Payback at Morning Peak (22 page)

“As I said, farmer boy, leave the past to rot on its own.” Tauson writhed in his chair.

Jubal rapped gently for attention with his father’s pistol on the edge of the table. “Did you kill her, Tauson? How about it?”

Tauson kicked out with his boot toward Jubal but fell way short.

“Nice try, Billy,” Jubal said. “I guess that meant yes.”

“Leave me alone, dammit. I need something for the pain. A drink. I’ll pay.” He let go of his busted arm and fished inside his vest pocket. He tossed several coins onto the table.

“Tell us about your wife, Tauson. Then maybe we’ll get those drinks.”

Tauson did not try to hide his discomfort. The demise of the man’s wife really wasn’t of interest to Jubal, but he thought if he could get Tauson talking about the farm and why he had instigated the raid, it would help Jubal understand the meaning of the whole episode. Tauson abruptly called out for a bottle of rye whiskey and water.

Mike gave no answer, just leaned against the bar, the shotgun at his fingertips. “You scared my friend Mary, you bastard. You get nothing ‘til the youngster says so.”

Tauson went back to drumming his left hand on the tabletop. “My wife was having a to-do with one of my employees.”

Jubal smiled broadly. “A… to-do?”

“I made the mistake of telling him I was tired of her. I was just funning, but the fellow was a crazy son of a bitch and—”

“Who was this crazy man, Billy?”

“Oh, for the sake of being loyal I can’t say.”

“Pete Wetherford?”

Tauson continued his nervous tapping. “Petey and Sara were having at it most every day, then one evening
around mealtime she disappeared. I looked for her around the place, up in the woods, out toward Morning Peak. Couldn’t find her. I finally waked some of the hands and we searched nearly the whole five hundred acres. I ended up with Pete Wetherford and a couple others north of the farmhouse in the woods.

“We were spread out when I hear a voice to my left. It’s Pete. He calls out, ‘Let’s try this meadow yonder.’ Sure enough, she was lying there in the dim of night all messed. Dead as a winter flower. Me and the cowhands dismounted and stood around. I covered her bare grimy legs. Then this voice from behind.”

“‘It is necessary to the happiness of man to be mentally faithful to hisself.’ I read that once. Some educated clown talking about coveting a neighbor’s wife, least I think that’s what he meant.

“It was Pete Wetherford. He hadn’t gotten off his horse. Just looked down at us and poor Sara. Then he started singing some damn spiritual and rode off. Crazy bastard. Tried talking to him about it, but he’d never say anything. Just stare at me with that half a crooked grin of his. I’ve never been scared of any man, except that one. Doesn’t seem human. I tried getting rid of him a number of times, but he just wouldn’t go away. He’d kill me in a minute if he knew I told anybody about all this.”

“Where did you bury your wife?”

“In a glade at the edge of a stand of pines.”

It sounded to Jubal like it was very close to where he had buried his family. Imagine Pete Wetherford being responsible for all those deaths, and all in the same hallowed ground. “Mike, bring Mr. Tauson his bottle.” Jubal spun
his father’s pistol around his finger several times. Audrey had served him well.

“I was there on the street,” Jubal said, “the day you and your buddy Pete confronted my father. But of course that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to go a step further.”

“This is all very amusing,” Tauson said, eyes shifting. “But I’m done talking.” Tauson put his good hand on the arm of the chair and rose. But when he heard the double click of the hammer on Jubal’s .44, he eased back down. “All right. What is it?”

Jubal leaned forward slightly. “Retribution, justice, revenge. Maybe a bit of groveling.”

“I don’t grovel.” Tauson looked bored. “Why should I, and for what?”

“Murder.”

“I didn’t mur—”

“Don’t say it, Tauson.” Jubal struggled to control himself. “Do you hear me?”

Tauson’s upper lip dampened.

Jubal glanced around the room, which was now deserted save for Mike.

“Where’s your friend Wetherford?” “Dead, I suppose, I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

“We all lie from time to time, but in this case, as I said before, I don’t know—”

Jubal reached under the table and cracked Tauson hard on the knee with the pistol.

“What in hell are you doing? Dammit.” Tauson let go of his damaged arm and reached to massage his knee.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” Jubal carefully weighed how to proceed. “Some time ago, you and my father spoke outside of the land office in Cerro Vista, New Mexico. You threatened him because he gained control of your land through auction. It was done fair and legal after you fell behind on your taxes… but ‘say your night prayers,’ you said. I heard you.”

