The Last Renegade (12 page)

There were many reasons for people to back down. Some of them did, but what surprised Raine was how many did not. Ellen was well liked. She was incapable of giving offense, and she spoke to everyone she passed in the course of a day. No one had an unkind word for her, and the blame for what happened did not attach to her.

Dr. Kent examined Ellen and confirmed the rape. Marshal Sterling took a deputy with him to the Burdick ranch and brought Isaac back. Mr. Collins sent a telegraph to the judge in Rawlins, explaining the situation. The marshal didn’t hold out much hope for getting Isaac to trial outside of town, and the local magistrate, who would normally oversee the proceedings in a matter where there was no murder, lived in Uriah Burdick’s pocket during trying times. The station agent was the first to admit his astonishment when Judge Abel Darlington agreed to sit for the trial. Moses T. Parker, also from Rawlins, was appointed prosecutor. The jury came together after that. Jack Clifton. Harry Sample. Terrence McCormick. They were the first to take their seats, the first of twelve good men. John
Hood was another, now dead, and then came Hank Thompson, chosen to be the jury foreman, now missing.

The trial lasted two days, but that was because Isaac Burdick’s lawyer called upon every ranch hand on Uriah’s payroll to give testimony that Ellen Wilson had seduced Isaac and then cried rape. Raine had never seen some of the men who were paraded in front of the jury, nor been aware of their number. It seemed to her that the ranks had swelled until there was a man for every cow. Judge Darlington eventually stopped the parade. The men and women who testified to Ellen’s good character had their voices all but silenced by the sworn statements of Uriah Burdick’s men.

Ellen took the stand and spoke without passion or inflection. Raine had expected that Ellen would look to her for strength during her testimony, but her sister carried that weight on her own. Ellen’s eyes never left Isaac Burdick, and every member of the jury saw it was Isaac who ducked her gaze and looked away.

Raine also gave testimony. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had cleared the floor of their mercantile to make space for the court. Every chair had someone sitting in it, and people squeezed in until they lined three walls shoulder to shoulder. Raine spoke clearly, only mincing those words Moses T. Parker judged as too crude or coarse for public airing. She was not allowed to say “cock,” even in repeating Eli’s words. There were things Clay said to his brother that the prosecutor also deemed unfit to be spoken by a woman. Even in Wyoming, where women enjoyed certain rights not shared by females outside the territory, plain speaking was not always one of them.

Raine was not hopeful at the end. The prosecutor had done well by Ellen, and the judge, who clearly could not show favor, seemed disposed to believe her story, but the verdict still rested with twelve men, any one of whom might have placed Uriah Burdick’s interests above Ellen.

It was the gasp that woke Kellen now. He heard it clearly in his sleep, exactly as Raine had described it to him. It was the collective indrawn breath of every person in the courtroom at the moment Hank Thompson stood and delivered the will of the jury.

“Guilty.”

Kellen pushed himself to sit up. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands until he saw sparks and then leaned back against the iron rail head. He knew exactly where he was, but he could still hear the murmurs in the courtroom. It was as if he were holding a conch to his ear and listening to the sound of the ocean trapped inside.

He got up, added coal to the stove, and then padded to the bathing room to throw cold water on his face. Afterward, he braced his arms on the vanity and stared into the mirror. The light from the stove in the other room was too meager to push aside the shadows. He suspected they would be there if he held a lamp up to his face.

“Christ, Kellen. What have you gotten yourself into?” If his reflection had answered, he would have taken it in stride. More than that, he might actually have been relieved.

He rubbed his jaw. His stubble was rough against his palm, like sandpaper. He breathed out slowly and felt the tension resting in his neck and shoulders begin to ease. As tired as he was, returning to bed did not interest him. He left the bathing room and found his robe and socks. He put them on before lighting the oil lamp. From the trunk he never unpacked, he took paper, pen and ink, and a blotter and set them on the table beside the lamp. He looked it all over and pronounced himself satisfied.

He sat down and began to write.

