Killing Halfbreed (17 page)

“Being faithful to God is more important than anything else on earth, including our own loved ones.  So, I let Josh go...with my blessing.  I could only trust God would keep him and knew what He was doing."

A tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek.  She wiped it away.

"Elizabeth didn't take it so well though.  She and Josh were always close.  They were all each other had in the way of friends growing up.  The suddenness and finality of it hurt her so deeply; she refused to accept it.

"She packed her bags, swore she would talk him out of it before they got to New Mexico.  I'm sure you met her down there, didn't you?"

"No, Ma'am, I surely didn't."

"Hmm…that's odd.  I thought she would have been back by now.  She will one of these days, I guess.  Just like Josh, I know she’s in God's hands.  I try not to worry too much.

"Anyway, that's about it.  Josh left the next day.  It’s an odd thing to say good-bye to your son, knowing you will never see him again.”

She turned from me to take in the beginnings of the sunset.

“I think I sensed it when he passed,” she said, “God gives us little gifts like that, I think.”

She turned back to me.

“I’m sure glad to finally meet the man he died for.  Tell me, did he die well?”

The question surprised me.  “Yes ma’am.  He went very bravely and passed with dignity.”

“That’s good.”  She brushed her eye with the back of her hand.  “It’s a hard thing to raise a son, only to have him go before you.  Knowing it was God's plan makes the thing a little more bearable though."

She didn’t say anything for a while.  My shame dictated I do no more than steal a few furtive glances her way as she’d recounted her story.  She was obviously a woman in pain, but also a woman who had made peace with that pain.

Her state of mind was beyond my understanding.  I could not grasp the kind of a blind faith she claimed to have in her God.

Her wrinkled hands were still soft, a mother’s hands.  She’d bathed him, cooked his meals, and wiped the remnants of those same meals from his face with those hands.

I would have written her religious talk off as complete hooey, but how can nonsense ease a mother’s pain.  I would have decided she was crazy but for the steel I saw in her eyes.

To tell the truth, I just couldn’t understand her.  She seemed to have some kind of wisdom either beyond my years, or beyond my experience.

“Mrs. Miller...”  I choked up as I began.  What could I say?

She nodded slightly, indicating I should speak.

“Mrs. Miller, I feel...so...so... guilty.”

Somehow, her heart was big enough to feel compassion for me.  I saw it fill her eyes.  She stood and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.  What kind of a woman was this who could comfort her son’s killer?

“Now, now.  You certainly don’t need to feel guilty.  Josh went of his own volition, and don’t forget, he did it at God’s urging.  There’s nothing for you to feel guilty about.”

“If I hadn’t killed Tom Logan...if I hadn’t done anything wrong, Josh wouldn’t have had to die!  Neither of us would have!”

“Well, true enough…but that’s like crying over spilled milk.  There’s no sense in it.”

“How can you be so calm?  Your son is dead, and he’s dead because of me!”

“No, son, he’s dead because he followed God’s will for his life.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“It makes perfect sense to me, even if it doesn’t to you.  I tell you what, though.  Though I seem at ease over Josh’s death, don’t think for a minute he wasn’t infinitely dear to me.  Make his sacrifice worth it! 
Don’t you dare waste his life, Jake Halfbreed, don’t you dare!
”

If I’d come here expecting to find relief from any obligations or responsibilities, it had backfired.  She’d laid an even heavier responsibility on me than I’d ever sensed with the meager amount of guilt I’d been carrying around.

If she’d only been meaner, or mad even.  If she’d chased me off her property with a shotgun, it would have been so much easier.  Then, I could have convinced myself the Millers were a bunch of no-goods and walked away with no qualms.

But, she didn’t do that.  Instead, she’d welcomed me into her home, fed me, and spoken warmly of her beloved son who had willingly laid down his life for mine.  Then, she’d neatly laid the weight of his life on my already overburdened shoulders.

We talked for a while longer, but I was dazed for the rest of our conversation.  She tried to tell me more of her religious beliefs, but I wasn’t interested.  I didn’t want any part of any religion that caused you to go and give up your life for some stranger’s crime.

She invited me to stay longer, but I begged off.  I’d heard enough about the Millers for one day, for a lifetime as far as I was concerned.  I said my goodbyes, and she saw me off, but not without reminding me once more to make something of my life.

Carlton Andrews pulled his coat collar snug around his neck to stave off the biting wind.  Winter was almost upon them.  He tugged his black fedora down further, wishing he could pull it over his ears.

Sometimes business required one to get one's hands dirty.  It was an avenue Carlton didn’t like to take if he didn’t have to, but certain situations could sometimes make the option unavoidable.

The Talbot ranch was such a case.  Knowing what he knew about that property, he could not allow Talbot to retain it.  It was key.  The man didn’t even know what he was sitting on; nobody did but him.  If Talbot lost it, he’d never really know the fullness of what he’d lost, but Carlton lay awake at night fretting over the possibility.  He could not let Talbot keep it — nor anyone else for that matter.

Rob Murphy would be at the line shack tonight.  Carlton studied the crude structure before approaching.  A thin line of smoke rose from a small stone chimney on its side.  It was a rough building, just shelter enough for a few cowhands riding the line.

Was Murphy alone?  He didn’t see any other horses around, so he probably was.  Never hurt to be cautious though, especially when dealing with nefarious individuals.  One never knew what they had up their sleeve.

After a moment more of circumspection, he drew closer and rapped sharply on the door.  It
swung open, revealing a clean-shaven Rob Murphy, top hand and foreman of Bill Hartford's ranch.  A dirty-looking cigarette hung limply from his lips.

