Charles West - Lawless Prairie

They remained there, she with her head on his shoulder, for some time until Rowdy became impatient and strolled over to rub his muzzle on Clint’s stomach. “I guess he’s tellin’ me it’s time to get goin’ back,” Clint said. He sat up and watched for a moment while Joanna, slightly embarrassed now, recovered her clothing. He realized then that there was something he must tell her, reluctant though he might be.

Sensing a seriousness come over him, she paused to look him in the eye. “If you’re about to tell me this was all a big mistake, I don’t wanna hear it,” she scolded.

“Joanna, I’ve gotta tell you somethin’ I shoulda told you from the first.”

Not waiting to let him finish, she reproached him. “Now that we’ve had our roll in the grass, you remember there was an Indian there before you.”

“No,” he quickly replied. “That ain’t it at all. I don’t fault you for that. Hell, it wasn’t your doin’.”

“Then what?” she demanded. “You just remember you’ve got a little wife waiting for you back in Wyoming? Well, guess what, I’ve got a husband somewhere, too. You’re not the only one with a guilty conscience.”

“No, dammit,” he exclaimed, getting more than a little annoyed with her accusations. “Just shut up a minute and let me finish.”

She realized then that her insecurities had again taken control of her emotions because of a dread of rejection and fear that she had been used to simply give him physical relief. When she indicated that she was calmly awaiting what he felt he had to say, he revealed that which he had been reluctant to tell. “I’m an escaped convict from the Wyoming Territorial Prison,” he started out bluntly. Almost staggered by his statement, she nevertheless showed no alarm and heard him out as he told her his story and how he happened to be on his way to Montana when he came upon her.

Although still astonished by his confession, she was not horrified by the time he had explained everything. “You mean you were sent to prison, really, because of compassion for a horse?” she asked.

“Well, it wasn’t just any horse,” he quickly responded. “It was an Appaloosa gelding that trusted me, and I couldn’t let that horse take the abuse he was gettin’ from the judge’s foreman.”

“And that’s the only crime you’ve committed? They sent you to prison for that?”

“It was until a few weeks ago when I stole the horse I escaped prison on,” he said.

“But six years,” she wondered. “Isn’t that a long time for just setting one horse free?”

“I reckon not, if it’s a judge’s horse.”

It was a dilemma, and one that had taken her completely by surprise. She wasn’t quite sure what to think about it. She trusted her instincts that told her he was a decent man who had been dealt a cruel hand by fate. She thought of the man who had come to her rescue, risking his life repeatedly to save her and her father. She remembered the firm but gentle hand that had seen her safely home to find her mother dead and her husband gone—the vigilant guide that saw her and her father safely to this country. This was not the work of a common horse thief. These were traits found in decent, honest men. She decided that she accepted his story completely, and knowing he anxiously awaited her verdict, she told him as much.

“What happened here today was supposed to happen,” Joanna told a relieved young man. “It will be our secret until we have time to think about what should happen next.” She gazed at the imprint in the soft grass where they had lain, then looked around her at the fragile willows. “This place will always be our special place,” she whispered. She was certain then of what she wanted to happen, but decided to be careful about mentioning marriage and family until she really knew the seriousness of his intentions. As for him, he was still in somewhat of a mystified daze, still finding it hard to believe it had happened.

“Where’s Clint?” Bertha asked when Joanna hurried into the kitchen.

“Putting the horses away,” Joanna answered. “I thought I’d better help you with supper.”

“Did you have a nice ride?” Bertha asked, taking note of the flush in her niece’s cheeks while rolling out biscuits on the table.

“Yes, it was quite pleasant.”

Bertha’s tiny, tight-lipped smile appeared and she said, “Looks like it put a little rosy in your cheeks.”

“Really?” Joanna responded. “The wind, I guess.”

“Probably,” Bertha said as she continued rolling out her dough. “Maybe you might wanna change your skirt, though, and tomorrow when I do the wash, we’ll see if we can get some of those grass stains off of the back of it.”

Joanna flushed scarlet and twisted around trying to see the back of her skirt. “I don’t know how that happened,” she said, trying to convince a grinning Aunt Bertha. “I think I did that this morning when I gathered the eggs.”

“Most likely,” her aunt agreed, thoroughly enjoying her niece’s discomfort. “Hurry and change and you can set the table.”

At supper that night, no one observed the frequent glances between Joanna and Clint, with the exception of Bertha, who very seldom missed anything. As for Clint, he felt a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, having confessed his dark secret to Joanna and knowing she believed in his innocence. Supper was especially enjoyable on this occasion.

Chapter 11

“What’ll it be, mister?” Malcolm Gordy asked the wiry stranger with the drooping mustache. The owner of Gordy’s Saloon made a symbolic gesture of wiping the rough bar with his dirty rag.

Zach Clayton took a moment to look around the empty room before walking over to the bar. “What have you got that won’t kill a man?” he asked.

“I don’t serve nothin’ but the best whiskey I can get,” Gordy replied defensively.

“Well, I’ll take a chance on one shot of it.”

Gordy looked his customer over while he poured Clayton’s drink. When he set the bottle down on the bar, Clayton eyed the shot glass carefully. “I figure if I’m payin’ for a shot,” he said, “I’d expect to get a full shot. How about fillin’ that glass the rest of the way?”

“That is a full shot around here,” Gordy grumbled while filling the glass.

“Much obliged,” Clayton said, and tossed the whiskey down his throat. The fiery liquid scalded his throat, leaving him with tears in his eyes and speechless for a few seconds. When he could talk again, he rasped, “If that’s the best you can get, I won’t complain about a half-full glass next time . . . Damn!”

Gordy grinned, satisfied with a small measure of revenge. “I ain’t seen you in these parts before,” he said.

“Last time I was up this way there was nothin’ but a few tents here,” Zach said. He opened his coat to display his badge. “I’m a deputy marshal, and I’m looking for a man that mighta come through here a week or so ago. He was travelin’ with another man and a woman.” When Gordy failed to respond, he added, “Young feller.”

Gordy knew exactly whom he was referring to, but he was not in the habit of helping the law. Many of his customers were men on the other side of the law. He gave this some extra thought, however, because of the recent demise of two of his regulars. Johnny and Red had been friends of his, and their deaths cost him money. He wouldn’t mind seeing the man who killed them pay for the deed. “I seen him,” Gordy said after a lengthy pause. “He was in here for a drink, but I don’t know where he come from or where he went.”

Clayton had a feeling the bartender knew more than he was telling, but he thanked him and went on his way. He rode comfortably, not asking for more than a leisurely walk from the chestnut roan he rode. There had been changes since last he was in this part of the territory with a cluster of tents and shacks that was almost enough to be called a town. When he came upon a trading post that he remembered, close by the bank of the river, he decided to stop.