The end of the trial was not the end. Isaac was sentenced to five years in the federal prison at Cheyenne. There was talk that he would not get that far, but not because there was any intention among the citizens of Bitter Springs to storm the jail and hang him. Rather, it was believed that the Burdicks would never allow the No. 3 train to reach the prison with Isaac on board.

Federal marshals joined Benton Sterling and his deputy to escort Isaac Burdick. The train came to a halt near Medicine Bow after midnight. A section of the tracks had been torn out and the timber made kindling for a bonfire the engineer could
see in time to make the stop. The marshals were prepared to shoot to kill, starting with Isaac Burdick, but the masked raiders took passengers for hostages and Isaac was surrendered without a shot being fired. To rub salt in the wound, the raiders also broke into the mail car and made off with the strongbox.

No one doubted the Burdicks were responsible but proving it was another matter. Isaac was not at the Burdick ranch when the marshals rode out to get him, and the posse crossed tens of thousands of acres and never picked up a trail.

There was a shift in the mood of the town as time passed and Isaac could not be accounted for. Let sleeping dogs lie, some said, though never in Raine’s hearing. She sensed it in their actions, in the way some of them could no longer meet her eye, and when it became apparent that Ellen was going to have Isaac’s child, the blame that had never been her burden to carry was placed squarely on her shoulders.

It wasn’t her fault that she was raped, but that she was pregnant, well, she must have wanted that. Couldn’t she forgive Isaac? If he was found, did she truly want him to spend five years in prison? After all, he was the father of her child.

Everyone didn’t hold to the same sort of thinking, but for Ellen it was as if the censorious voices were around her all of the time. Nothing Raine said made it different. Raine held out hope that the child would bring Ellen back to her and made herself believe she could love Isaac’s baby if Ellen’s own heart was healed. That dark irony never came to pass.

Ellen labored for two days to deliver a breech baby. Dr. Kent and the midwife did what they could to help her. In the end, they were only able to ease her pain. The baby, when it finally came, was stillborn, and Ellen died without holding it.

She was buried with her unnamed infant boy in the graveyard on the outskirts of town. Adam Berry’s marker was beside hers. None of the Burdicks expressed condolences, but Raine learned they heard about Ellen’s death from some of their drovers who came into the Pennyroyal. Raine was left to wonder if Uriah would have made a claim on the baby if he had lived. It pained her to admit that sometimes she thought it was a blessing that she never had to find out.

In Raine’s mind, the Burdicks were responsible for Ellen’s death. Isaac had murdered her. Clay and Eli had helped him. Uriah had raised his boys to believe they could take what they wanted, and mostly they had.

Thirteen months after Ellen was buried, Marshal Sterling went back out to the Burdick place because he heard rumblings that Isaac had shown up. He returned slumped in his saddle, shot once in the chest and once in the gut. Some said he was mistaken for a rustler, but no one came forward to admit being the one who made the mistake. Mrs. Sterling believed he was set up for it, first by the circulating rumors, then by his new deputy, who took sick and did not ride out with him.

Raine shared Mrs. Sterling’s opinion.

Moses T. Parker, the prosecutor from Rawlins, hanged himself in his office three months later. John Hood, a juryman, read about the death and told everyone he was leaving Bitter Springs for Denver. Death found him in a fire in St. Louis and his charred remains were sent back to his family. Now the jury’s foreman, Hank Thompson, hadn’t been heard from.

Kellen placed a small question mark beside the man’s name and put down his pen. Alive or dead? They might never know.

Rabbit and Finn sat on the bar eating smoked ham and mustard on a hard roll while Raine tallied the profits from the previous evening and worked on her liquor order. She looked up from her work when she heard heels tapping against the side of the bar. Finn caught himself but not soon enough.

“Sorry, Mrs. Berry.”

The apology was garbled by a mouthful of food, but Raine judged it was sincerely meant. “You sound like a woodpecker.”

“Yeth, ma’am.”

