Killing Halfbreed (26 page)

Tom, Joshua, Jinny, Marlby, Henry, Elizabeth.  Tom, Joshua, Jinny, Marlby, Henry, Elizabeth.

I couldn’t escape it.  God had laid this guilt on me without mercy.  Lighting flashed in front of me again, clearing the vision, but I couldn’t erase the residue of those images from my mind’s eye.

Could guilt kill a man?  Their blood was on my head.  He was right.  It
was
my fault.  How many men were dead because of my quick gun or rash plans?  How many women wept over their lost loved ones because of me?  What had I contributed to this world, but death and blood?

Everything stilled once more save that original gentle breeze.  Shakily, I made my way back down the cliff, feeling worse than I’d ever felt in my life, not understanding God’s purpose.

***

I camped that night, completely exhausted.  I didn’t really understand what was happening to me, but I knew I was involved in some kind of a spiritual battle with God.

He was trying to teach me something, but it was very confusing.  The first day, I thought He’d forgiven me of my sins.  I’d felt an unusual lightness of being and cleanliness of heart like never before in my life.  Something like that could only be supernatural.

But on the second day, He’d forced me to relive
all
the devastation I’d wrought.  So, what in the world did He want?

Was I forgiven or not?  Was I supposed to do penance?  Go back and try to fix what I’d done?  How?

Before Joshua Miller, I hadn’t given God much thought.  I’d always believed He was up there somewhere, but too distant, not really caring.  Then, His hand had undeniably and miraculously stepped in to save my life.

At this point, as far as I was concerned, there was no denying He acted in this world.  Still, over the course of the past year, I hadn’t been sure if He actually cared about me or if He was just torturing me.  Why did He have to be so unclear?

I had to get back up on that rock tomorrow.

It would probably drain me again.  Best to get some rest.

***

The third day, I climbed back up.  The weather was peaceful, no storms in sight — except in my spirit.

My mind reeled in confusion.  I was an unspiritual man suddenly thrust into a strange, spiritual world.  I was in over my head.

I moved to the center of the mesa again, but this time when I knelt, it was of my own volition.

I waited.

Nothing.

I waited some more.

The stillness was complete.  The breeze of the previous days was barely detectable.  Maybe God had nothing more to say to me.  After a few minutes, I gave up and started to stand.

Then, a thought, not quite a vision of the same class as the days before, but a simple picture entered my mind.

I saw myself in my mind, but I was a walking dead man.  Parts of my flesh were rotting.  In places, I could see inside my own body.  The rot ran all the way through to muscle and sinew; it wasn’t just limited to my skin.

Then, the rot faded until it was invisible to the eye.  On the outside I looked perfectly healthy and whole again.  I saw myself facing Bill Hartford and his hands out on my ranch.  It was a scene I’d lived several times.

Hatred was written across my face.  While I watched, I saw the hatred marking my soul, blackening it, rotting it.  Then, that new rot faded away until it was invisible also.  It remained, but was just unseen.

I saw a lamb, an unblemished lamb, and I saw a man placing that lamb on an ancient stone altar.  The man took a knife and slit the innocent lamb’s throat.  Dark blood ran down the altar’s top and collected in pools at its base.

Next, I saw myself kneeling on the mesa, and I understood I was seeing myself that first day up here.  I was kneeling before God and I was asking Him for forgiveness.  As I did, He poured the lamb’s blood over my head, though I didn’t feel it.

After He did, I looked cleaner, purer.  The blood was scarlet, but it too faded into me, penetrating into the rot.  I could no longer see the blood.  I felt, though, that the rot was gone.  I was alive!

Throughout this “vision,” what stuck in my mind the most was the deep red blood flowing from the wound in that innocent lamb.  That image burned into me the knowledge that an innocent being had suffered for me.

Innocent blood.

God
had
forgiven me of my sins that first day on the mesa.  My lightness-of-being had not been imagined, but
I had taken my own sins too lightly
, and God had corrected me yesterday by emphasizing to me the full weight of them.  I vowed I would never forget again.

I wished I had a Bible or something.  I didn’t know anything about this religious stuff.  I wanted to know what God wanted from me now.

***

I decided to go up on that mesa again for a fourth day.  I wasn’t feeling compelled any more, just thirsty for more.  I hoped He would not turn silent again.

That day, no images came to mind, just a long series of thoughts and understanding.  I won’t bore you with all the details of what I was shown, but I’ll give you the gist of it.

I considered the events of the past year, and understanding came to me about what I should have done in each situation instead of how I’d actually handled it.  I was shamed to see how far off I’d been in all my choices, but at least now I had peace, finally understanding.  I tried to learn as much as I could from these examples so I hopefully wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes.

The desert captivated me for a few more days after that. I alternated between climbing the mesa and just riding around the flat lands on my horse, thinking.  In my entire life, I’d never had so much free time.

Then, it was time to go.