"Well, well, I’ll be. Wasn't expectin' you tonight, Carlton."

"Don't sass me, Murph, I've got a lot on my mind."

"Only friends call me Murph."

"Business partners are closer than friends,
Murph
, so get used to it.  I don't have time for games."

The cowhand bristled at the banker's brusqueness.  He wasn't used to putting up with that kind of lip from people.  That was one of the reasons he was the foreman of Hartford's ranch.  He and Hartford saw eye to eye on things like that.

Carlton Andrews wasn't ordinary people though.  Murph couldn't treat Andrews like any old cowpuncher, so he had to take it.  For now.

"To what do I owe the pleasure,
Carlton
."  He couldn't keep all the sarcasm out of his voice.

Andrews stepped deeper into the shack and began warming his hands in front of the fire.

"Jake Talbot’s what's on my mind.  His brother took out a mortgage on his ranch and failed to pay it back before he disappeared.  Now, his brother is refusing to pay as well."

"So?  What's that got to do with me?  Take it up with the sheriff."

"Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced the mortgage document, so I cannot prove my claim sufficiently to the sheriff."

"You
lost
it?" Murph snickered under his breath at the banker's obvious corruption.  "What is it you want me to do?"

"I want you and your boys to rustle Talbot's cattle."

"We're already doing that.  Stole a few head the other night.  Can't be too obvious, or repeat ranches too often.  Talbot might not be up to tracking us by himself, but the others have men tracking us night and day.  Logan's spread has been the easiest pickings since Tom was killed."

"I don't care about the risks.  If you want to keep this ring going, you'll do what I say.  He doesn't have that many cattle left, about thirty, I think.  That shouldn't be too large of a challenge for your bunch."

"Yeah, but he's got so few, we'll probably have to scrounge around for 'em, chase 'em out of the brush."

"I don't care what you have to do, I want that ranch and as long as he's got a viable business option there, he'll stay.  If we take that away, it might be incentive enough for him to leave.”

Murphy was the head of the rustling ring which had been victimizing all the ranches in Cottonwood valley for almost two years.  He'd been successful so far in remaining undiscovered, partly because of his own caution and planning, but also because of the help of certain men like Carlton Andrews.  Andrews funneled all the money they made from selling the rustled cattle into his bank and kept quiet about it, for a cut of the profit of course.  They still needed his help.

"What if Talbot gets in the way?"

"Talbot's out on the trail right now.  Nobody's watching his stock.  You won't have any problems."

Murphy studied his partner's face in the glow of the fire.  He strongly disliked the man.  They came from completely different walks in life, but somehow were still of a kindred spirit.

“All right,” Murphy acquiesced.  “Sit down.  You might as well have some coffee.”

***

One morning on the way back to New Mexico, a plume of dust rose up from the trail behind me.  Normally, such a sight is good cause for concern, but when I saw who it was, I was ready to celebrate.

Will was back!

Happiness at seeing my friend flooded me.  I thought we’d parted ways for good.  I did my best to contain my smile as he rode up, and simply said, "Howdy."

He looked down at me from his horse and touched the brim of his hat in salute.

"Got some coffee ready if you want some."  I motioned to the pot.

He did.  In no time, we were right back to being trail partners again.  I’d no idea why he'd been so against visiting Joshua Miller's mother in Colorado.  Everyone has their peculiarities.  Me?  I was just glad to have my partner back.

***

After so many miles on the road, towns just start to look alike.  This one greeted us with a splintered, wooden post standing by itself by the side of the road into town.  The sign which had been attached to it and now lay in the dust read "Bare Rock" in faded letters.

Bare Rock seemed like an inhabited ghost town.  Nothing was kept up.  Wooden facades and rails were universally bare of paint and long-weathered.  Oddly, in spite of its abandoned and uncared for look, plenty of people milled about on its streets.

My eyes instinctively conducted the same initial survey they did in every town we encountered, an examination of the horses in front of the saloon.  I was looking for any of the horses described by the Apaches.  I was sure the Talon gang was somehow involved in the rustling, and if the Talons were in a town, invariably the place they'd roost would be the saloon. 

This time, I was stunned to recognize a black steed I knew belonged to someone in the gang.

The logical progression of my thoughts was pretty simple: Rustlers had stolen my brother’s cattle and mine.  Those same rustlers might have even killed my brother.  The rustlers had tried to kill me.  The Talons were part of the rustling ring.  The Talons were here.

I motioned silently to Will, pointing at the horse.  Will coolly turned from me to the saloon front.  He looked back at me with the same cool stare, as if measuring me up.  I always felt like Will was measuring me up for something.

He seemed inseparable from me at times, and he obviously found something of value in our friendship, but every now and then, I got the distinct impression he didn't like me.

This was one of those times.  Will's cold eyes were unsettling.  Still, he seemed to understand the plan, because he nodded curtly and reined his horse off to the right side of the street.  He dismounted and moved into the shadows of the covered boardwalk.

I rode confidently up to the front of the saloon and swung down off my horse.  After swatting my mount's rump lightly so it would canter off further down the street, I called out, feet planted wide.

"Talon, best you come on out.  I'm here for you."  After I said it, it occurred to me just how foolish I was being, bracing a tough gang with no idea of how many were actually inside.

I stepped to the left of the swinging doors which guarded the entrance to the saloon so they couldn't see me from within.

"Which Talon ya hollerin' for, Yank?"

"Does it matter?" I yelled back.

It didn’t really.  The whole bunch of them represented everything that was wrong with the world to me.  I was going to do what I could to set things right.  Maybe my own guilt would release me then.

Silence reigned for a good thirty seconds while I waited.  Will receded a little further into the shadows.