Dark Trail Rising: Four Tales of the Old West Page 7

  Before the cabin had been set ablaze, Tidwell and two other men had carried out the provisions they could use and were divvying them up, distributing them amongst themselves, and tying them to their horses.

  The man who had been on guard behind Jericho and Freeman came into Jericho's view, veering off toward the trees where Freeman had disappeared. Freeman was on his own, but he could handle himself. Jericho had vowed to kill Tidwell, and that was the business he needed to be about right now.

  From somewhere behind the cabin, he heard a man's shout, a plea, then a single rifle shot. A woman screamed and wailed, the sound tearing into Jericho's heart as no piece of lead ever could, wounding him all over again. That sound she made was the way he'd felt when he'd made the horrible discovery of his own shattered world just days ago. It was despair, in its purest form, and he knew just how terrible a wound that could be.

  He rode carefully along the top of the ridgeline, keeping a constant eye on the plundering going on at the front of the cabin.

  His hand went to the delicate cross on the length of rawhide string around his neck – Elena's cross he'd fashioned from two of the nails he'd used to put the roof on their small cabin. They'd just been starting out together, full of love for one another, hope for the future, and faith that God would help them through anything they might face.

  Well, Jericho thought grimly, two out of three ain't bad.

  That had been before they'd made a family together, when their home was as new as their love, and hope had seemed boundless. Now, this cross was all that was left of everything. He would be wearing it when he died – a symbol of salvation that would never be his.

  He'd worked his way steadily around 'til he could see what lay behind the cabin. There were two more men there, rifling the bodies of the homesteader and his wife. Jericho's gut clenched at the sight. Evidently, the woman had been killed quickly, most likely accidentally. He was certain it wasn't because either of the outlaws had shown mercy.

  "Hey, Gene," one of the men called from the front of the house, "let's go have a look in the barn. Could be this sodbuster had a horse or two."

  "What are you waiting for?" Freeman's voice came from behind Jericho. He jerked around, startled by the angel's silent, sudden appearance.

  "The right moment," he answered, pulling his Winchester from his saddle scabbard. "What happened to your company?"

  "He's…chasing a mirage over yonder." Freeman nodded across the clearing to the stand of trees where he'd ridden earlier. "Better take care of business down there, Jericho."

  There was an edge to Freeman's tone that hadn't been there before as the man approached the barn.

  Jericho was well aware that shooting the man headed for the barn would alert the others. "They've got nowhere to run, son," Freeman said aloud in answer to his thoughts.

  Jericho raised the rifle and aimed, pulled the trigger and hit the outlaw in the back of the head. "Gene," who followed a few paces behind, was next, dead before he could take the steps he needed to get inside the shelter of the barn.

  The other man from behind the cabin ran around toward the front, yelling for Burk Tidwell. The burning cabin was no protection for him, and Jericho sighted down the barrel once more, dropping him before he cleared the corner of the fiery structure.

  The two outlaws left in the front yard had drawn their pistols and turned toward where Jericho sat astride Dan, firing off shots as they ran toward where the horses had scattered.

  "Don't let them get out of range," Freeman said, and for a moment, Jericho wasn't sure if he'd heard it, or thought it himself.

  He squeezed off another shot, missing just as Tidwell ducked. Tidwell grabbed the reins of one of the mounts and tried to fling himself to its back. Jericho's next bullet caught him in the leg, and he yelped in pain.

  "You bastard," Jericho muttered, as he shot once more and Burk Tidwell fell to the ground, dead. The last man had managed to mount up, but Jericho's next shot sent him arcing from the saddle to sprawl in the dirt below.

  There was another one to deal with out there somewhere. It occurred to Jericho that he himself wasn't dead yet. Maybe the last of Tidwell's men would be the one to finish him. He only hoped they went out together. Jericho didn't want to leave this business unfinished. He'd made a promise to Elena to see them dead – or as many of them as he could kill before they got him.

  Now, he must hunt down the last of them. But first, he needed to ride down and make sure none of the Tidwell's gang had managed to survive. He didn't think it was possible, but he aimed to be certain of it.

  Chapter 7

  The horses milled restively, unsettled by the proximity of the blazing cabin, the recent gunshots, and the smell of fresh blood.

  Jericho felt an odd sense of calmness wash over him. Soon, it would be over. He'd be with Elena and his girls once more. For some reason, there was a feeling of apprehension when that thought came to him this time.

  Up to this point, he'd looked forward to seeing this job done, and getting on with his own death. But now, there was a sense of separation that he hadn't expected. He looked around quickly at the angel, who rode beside him with an air of secret knowing.

  "Don't double cross me, Freeman."

  The angel's lips curved faintly. "I never agreed to anything."

  "You agreed not to help me. To let things happen as they would."

  Freeman raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I've done just that, son. I haven't influenced anything at all."

  "Keep it that way, angel," Jericho growled. He couldn't get past the feeling that Freeman had done something to the other rider who'd come after them. Why hadn't he showed up at the cabin yet? "Is he in the barn?"

  Freeman shook his head. "No."

  Jericho didn't ask any more questions. As they approached the nearest of the bodies, those of Burk Tidwell and the other man who tried to escape on horseback, it was obvious that they were both dead. Tidwell's sightless gray eyes stared heavenward. Jericho fought down the revulsion that tried to claw its way up from his gut.

  He and Freeman made the rounds of the bodies wordlessly, until they reached the owners of the cabin, a couple who looked to be in their late twenties.