“You boys have enough? Mrs. Sterling will make you more if you like.”

Rabbit answered before Finn swallowed. “This is plenty of regular food, but if Mrs. Sterling has some brownies…”

Raine smiled. “I’m sure she does. Eat that first.”

“Did you see where Mr. Coltrane went this morning?” Rabbit asked.

“I didn’t,” she said absently.

“Thought maybe he’d be back by now.”

Finn said, “He’s not, though.”

Raine murmured something and continued to add figures.

“Do you think he’s target shooting?” asked Rabbit.

“That’d be a fine thing to hear about,” said Finn. “Leastways I would like to hear about it.”

Raine set her pencil down and looked up again. “Why would Mr. Coltrane be target shooting?”

Rabbit and Finn exchanged glances. They were each using two hands to hold their ham rolls. They raised the sandwiches in unison and took deep bites.

Raine turned her chair away from the table and stared at them. They made a point of chewing thoroughly before swallowing. “Your granny would be so pleased.” She held up one finger. “Not another bite. Tell me now. What’s this about target shooting?”

Finn twisted his head to survey the saloon. He leaned so far backward over the bar to take a look that Rabbit had to grab him by the collar to keep him from going ass over teakettle.

“There’s no one here,” said Raine. “Walt’s picking up supplies and Mrs. Sterling’s in the kitchen. Tell me.”

“He got a horse at the livery first thing this morning,” Rabbit said. “We saw him from our bedroom window on account Finn had to piss and didn’t want to use the privy.”

“Rabbit was trying to shut the window on my—”

Raine’s quelling look stopped Finn cold. “I understand. This was at sunup?”

“Not so you’d notice the sun yet,” said Rabbit, “but you’d know it was coming soon. We saw him plenty clear.”

“I see.”

“Mr. Ransom gave him Cronus. I figure he must be a good rider.”

“Or plum crazy,” Finn said helpfully.

Rabbit rolled his eyes and went on. “We watched him for a
piece. We went up to the attic to get a better look. Saw him head out south and east. Figured he was goin’ to follow the Medicine Bow a ways. Maybe where there’s plenty of cover in the pines and boxelders. That’s a good place to shoot.”

“He wasn’t heading to the Burdicks. That’s for sure.”

Raine shook her head. “You have guns on your mind. Both of you. Mr. Coltrane probably just wanted to see the country.”

The boys were skeptical.

“You’re used to walking outside with the plains and mountains as far as you can see. I don’t think that’s Mr. Coltrane’s experience.”

“Maybe not,” said Finn. “But he was pretty smart to take his Colts just the same.”

Raine frowned. “How do you know that?”

Rabbit shrugged and said, “Saw him pack them in his bag. He left the livery and didn’t like the way things were settling on Cronus, or maybe Cronus was just being ornery, but he stopped, dismounted, and commenced to emptying his saddlebag. He strapped on one of the Peacemakers under his long coat and put the other back.”

Raine forced a semblance of calm she did not feel and asked as if it were neither here nor there, “Have you mentioned this to your granny?”

“No. She doesn’t want to hear about guns.”

“Then your pap?”

Finn shook his head. “He thinks Mr. Coltrane is a gambler. Rabbit says we shouldn’t try to change his ways. Makes him pained.”

“That’s probably wise.” She picked up her pencil and tapped it lightly against the table.

“You sound like a woodpecker,” Finn told her.

She managed a chuckle. “Why don’t you take your rolls into the kitchen and see Mrs. Sterling about those brownies?” The boys jumped off the bar before she was finished. She watched them hightail it out of the saloon before she returned to her work. “What are you doing, Mr. Coltrane?” she asked under her breath. “What in God’s name are you doing now?”

Kellen returned to the Pennyroyal a few hours before dinner was served. He used the backstairs to avoid the other guests and, he hoped, most of the staff. Sue Hage passed him in the hallway, but she kept her head down and hurried along. He bade her good afternoon, knowing she wouldn’t take it as an invitation for conversation.