The Outlaws: Sam

He opened his eyes, one at a time, slowly, carefully.
His head pounded and his mouth tasted like the inside of an
outhouse. Sam Gentry knew without a doubt he had the granddaddy of
all hangovers. Even more disheartening was the fact that he was in
jail and had no idea how he got here.

Had the posse caught up with him? Had the
sheriff of Denison, Texas seen his picture on that blasted wanted
poster that proclaimed to all the world that the Gentry brothers
were outlaws? The last thing he remembered was sitting down at the
poker table in a saloon whose name he couldn't remember and betting
the last of his money on a winning hand. The pot had been
substantial and he'd bought a round of drinks for everyone at the
table. He searched his memory for more information and came up
blank. He choked out a groan. What in the hell had happened?

"You finally woke up. I was beginning to
worry."

The gruff voice sent pain shooting through
Sam's head. He turned slowly. His bleary eyes focused with some
difficulty on a man who looked vaguely familiar. He was sitting on
the floor, his back braced against the wall. He was older than Sam
by many years. His faded red hair was streaked with gray and his
leathery complexion had the look of a man who'd spent his life
outdoors.

"Do I know you?" Sam didn't recognize his own
voice, which came out raspy and grating.

The man chuckled. "You sure as hell ought to.
I'm Rusty Ramsey from the B&G Ranch. How much do you remember
about last night?"

"Damn little."

"You're one helluva fighter, Sam."

"You know my name?"

"You mentioned it last night. In Texas nobody
asks for last names. It ain't healthy, if you know what I
mean."

Sam knew exactly what he meant.

"You won a heap of money at the poker table
last night and bought everyone a round of drinks. I reckon you
decided you needed a few more cause you sure hung on a good
one."

"I remember that much. But that doesn't
explain why I feel like I've been run over by a hay wagon. Why did
you say I was a good fighter?"

"The fight's the reason we're both cooling
our heels in jail. I reckon Sheriff Hale will show up soon to turn
us loose."

Sam sat up slowly, very slowly. "Tell me
about the fight, Rusty. I can't believe I'd do anything that would
land me in jail. I've been trying to stay out of jail since I left
Dodge a few weeks ago."

"So you're from up Kansas way," Rusty said.
"Thought I recognized that Kansas twang. I take it you don't recall
the boys from the Taylor spread picking a fight with me."

Sam shook his head and was immediately sorry.

"They were goading me about their boss's
upcoming marriage to the owner of the B&G. Said I was too old
to continue on as foreman, that I'd be out of a job after Taylor
Cramer took over. I took exception to being called old." He wiggled
his jaw back and forth. "I reckon it was foolish of me to take on
two men younger than myself by several years, but they made me mad.
I didn't ask for your help and you didn't ask if I wanted it, but I
sure as hell appreciated it when you threw yourself into the
fight."

"No wonder I feel like I've been battered. I
can usually hold my own in a fight, but I'm not usually drunk when
I'm doing it. Did we win?"

Rusty grinned. "We weren't losing. The
sheriff broke it up before anyone was seriously hurt."

"Are the Cramer hands in jail?"

"No. Sheriff Hale learned that I started the
fight and let the Cramer hands go. Don't worry, we'll be out of
here soon. I need to get back to the ranch. The boss lady depends
on me."

Sam gave a shudder of relief. He was to be
set free, so obviously the sheriff hadn't seen the wanted poster.
"A woman owns the B&G?"

"Yep. Her uncle up and died a couple of
months ago and left it to her. A pity, too. She wasn't born to
ranching and don't know beans about it. But I gotta hand it to her.
She's learning fast and she ain't afeared of hard work."

The sound of squeaking door hinges sent
renewed pain shooting behind Sam's eyes. He blinked, and the tall,
solid form of the sheriff came into focus.

"You boys ready to leave?"

Rusty dragged himself to his feet. "I reckon
we are, sheriff."

The sheriff fit the key in the lock and swung
open the door. "You're both free to go. You know better than to
pick a fight, Rusty. And you, young fella," he said, fixing Sam
with a stern look, "you're a stranger in town, aren't you?" Sam
nodded. "If you plan on sticking around, you should know I don't
condone fighting in public places. Denison is a peaceful town and I
aim to keep it that way."

"Sam won't give you any more trouble,
sheriff," Rusty promised.

Sam rose unsteadily, anxious to leave the
jail. He followed Rusty out the door, squinting into the brilliant
daylight.

"You look awful," Rusty said.

"You don't look so good yourself.

"What are you gonna do? You got business in
town or something?"

Sam rubbed the dark stubble growing on his
chin. "I'm just riding through."

Rusty slapped him on the back. "I like you,
son. If you're looking for work, I can offer you a job on the
B&G. We can use another hand or two."

"What about your boss? Won't she have
something to say about it?"

"She leaves the hiring and firing to me.
She's got enough to do taking care of her son. Cute little tyke
named Andy."

Sam seriously considered taking Rusty up on
his offer. He'd always preferred ranching to farming, and a ranch
sounded like a good place to lay low for awhile. And he doubted
those wanted posters he so feared had reached this far south yet.
Denison was a small town, he felt reasonably safe here.

"Maybe I'll take you up on that offer, Rusty.
I need a job and a place to light for awhile. At least until your
boss marries that Cramer fellow and we're booted out."

"He won't fire all the hands, just me and a
couple others. Me and Cramer had a little run in a while back. That
was before Hob Bigelow, Lacey's uncle, died. Come on, Sam, forget
that bastard. Let's get our horses from the livery and ride out to
the ranch. I'll introduce you to the boss lady and show you the
ropes. You know anything about ranching?"

"A little. My people were farmers, but I can
ride and rope with the best of them."