“So?”

“So, later you sent one of your cohorts, a certain Mr. Crook Arm, of Ute or Navajo lineage, to follow us home. You knew where we lived. It had been your former home, but you wanted to scare us, didn’t you?”

“Once again, I don’t—”

“Shut up! Dammit.”

“Listen, son. Yes, we’d come out to raise hell and put a scare into you folks, but I had nothing to do with anything…” Tauson searched for the right word. “Illegal or rough. I told those old boys to settle down and cool off. Leave the women be. But they’d have none of it. They just went ahead and did what they damn well pleased.”

“That’s what your cousin said.”

“My cousin?”

Jubal put a little extra effort into his intense stare.

“Ty?”

For the first time, Jubal sensed Tauson had begun to unravel. “After you left him wounded on the farm, he waited for your return. When you didn’t come back, he finally got astride his horse and made it halfway into Cerro Vista, where I found him, lying bundled up in pain beside the road.”

“How is he?”

“How in the hell you think he is, Billy?”

“I’ll have to get in touch with his mother.” Tauson paused. “Why you so riled about Ty Blake, for Christ’s sake? You gave us hell with that little peashooter. You were the one who shot him.”

“Yes, sir, I surely did, but here’s the difference. I didn’t leave him to die after promising I’d return, then ride off like a snake in the night. As he lay dying, he ratted on you, Mr. Tauson. Told the doctor, deputy, sheriff, and a priest the whole thing.”

Tauson shifted. “We had a difficult night, things happened in the hills that evening. We couldn’t get back to the farm like I promised. I had a terrible fall.”

“Really? Tell me about it.”

“Petey got hisself killed along with a Mexican. They did a stupid thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not much to tell. They both fell off a cliff. I went down that rock face trying to see if they were alive, but it weren’t any good. They were both kilt.”

Jubal smiled, enjoying the man’s gift for spinning a tale. He was startled by a voice from his right.

“Young man, what’s going on here?” A man with a metal star pinned to his vest stood a few feet away, relaxed, hands at his side. “By the way, in case you’re wondering, I’m Tom Cox, the sheriff.”

Jubal nodded. “This man, William F. Tauson, is wanted in Cerro Vista, New Mexico, for triple murder, and is also responsible for the body you see there on the floor, name of Bob Patterson.” He paused. “If you have a
telegraph, you could confirm the Cerro Vista deaths with Wayne Turner, U.S. Marshal for that territory.”

“And who might you be?”

“I’m the son and brother of the deceased, sir. My name is Jubal Young.”

The sheriff swung a chair around and straddled it, but didn’t move any closer. “When did this triple murder take place, son?”

Jubal still hadn’t moved his gaze from Tauson. “The tenth day of this past April, sir, about noon. This coward and his gang killed my family. Raped my mother and fourteen-year-old sister.”

“Hold on there a damn minute. I didn’t rape any—”

Jubal swatted Tauson heavily on the knee again. “Keep those hands where I can see them, Billy.”

Tauson’s eyes watered.

The sheriff signaled to the bartender. “Bring me some writing materials, Mike.”

The mustached barkeep scurried out from behind his workplace with a tablet and pencil. The sheriff glanced around at the quiet room. He noted all pertinent information from Jubal. The names and dates of the various events, Ty Blake’s deathbed confession, the shootings of Sheriff Morton and Deputy Ron. The shoot-out at Judge Wickham’s house and Jubal’s unsuccessful attempt to join Wayne Turner’s posse.

“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?” the sheriff asked Jubal as he ran his hands down the inside of Tauson’s coat and pants pockets, looking for a weapon.

“No, sir, but I can tell you he’ll leave here either in shackles or a pine box.”

“Fair enough. You hear that, Mr. Tauson? I overheard enough of your conversation to believe something serious took place back in New Mexico and that you were somehow involved. Also, what about this body here on the floor? What happened?”

Tauson shrugged. “This kid pulled down on me. He didn’t give me any choice, he just dove down to the ground behind Ginger.”

The sheriff held up his hand. “Ginger?”

Jubal spoke up. “That was the nickname of ole Bob. He was helping me chase down this rat. Unfortunately, he caught one that was meant for me.” Jubal fought back a lump in his throat. “This lout and a man name of Pete Wetherford raised a lot of hell in and around Cerro Vista—”

“This little twerp blames the whole thing on someone who isn’t even here to defend hisself ‘cause he’s dead.”

