Ralph Compton - Blood on the Gallows

Managing a smile, McBride said, ‘‘You’re holding a very rich young man in your arms there.’’

‘‘A child without parents. How rich can he be?’’

‘‘Will you raise him, Julieta? Be a mother to him?’’

‘‘Of course I will, and I’ll see that his inheritance is kept for him.’’

‘‘Maybe now that Jared Josephine is dead and his ambitions with him, you could move back to town. It’s lonely for a woman out here.’’

Julieta shook her head. ‘‘This is my home. This is where I’ll raise Simon and watch him grow to manhood.’’

McBride rose to his feet. ‘‘Julieta, you have courage, a rare kind of courage I can only guess at.’’ He smiled. ‘‘I only wish I was as brave.’’

The baby was asleep and the girl placed him in his crib. She straightened and looked McBride in the eye. ‘‘Your own courage will soon be put to the test, I think.’’

‘‘Harlan?’’

‘‘Yes, him. A few nights ago I had a dream and at the time I did not know what it meant. I saw a gallows, covered in blood, and a man hanging, a man who had been whipped with a lash.’’ Julieta shuddered. ‘‘The man had your face.’’

McBride felt a chill, but he tried to shrug off what the girl was telling him. ‘‘I’ll be careful, Julieta.’’ He smiled. ‘‘Take care of the baby.’’

He stepped to the door and walked into the rain to his waiting horse. When he looked back, Julieta was standing at the door, watching him. A cold, green light showed in the sky to the east and McBride shivered.

Chapter 33

John McBride rode into Rest and Be Thankful at the coolest hour of the morning, just as the night was shading into a rainy dawn that made the town look like a smeared watercolor. The Main Street was a sluggish river of yellow mud and the gray buildings seemed to be dissolving slowly into a background of brush flats and distant blue hills.

He rode into the barn, climbed down from the saddle and turned as Jed Whipple stumped toward him on his bandy legs. ‘‘Welcome, young feller,’’ he said. ‘‘Am I ever glad to see a paying customer.’’ He glanced over McBride’s shoulder. ‘‘Where’s the preacher?’’

McBride grinned. ‘‘He’ll be along shortly. What’s been happening, Jed?’’

‘‘Happening? It seems every outlaw in town’s suddenly developed a bad case of ‘It’s time I was someplace else.’ Them dang Rangers raided every saloon in town last night, cussin’, shovin’ an’ arrestin’. Stillwater Jack Quinlan got hisself kilt. Sassed a Ranger, then drew down on him.’’ The old man shook his head. ‘‘Bad mistake.’’ He sighed. ‘‘Hoodoo Hester, as good a man with a knife as ever was, is lying over to the hotel with three bullets in him an’ he ain’t expected to live. He should’ve knowed better than to pull a Bowie on gunfightin’ men. Oh, an’ Tick Anderson, nice feller, ran with Jesse an’ Frank an’ them for a spell. Well, anyhoo, he jumped out a top window of the Silver Garter cathouse tryin’ to get away. Broke his fool neck an’ he ain’t expected to last out the day.’’

‘‘So the outlaws are leaving town in a hurry, huh?’’ McBride said.

‘‘Leaving? They’ve left. Well, except for a dozen of the worst of ’em the Rangers are holding over to the jail. One of the big mustaches told me they’re loading them boys into their wagon later this morning. He says they’ll take ’em back to Texas where they can get a fair trial and be hung legal-like.’’

‘‘You seen anything of Marshal Harlan?’’ McBride asked.

‘‘Neither hide nor hair. You huntin’ him?’’

‘‘Yes, I am.’’

‘‘Then more fool you, young feller.’’ He nodded in the direction of his office. ‘‘Coffee’s biled. He’p yourself.’’

Whipple took McBride’s horse to a stall and when he returned McBride had coffee in a tin cup, holding it by the rim, waiting until it was cool enough to drink.

‘‘Know how them boys paid me for boarding their horses?’’ Whipple said. He didn’t pause for an answer. ‘‘Rangers’ scrip. They said it would be honored by the great state of Texas.’’ The old man spat into the mud as his feet. ‘‘I got as much chance of seein’ that money as a steer in a packin’ plant.’’

McBride tried his coffee, burned his tongue and wished he’d waited longer. ‘‘At least they’re not planning to stretch your neck,’’ he said.

Whipple nodded. ‘‘I got the preacher to thank for that. He does a powerful blessin’ and that’s a natural fact.’’

Remorse led his gray into the barn just before noon and rousted McBride out of a stall where he’d been sleeping. When the big man had climbed groggily to his feet, the reverend replaced him with his horse, then said, ‘‘Want to give me a rundown, John?’’

McBride repeated what Whipple had told him, including the death of Stillwater Jack Quinlan and the unfortunate injuries sustained by Hester and Anderson.

‘‘So the rats are bolting their hole?’’ he said, throwing his saddle onto the stall divider.

‘‘Seems like.’’

‘‘Harlan?’’

McBride shook his head.

‘‘Be on your guard, John. He’ll be looking for you and after he finds you he’ll come for me.’’

‘‘He won’t need to look hard. I’ll go where he’ll be waiting. Tonight.’’

‘‘Want me to come along?’’

‘‘No, Saul. This is between me and Harlan.’’

Remorse leaned his elbow on the divider. For the first time since they’d met, McBride thought the man seemed tired. And he looked older. ‘‘He’s faster with the iron than you, John,’’ he said. ‘‘Think about that.’’

‘‘I will, but I’ll wait until dark before I start fretting over it.’’

It took a few moments, but Remorse said finally, ‘‘Just so you know that the offer stands. If you want me to tag along, you only have to say the word.’’

McBride nodded. ‘‘I appreciate that, Saul, but I owe Thad Harlan. It’s something I have to do myself.’’

‘‘So be it, then.’’ Remorse patted his flat stomach. ‘‘I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.’’

Whipple stepped out of his office and stopped the two men at the livery door.

‘‘Reverend,’’ he said, ‘‘your blessin’ me an’ all worked. Them Rangers left me alone, didn’t even ask where I’d come from or nothin’.’’

Remorse placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘‘Jed, they recognized the glow of heavenly purity in you. I’ll wager they said among themselves, ‘There goes a man who has done more than his share of everything that’s wicked in this world, but now he keeps to the righteous path. We will leave him in peace.’ ’’

‘‘Damn right,’’ Whipple said, pleased. ‘‘I ain’t wicked no more, at least no more’n most folks.’’

‘‘Jed, you are a shining example to us all,’’ Remorse said. ‘‘Keep up the good work.’’

As Whipple stood in the doorway of the stable, doing his level best to look saintly, McBride and Remorse left for the Kip and Kettle restaurant. ‘‘Soon to be under new management,’’ Remorse noted as they stepped inside.

The only other customers were a couple of Rangers, stragglers since the others had already left. McBride felt hard eyes on him as he and Remorse sat at a table and ordered coffee, bacon and eggs.

The waitress poured them both coffee, then left to place their order. One of the lawmen began to rise from his chair. He was a gangly, loose-limbed man who seemed to get up piece by piece, then reassemble himself when he reached his feet. He walked to McBride’s table, his spurs ringing.

‘‘Howdy, boys,’’ he said, little friendliness in his greeting. Then he saw Remorse’s clerical collar, his guns hidden by his slicker. Surprised, he touched the brim of his hat. ‘‘Reverend.’’