"You'll do.

Sam and Rusty headed out of town. Sam was
happy to see the last of Denison. He'd tried to avoid towns since
shaking the posse a few weeks ago, but he'd run low on provisions
and money. He had stopped at Denison to find a poker game. He'd
always played a good hand of poker, not as good as Jess, but better
than Rafe. He'd used the last of his money to bet on an inside
straight and won, but Lord only knows what he did with the money.
From the size of his head, he suspected he had squandered it all on
booze.

Sam needed a drink. His head felt ready to
burst and riding made it worse. A cup of strong coffee would be
mighty welcome now. Sam's mind wandered back to Kansas, to the day
he and his brothers were falsely accused of bank robbery. They
hadn't had time to consider whether running away was a good idea,
not with a posse of hotheaded men with hanging on their minds
breathing down their necks.

During the past few weeks Sam had often
wondered if they would have been able to prove their innocence had
they not run. He seriously doubted the posse would have let them
live long enough to face a judge and jury. The Gentry brothers had
been Southern sympathizers in a Yankee state, and the people of
Dodge never let them forget it. They hadn't even allowed Jess, a
dedicated doctor, to practice medicine after the war. They had
shunned his services in droves, and Jess was forced to take down
his shingle.

Rafe had tried hard to make a go of the farm,
but the last draught had all but wiped them out. And asking for a
bank loan had started all the trouble with the law.

"I'll bet you're hungry," Rusty said, reining
in beside Sam.

"Nope, but I can sure use a drink," Sam
answered. "You don't have a bottle on you, do you?"

"Nope. I ain't a drinker. I hope you're not
one either cause the boss don't cotton to drinking men working for
her."

"I don't usually drink to excess, though I do
like a drink now and again. Last night was an exception. I've had
a...bit of hard luck recently. I reckon I let it get me down and
reacted by getting drunk. It won't happen again, though a drink
would settle my stomach right now."

"The ranch is just up ahead. A cup of Luke's
coffee and some of his hot biscuits should perk you up."

Shading his eyes against the brilliant rays
of the sun, Sam spied the ranch. Squat and rambling, it sat on a
low rise surrounded by numerous outbuildings and scraggly trees. In
the distance, he could see cattle grazing on the range, and the
yard and paddock were a beehive of activity.

"Looks like a prosperous spread," Sam
said.

"Looks can be deceiving," Rusty answered.
"Miz Lacey is having the devil's own time keeping the ranch.
Several years of back taxes are due shortly and she hasn't the cash
to pay them. I swear she's marrying Taylor Cramer for his money.
She and little Andy ain't go nowhere else to go."

Lacey!

The name produced a tangle of painful
memories that Sam had tried hard to forget. Not even his brothers
knew about Lacey, and he intended to keep it that way. He could
hardly stand thinking about her himself. But this Lacey couldn't be
the same Lacey who had cold-bloodedly betrayed him. The woman who
had sent him to a sure death. But he had fooled her and escaped. He
shook his head clear of unwelcome thoughts. To his knowledge,
though he hadn't bothered to find out, Lacey Peters was still
living in Pennsylvania.

"I assume your boss is a widow."

"Yep. Her husband died in the war. Then her
Pa died. After the war she and her son came to live with Hob
Bigelow, her mother's brother. Old Hob renamed the ranch to include
the first initial of Miz Lacey's last name."

"Hob Bigelow must have been a poor
businessman," Sam mused, already putting Lacey Peters behind him
where she belonged.

"Hob did his best, but he lost a bundle
supporting the Rebel cause during the war. Never did recoup his
losses. He died a mite sooner than he thought and left Miz Lacey
with a heap of bills she had no idea existed, including five years
of back taxes."

"And you think she's marrying Taylor Cramer
for his money?"

"Can't think of no other reason. That man
wanted to get his hands on the ranch before old Hob died, but Hob
wouldn't sell. He didn't trust Cramer and neither do I."

"Maybe Miz Lacey loves Cramer."

Rusty gave a bark of laughter. "Ha! That
ain't likely. I'd be the first to admit her boy needs a pa, but
Cramer ain't that man. He don't even like little Andy."

They rode through the gate. Rusty directed
him toward the paddock. "You don't look in any condition to meet
Miz Lacey today." He dismounted. "Leave your horse, one of the
hands will take care of him. I'll take you to the cookhouse first,
and you can sample some of Luke's coffee. If you survive that, you
can survive anything. Then I suggest that you clean up, find
yourself an empty bunk in the bunkhouse, and sleep off your
hangover. You'll find the bunkhouse over yonder." He pointed to a
long, low building a stone's throw from the cookhouse.

"I reckon I do look pretty rough. Don't want
to scare the boss lady."

Sam shouldered his saddlebags and started off
toward the cookhouse. "Are you coming?"

"Not right now. I want to check on the hands
first. Don't want any of them shirking their duty. I'll see you
later."

The cook wasn't in the cookhouse so Sam found
a tin cup and helped himself to the coffee sitting on a back
burner. It was thick and black and he gulped it down in one long
swallow. It burned clear down to his stomach, but it did help
settle it. The thought of food was revolting so he headed over to
the bunkhouse. He stopped at the pump and pulled off his shirt.
Then he bent over and pumped cold water over his aching head.

Lacey stepped out the back door, shaded her
distinctive hazel eyes against the glare of the sun and walked
briskly to the henhouse to gather eggs. Dust swirled around her
booted feet and along the hem of her split skirt. We need rain, she
thought as she gazed out over the brown prairie grass. She worried
excessively about the cattle during this dry time of year, but
fortunately there was a stream on the property that rarely ran dry
due to the underground spring feeding it. Other ranchers weren't as
lucky in that respect.