“Who else is dead?” asked the sheriff.

“Pete Wetherford,” answered Tauson nervously.

“That true, youngster?”

Jubal smiled. “No, sir. I tracked Wetherford and another, all the way up here, from just north of Cerro Vista. He’s alive, all right, and somewhere here in the Cripple Creek district.”

The sheriff seemed to be taking in the complexity of it all. “I’m gonna wake up Ned Grant and have him send a wire to this Marshal Turner. It might be a while afore we hear back.” He looked at Jubal. “You be okay?”

“We’ll be fine.” Jubal nodded at Tauson. “Won’t we, Billy?”

The sheriff walked to the bar and spoke for a moment
with the bartender, then returned. “I’ve asked Mike to help keep an eye on the situation, son. He’s fairly handy with that scattergun, so be careful. Okay?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll not do anything hasty, you can rely on it.”

The sheriff’s departure once again left Jubal and Tauson contemplating each other. Tauson finally peeled back his torn shirtsleeve. Gazing at his wound, he slipped his kerchief from around his throat and tied it snug around his bloody arm. “You’re a funny little half-growed-up boy, you know it?” He grinned. “Sitting there with your
pistola
all proper-like. But in the meantime, I got to go. Nature calls.”

Jubal nodded.

“Come on, dammit. I’m going to wet myself.”

“Go.” Jubal once again ratcheted the hammer on the pistol as Tauson started to rise from his chair.

Tauson slid back down. “I thought you said to go.”

“I did.”

“Then why the stupid play with the pistol?” “Go where you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you hear the call of nature, answer it.”

“Where?”

“Right where you’re sitting, pardner.”

The more Tauson struggled with his bladder, the more Jubal felt uncomfortable. He’d had a bellyful of bad feelings for one night. “Mike, where can this man take a piss?”

Mike still had the shotgun draped across the bar. “You can step out to the back alley.”

“Let’s take a walk, Billy.”

Once outside, Tauson faced away from Jubal and took care of his needs. “Do you hafta stand there looking at me?”

“No, I don’t hafta, Mr. Tauson. But if you’re inclined to run, I want to make sure old Audrey does her duty and puts a little lead pellet in the back of your head. Can’t tell you how much I wish you’d try that. A side of me would love seeing you kick your life away on that nasty soaked ground. You’re a bully. Probably always been. You encouraged your band of drunks to scare a family of perfectly innocent souls.”

“Nobody is perfectly innocent, sonny boy.”

Jubal’s face flushed. He fired twice into the ground, close to Tauson’s feet. The man leapt into the air, both knees pumping to try and keep from being hit.

“My sister was an angel, you bastard.” Jubal closed the ground between the two of them in several quick strides. Grabbing Billy Tauson’s shirtfront with his left hand, he drove his pistol hard up to the older man’s throat. “Don’t speak another word to me, ever. You hear me?”

Tauson nodded, a gagging sound coming from his throat. A voice called out from the back door of the bar.

“It’s Mike. You all right? I heard gunfire.”

“Everything’s fine now. Just a little misunderstanding.”

Jubal whispered into Tauson’s ear as he marched him back into the bar, “Never, ever, and I repeat, never, meet my eyes.”

Tauson dropped his head.

Jubal frightened himself. He had come very close to killing Billy Tauson. He could feel himself changing and he didn’t like it.

“Thou shalt tear out the teeth of the dragon and trample the lions underfoot…” As Monte Cristo had read in the Bible, so shall it be. The passage gave the Count his supposed right of vengeance. It bothered Jubal that he was so quick to bestow his own transgressions on Edmond Dantès.

They sat for several hours. Avoiding Jubal’s gaze, Tauson looked at Bob’s body. “Your partner was a coward. You know that, don’t you?”

Jubal switched his grip on the pistol from the handle to the barrel and swung the piece, once again, viciously into Tauson’s protruding knee.

“You rotten son of a—” Tauson rocked back and forth, both hands flat on the table.

“There are worse things than not being brave.”

“You and I will have a serious date one day,” Billy gasped. “You hear me, Mr. Young?”

“Uh-huh, that’s what your friend Pete Wetherford told me just after I jiggled that log he held on to so desperately.”