I am a poor wayfaring stranger

Traveling through this world of woe

Yet there's no sickness, no toil or danger

In that bright world to which I go

I'm going there to see my father

I'm going there no more to roam

I'm only going over to Jordan

I'm only going over home

Yes, Lord

I know dark clouds will gather around me

I know my way is rough and steep

Yet beauteous fields lie just before me

Where God's redeemed their vigils keep

I'm going there to see my mother

She said she'd meet me when I come

I'm only going over to Jordan

I'm only going over to home

Goin' home now

Oh, somebody show me the way home

"Wayfaring Stranger"

As surely as I’d felt drawn to the top of that mesa day after day, now I knew it was time to return to Cottonwood.  I was a rabbit heading into a pit of vipers, and I didn’t even know who all the vipers were.

The old me would have preferred to go as a mongoose rather than a rabbit, but my fierce methods had so far only created more vipers to fight.  I’d have to trust in God for protection.  He’d already stepped in and saved me from death a number of times.  I figured He would probably continue to do so, at least until my reason for being here was done, whatever that was.

This time, I was determined to not leave that town until I figured out who had killed my brother and Elizabeth.  It was a pretty sure bet they were one and the same.

Mentally, I made a list of the suspects:

            Bill Hartford

            Carlton Andrews

            Sheriff McCraigh

            Rob Murphy

            The Talons

            Jim Dunagan

            Renee DuBois

            Michael Byers

Hartford made no attempts to hide his hatred for me.  He’d formed the original posse in spite of the Sheriff McCraigh’s objections after the hanging.  He’d repeatedly invaded my property and attacked me there, and he had a vested interest in the water spring on my ranch.  If I ever decided to restrict his access to it, he’d be in trouble, and he knew it.

It could be that he knew about the gold too.  That could explain why after letting my land remain unclaimed for so many years, he was so desperate all of a sudden to see me off of it.

I was convinced the gold had something to do with everything.

Carlton Andrews was a man who worked in the shadows and was another prime suspect.  He’d fabricated a false mortgage document in a ploy to evict me from the ranch.  Luckily, that hadn’t worked, and I hadn’t seen much of him since, but then, he wouldn’t try such a direct approach again.  He was the kind who would normally work behind the scenes if he were involved.

The only motive I could come up with for him was, again, the possible knowledge of the gold.

I couldn’t ignore the cattle rustling though.  The rustlers had been directly involved with my brother’s removal, and they’d attacked my herds hard.  I was pretty sure Rob Murphy was the head of the rustlers, or at least one of their leaders.  He could be running the show himself, or Bill Hartford could be directing him.

The Talons had been in on the rustling as well, that much was for sure.  They could be just part of the gang, or they could be running it.  I was sure they held a grudge from when I’d shown them up my first day in town.

Yet, they weren’t the type to let grudges go unavenged.  Not unless they had a vested interest in something more important.  Maybe they knew about the gold too.  That could also explain the attack on my brother.

Sherrif McCraigh had made it clear he despised me for killing Logan, but he
had also
defended
me several times against unjust attacks by others.  Could he really be that honorable, or was he just drawing possible suspicion away from himself?

I felt I could write Renee DuBois off the list, at least as a ringleader.  She’d hurt me bad.  Because of her — and myself — Elizabeth was dead.  Renee had lured me into that trap, but she hadn’t pulled the trigger.  She was working with whoever it was.  Maybe I could find them by watching her.

Then, several people had given me reason to believe the vicious rumors started about my past had been initiated by the newspaperman, Mike Byers.  I had no idea what his motive could be.  Could he be behind it all, or, like Renee, was he also working with whoever it was, and if so, why?  What did he have against me if he didn’t know about the gold?

I was certain there was one man behind it all, and all leads pointed toward the gold.  If I could figure out who knew about that, I would have a prime suspect on my hands.

Last of all, I considered Jim Dunagan.  He was a prominent rancher who needed my spring just like Hartford.  Once again, he could also know about the gold.  He was a quiet man who like to stay out of the limelight.  Was that his natural personality, or was he trying not to draw attention to himself?

Unfortunately, there was one other possibility.  It could be somebody I hadn’t considered or didn’t even know yet, and that meant it could be anybody.  An unknown could easily shoot me in the back while I was still unsuspecting.  I would have to keep my guard up with everyone.

Then, a crazy idea hit me. 
Cappy
.  Cappy, the mysterious miner nobody had ever seen.  If anybody might know about the gold, it would be him.  Maybe his hermit-like ways were for a reason, and not just some eccentric habit.  If he turned out to be more than a figment of Pick’s imagination, he would jump to the top of my list.

            Then again, no one had ever seen Cappy.  Maybe he and Pick were one in the same.  Pick seemed to know a little something about everybody in the valley.  I would have to keep my eye on him too.

            I packed my saddlebags and mounted up.  Once and for all, it was time to find this man who was ruining my life.  I was curious to see how Cottonwood would receive me, but life is an adventure, isn’t it?

***

Riding into town, I was tense, ready for anything.  Cottonwood was like enemy territory.

My worries were for naught, however.  The streets were deserted when I got there, which was unusual, but not unheard of.

Good.
  The longer I went undetected, the better.

I pulled my horse up to the hitching post and dismounted.  I turned around and almost jumped out of my skin to see Sheriff McCraigh standing not two feet from me.  I certainly hadn’t seen him coming.  I swore under my breath.  I’d been keenly searching for anybody as I came in, and it wasn’t a good sign that the Sheriff had been able to sneak up on me like that.