even this rough bunch. He doubted any physical harm would come to Mary or Rosalee. If they managed to hang him and Logan, they’d be run out of town. On the other hand, they’d not want to stay here anyway.

The instant Rosalee’s hands were free she slid off the horse. She had to get help! She looked at the hostile faces of the men and took a backward step. Terror held her in its icy grip. How could this be happening? Her mind screamed for her to do something.

“What’er we to do with ’er?”

“I say haul her up thar with the Injun,” Shorty said. “She ain’t nothin’ but trash. Injun lover!” he sneered and spat in the dust at her feet.

“Ah . . . leave ’er ’lone,” someone said crossly. “She ain’t done nothin’.”

“Ain’t done nothin’?” Shorty snorted. “She’s humped the Injun, is what she done!”

“She ain’t agoin’ nowhere,” the red-haired man said with an ugly laugh. “If’n the boss wants her tarred ’n feathered, it’ll cost him more ’n ten dollars.”

“I ain’t got no stomach fer tarrin’ a woman.”

Rosalee’s eyes sought the man who spoke. It was Pete, the young drover who was with Shorty Banes when they came to the ranch and caused her father’s death. He was standing beside another young drover, the one Minnie had called Dud Simms. They turned away when they saw her looking at them, and the small hope that they would in some way help her died.

Determined to not cower in the face of the male hostility, Rosalee smoothed her hair, then her skirt down over her hips, tilted her chin a mite higher than she usually carried it, and walked purposefully through the crowd. She mounted the saloon porch and went to Logan.

“I love you,” she whispered for his ears alone, and lifted her two hands to push the tangled hair back from his face. “Tell me what to do.”

“I love you,” he answered so softly that only she could hear. “Go to McCloud and stay with him.”

“If they try to hang you, someone will die. Mary and Josh are coming—”

The sound of two rapidly fired shots cut off her words.

“What the hell’s goin’ on here?” McCloud stood on the boardwalk, a rifle in one hand, a pistol in the other.

Adam came out of the saloon. “We’re havin’ a trial,” he bellowed.

“What’s the charges?” McCloud demanded.

“Malone killed one of my men, crippled three more. The Indian attacked my stepdaughter.”

The shocking words hung in the air, wavered there, then a murmur from the men rolled crushingly over the silence.

“That’s a lie!” Rosalee shouted. “I’ve been with him every minute.”