Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

A few minutes later he had the man tied to a post with the rope thrown up over a crosspiece, pulling his hands over his head, and taking most of his weight off his feet. He stood looking at him a long time, as the man groggily looked back. Finally, he turned to the crowd. “Has anyone checked on the woman?”

Murdock pushed her way through the crowd. “I did. She’s all right, Marshal. Just scared.”

“Good. Thanks, Murdock.” He turned back to his prisoner. “So, what do we do with vermin like this?”

The comments from the crowd were varied and sudden, ranging from death to emasculation. He noticed a puddle forming under the man that wasn’t sweat. “We’ll let him hang here all night. The woman he assaulted will have a whip. It’s up to her to use it, or not. Murdock, in the morning you can turn him loose. If he’s still alive, he can leave town.” He turned back to the man. “Mister, I don’t want to know your name, where you’ve come from, or where you are going. If I see you again, I’ll beat you to death.”

He’d noticed a few men in the outskirts of the group that weren’t local—they just weren’t dressed right. He directed his comments to them. “The people of this town will not be bothered. Anyone causing problems will answer to me. I won’t be giving any more warnings.” He was in his office soaking his hands when Katie came in. She leaned on the door as she closed it. There were no lights inside, so he could barely see her in the evening dusk.

“I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”

He couldn’t tell if she was mad or pleased. “Just doing my job… I think.”

She didn’t acknowledge ambivalence. “What are you doing to your hands?”

“Found some Epsom salts on the shelf. It’ll help keep the swelling down.”

She stepped forward, looking at his battered hands. “I heard this ‘porch ornament’ tried to rape that poor woman. Do you think he’s the one you’re looking for?”

“Not likely. He’s too clumsy, and not smart enough. No, he’s not the one.” She came closer, like a forest animal sniffing out something it didn’t understand. “What’s wrong, Katherine?”

“I don’t know—I really don’t. You killed a man earlier today while he was just sitting there talking to you. Then, I see what happened out here and it bothers me. Sometimes, I don’t know you and that scares me. You were so brutal… I’ve never seen you like that.”

He watched her and hoped the dread didn’t show in his eyes. Their settlement was unique, and up until now was safe. Compared to the rest of the country, she’d led a sheltered life. For the first time, he wondered if being with her was just a dream. “You’re right. You don’t know me, Katherine. I tried to tell you that. I’m not hiding anything from you. This is who I am.” He dried his hands and held one out to her. “Come and sit with me. We can talk.”

She shook her head, “No. I— I better not. I need to think.”

“Then go do your thinking, Katie.” His voice was harsh in the gloomy room and he couldn’t keep his feelings out of it. “While you’re at it, stop by and make sure that piece of filth hanging on the porch is being treated right. Maybe you could take him home with you. I’m sure your father would approve.”

He didn’t get up to close the door after she left. He wasn’t too sure it would close after the way she slammed it—it was still swinging. Sitting in the darkness, his throat felt raw and his mind empty. He knew his world had just walked out that door. What he didn’t know was how to get her back.

The midmorning heat pressed a heavy hand on John Trent. The trail written in the bent grass and churned earth turned up by the passage of horses was easily followed. Pagan Reeves and his men hadn’t tried to cover their trail.

He thought back to the night before. His simple ruse had worked. He was sure Reeves was a back-shooter, so he’d taunted him until the man went running to his chief, Jeremiah Starking. He could have wasted weeks plowing around the hills looking for Starking, but now the trail was like a paved highway, road signs and everything.

Topping a rise, he saw a huge encampment spread out below him. Groups of people milled around the cleared area between at least fifty cook fires. Children ran and whooped through the clearing and farther away a small herd of horses grazed under the watchful eye of a guard.

There was only one tent in the clearing and he pulled out his binoculars to study it. Horses held by a boy in cut off bib-overalls next to a large tent looked hard ridden. Pagan must be in conference with Starking. It was time to move.

Walking his horse into the clearing, rifle across his thighs, Trent rode straight and relaxed in the saddle. His hat pulled down to his eyes, the tin star glittered in the sunlight. The camp seemed different from others he had seen. The people at the campfires were bedraggled, and though most looked like they’d missed a few meals, they were clean. The area around the fires was clean, and he noticed for the first time a garbage pit dug to one side, and farther out, the latrine. Someone kept a tight rein on these people.

A germ of an idea began creeping into Trent’s head.

A wave of people preceded his way through the camp, then broke and split at the large tent as he reined in the gelding.

The curtain brushed aside and a tall, white-haired man stepped outside. Several men, including Pagan Reeves, Ben Hobbs, and Red Seaver, instantly flanked him.

He and Starking took stock of each other, matching what they’d heard against what they saw.

The cold eyes gave way to a colder voice. “Speak your piece.”

So much for cordial introductions.

He looked around the circle of faces, feeling like red meat in a wolf den. If he didn’t make this good, he’d have about as much chance.

“Mr. Starking, my name is John Trent. I’m sure the riff-raff behind you have told you of me. Assuming that’s true, you should know I wouldn’t ride in here without good reason. We need to talk. I think we can avoid a lot of needless bloodshed, and come to terms that would help us both. If you’re willing to listen.”

Starking still hadn’t looked anywhere but at Trent’s eyes. “And why should I?”

He lifted his rifle, causing a hasty stir behind Starking, and then shoved it into the boot on the saddle. Pushing his hat onto the back of his head, he hooked one knee around the saddle horn and gestured to the people around him. “The word is, you want to take Big Springs and make homes for these people. I can sympathize with that. Your people trust you, and I can see you care for their welfare. The problem is, though, sir… Big Springs is already settled.”

Starking nodded. “A few hill-people are there, I understand.”

Sudden comprehension made him nod. “Have you seen it, Mr. Starking?”

The man folded his arms and widened his stance. “Reeves told me about it.”

He pinned the man standing behind Starking with a penetrating gaze and spoke slowly. “Then you’ve been lied to.” The crowd stirred at this, muttering and shifting their feet in the grass.

Reeves started to speak, but Starking raised his hand to silence him. “Your story is different?”

He turned a little so he could see more people, especially the men and women with small children. “Big Springs has as many people as you do, maybe more. There are families there, just like here. They have a church and a preacher. They have a store that deals in trading, and two gristmills for grinding grain and sawing lumber. There’s a ranch nearby that’s busy rounding up cattle, and there are enough of those to keep a good many people fat for years. Most important of all, the water at the Springs is clear and clean. The people of Big Springs will fight to keep what they have.”