Ralph Compton - Blood on the Gallows

‘‘It’s all right. I don’t mind,’’ Julieta said. ‘‘Yes, only Jared Josephine, his son and the Apache came inside.’’

‘‘And you’re sure you didn’t see Clare O’Neil?’’

‘‘I didn’t see her. But I’m certain she was in the wagon and that’s why Harlan was outside.’’

‘‘Did Jared give any indication of where he was taking the baby?’’

‘‘No, but Lance said the silver mine was as good as theirs now that they could use Clare’s bastard as a bargaining chip. Bastard was his word, not my own.’’

‘‘What do you think he meant by that, a bargaining chip?’’

Julieta shook her head. ‘‘I don’t know.’’

Remorse capped the bottle and the girl looked up at him and smiled her thanks. After a while she said, ‘‘I think Jared brought the Apache along to force Clare to sign the mine over to him and Lance.’’ She shuddered. ‘‘Apaches have ways of doing such things.’’

‘‘I thought the Apache hired on to find your cabin,’’ McBride said.

‘‘I think that was just insurance in the event Clare didn’t tell him where the baby was hidden. I don’t know if the Indian found the cabin himself, or if Clare told him. Maybe she did, because when the Apache asked Jared if he could have me, Jared said something like, ‘You’ve already had fun with one white woman and there’s more waiting for you. Isn’t that enough?’ ’’

Julieta looked down at her clenched hands, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Remorse put his arm around her and made soothing, whispering sounds, as though he were comforting a hurting child.

‘‘But apparently it wasn’t enough,’’ Julieta said, looking at McBride with tear-red eyes. ‘‘Before Jared and the others left, they paid the Apache what they owed him and told him he could do whatever he wanted to me. Jared said when he was finished he was to rejoin them. They went out the door laughing, father and son. Jared was carrying the baby and he was talking about me being left to the Apache as a human sacrifice.’’

‘‘But then we arrived and Tashin took you with him,’’ McBride said.

‘‘Was that his name, Tashin? No, after Jared Josephine left’’—she hesitated, as though reluctant to say the name—‘‘Tashin told me to cook him food. Then he left with his rifle. He must have been worried that someone might find him here. He came back after a while and told me I was to leave with him. When I refused, he grabbed me and ripped my dress. He then dragged me to his horse. He was taking a trail along the mountain when the horse broke its leg. Soon after that the shooting started.’’

Remorse had been quiet, but now he spoke up. ‘‘Logically, there’s only two places Josephine could have gone without us seeing him—back to Rest and Be Thankful or to the O’Neil ranch. If he suspects that there are lawmen in town, the ranch would be his obvious choice.’’

‘‘Jared knows everything that’s happening in his town,’’ McBride said. ‘‘A dozen new faces, even if they were lying low for the time being, would not have escaped his notice. After the years he’s spent among some of the worst outlaws in the West, I believe he has the animal instinct to smell a peace officer at a hundred paces.’’

Remorse nodded. ‘‘If he was suspicious, he knew he could lie low at the ranch until the Rangers left. Then he could ride back into town a rich man, the deed to a silver mine safe in his pocket. After that, well, the world is his oyster.’’

McBride rose and stepped to the window and looked into the darkness. Light from the cabin windows transformed the closer raindrops into slanting steel needles. Beyond there was only a wall of black. Without turning he said, ‘‘We could be at the O’Neil ranch in a couple of hours, maybe less.’’

‘‘We could,’’ Remorse agreed, ‘‘but Rest and Be Thankful is closer. Shouldn’t we try there first?’’

McBride turned, his face half in shadow. Unshaven and haggard, his sweeping mustache untrimmed, he looked tough, enduring and a hard man to kill.

‘‘I’ve spent time among outlaws myself,’’ he said, ‘‘and I have my own instincts. I think Jared Josephine is at the ranch. He may have murdered Clare O’Neil and the baby already. I’d say it all depends on how much Clare can stand.’’

‘‘Pain, you mean,’’ Julieta said, her voice small, her gray face revealing that she knew what the answer would be.

McBride nodded, but said nothing.

‘‘Woman, will you be all right here alone?’’ This from Remorse, who was building a cigarette.

‘‘Yes, I’ll be fine.’’ Julieta’s eyes lifted to McBride. ‘‘John, whatever Clare is, whatever she has done, she is still my friend. Bring her and the baby back here.’’

Again McBride merely nodded. He had no reassuring words. Clare had tried to kill him and even if she’d been insane at the time he could not get over that.

Remorse lit his smoke, rose to his feet and took down his and McBride’s slickers from the hooks behind the door. He tossed McBride’s slicker to him and said, ‘‘You did well up there on the mountain today. The Apache was not easy.’’

‘‘Thank Julieta for that,’’ McBride said, smiling at the girl. ‘‘If she hadn’t grabbed him I wouldn’t have gotten the clear shot I did.’’

‘‘You didn’t tell me that,’’ Remorse said, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. His eyes lightened. ‘‘When the Apache came at you, were you standing straight up and down like a city detective at a police shooting range?’’

McBride absorbed the barb, smiling to show that it didn’t hurt a bit. ‘‘As a matter of fact, yes, I was. I assumed the official NYPD shooting position.’’ Now he recalled the words of his instructors and repeated them by rote. ‘‘Such a shooting stance provides a steady platform for the police officer’s weapon when he needs must apply deadly force when confronted with an armed and murderous felon.’’

Remorse glanced at McBride, then at Julieta. ‘‘Lucky you grabbed the Apache when you did, young lady. He would have killed McBride for sure.’’

Sunset Peak was lost in darkness, but McBride felt its brooding presence looming over him as he and Remorse angled to the southeast, turning away from the mountains.

They rode across forested plateau country, five thousand feet above the flat, and their horses held their heads nervously high, intent on the endless tunnel of darkness ahead. The rain fell steadily, drumming on the hats and shoulders of the riders, and a restless wind whipped through the surrounding junipers and piñons, setting them to whispering.

‘‘This is rough enough country in daylight,’’ Remorse said. ‘‘Ten times rougher at night.’’

‘‘We should see the lights of the ranch soon,’’ McBride said. He didn’t believe that himself. He didn’t even know if they were headed in the right direction.

‘‘Good, then maybe we can get out of this infernal rain.’’

McBride felt rather than saw Remorse turn his head to him. ‘‘How do we play it?’’

‘‘I don’t know.’’

‘‘Well, that’s honest, if less than inspiring.’’

Lightning lit up the clouds ahead of them and, despite the rain, the hunting coyotes were calling.

‘‘Saul, you’re the feller who doesn’t shoot straight up and down like a city detective,’’ McBride said. ‘‘Maybe you’re the one to have inspiration.’’

Remorse’s laughter was a soft sound in the darkness. ‘‘You’re so easy to tease, John. I’ll have to ask forgiveness for that.’’ He fell silent for a few moments, considering, then said, ‘‘Is there a back door to the ranch house?’’

‘‘As far as I can recall, yes.’’