  "Poor young'uns. They never had a chance," Freeman said quietly.

  "At least they went together," Jericho said. Suddenly, he turned to look at Freeman. "There weren't any kids in the cabin were there?"

  Freeman started to say something, then stopped. "No."

  Jericho nodded. "I'm gonna head over to the barn. Make sure that last one of the gang didn't somehow manage to get around and hide in there with all the commotion going on."

  Freeman nodded. "He's not there. But I'll tag along, anyhow."

  "Suit yourself."

  They rode the last few yards together, dismounting at the barn and slipping inside the door that hadn't been latched. The wind banged it shut behind them, then open again.

  A lantern hung on a nail just inside the door, a box of matches in a cut out notch above it. Jericho reached for the lantern and matches, and lit the wick, giving him and Freeman a bit more light to see what lay in the dim recesses of the building. "I'll hold that," Freeman said, taking it from him.

  Jericho stood still, listening for any sound from within. A horse whickered in the stall nearest to the door. He reached to pat him absently as his eyes searched the dim interior, then he moved on.

  A quick assessment showed nothing more than the animals that might be found on any farm of this size – a couple of plow horses and a milk cow. Still, a feeling nagged at him; the thought that there was something, or someone else, hiding in the dark interior of the structure.

  As Jericho turned to go, a muffled cough sounded from the back corner where some old canvas feedbags lay. He stopped and whirled, his gun ready, held steady at the feedbags that shifted, then just as quickly stilled.

  "Come out of there, whoever you are," he ordered, taking a step back toward the corner.

  "Jericho�
��" Freeman began but broke off as Jericho ignored him and closed the distance between where they stood and the back corner.

  Freeman stepped close to him with the lantern just as Jericho reached down to jerk the feed sacks aside.

  "No, Mister!" A boy of no more than ten flung himself over two younger children, covering them with his own body as he looked up at Jericho, terrified.

  A soft choking sob came from under the boy. Jericho looked down into the three children's faces – two boys and a girl, a near-baby. She wasn't old enough to be afraid of him, but the two boys made up for it.

  Jericho wondered how much they had seen. "Anyone else in here?" he asked.

  The oldest boy shook his head. "No. Just me an' Willie and Mary."

  Mary…Maria…

  He was scaring these children, and looking at their faces made him think about his own two angels and how afraid they must have been when Tidwell's men came riding in to wreck their world.

  "Don't be afraid," he said gruffly. "I'm Jericho Dean and this is Mr. Hart. You're safe with us now."

  Still, the oldest boy looked at him with distrustful eyes the color of heaven, so different than his Maria's brown ones had been, though they were close to the same age, he figured.

  "I give you my word, boy. No one'll hurt you."

  "Those men—"

  "I know." Jericho would hear him out later, but for now, he still had one more of Tidwell's gang to see to before these children's safety could be assured. "They won't bother you again."

  The boy shuddered, and moved off of his brother and sister.

  "They killed our Pa," Willie announced, struggling to stand as he disentangled himself from the others and the mountain of feedbags.

  "And ma too, I reckon," the oldest boy said softly.

  Jericho sighed, thinking of all the other dead bodies that lay strewn about the little clearing as well. He didn't know how to answer. They were in shock, he knew, and the tears would come later, once they understood their ma and pa were gone for good. He swallowed hard and looked at Freeman, who remained silent.

  Damn him. He'd had plenty of opinions and thoughts to offer all this time. What was stopping him now?

  As if Freeman read every black idea that flitted through his head, the angel's lips turned upward in a faint, knowing smile.

  "Yeah. They killed your pa. And…I think you're right," he said, looking at the oldest boy, who nodded at the confirmation. "What's your name, son?"

  "Arthur."

  "A king's name."

  "Ma said so too." His chin trembled, but there was pride in his voice, and Jericho smiled kindly at him.

  He crouched down, eye level, as the boy stood up. "Arthur, I want you to stay here in the barn with Mary and Willie. I've got some business to finish up out yonder. Can I count on you?"

  "Yes, sir. How will we know when to come out?"

  Jericho looked at Freeman. "Mr. Hart will come back for you."

  "But…what about you? Maybe you could come back for us."

  He feels safe with you, Jericho.

  Jericho knew Freeman had shoved the thought into his brain. It was true. But he was getting ready to die. As soon as he found the last of Tidwell's men, he figured that'd be when it happened for him. A piece of lead between the eyes; or, most likely, in the back. He couldn't promise to come back for them.

  "We'll see what happens," Freeman put in smoothly. "Oh, will you look at that?" He stepped aside as a brown puppy with a white spot on its tail bounded past him. "Looks like this little rascal sure is happy he came upon you kids. Poor little fella probably needs a good meal and a warm bed." Freeman just smiled at Jericho's surprised look, quelling the protest that rose to his lips.

  Jericho would have sworn that Freeman had somehow conjured the stray puppy out of thin air. But he was here now, and the children gathered around him, petting him in gentle wonder.

  "Now don't let him outside. Just pet him a while and we'll be back soon as we can."

  "Thanks, Mister!" Arthur exclaimed. The children had been immediately occupied with the little mutt and Freeman walked away with a curt nod toward the door. Jericho followed, an odd, unfamiliar sense of regret in his heart as he left the children behind in the safety of the barn.

  "What now, Freeman?" he asked, as soon as they'd gotten to the door. He put a hand on the angel's shoulder, a tingle running through his body at the contact. "Just exactly where did you leave Tidwell's guard?"

  Chapter 8

  "Dead." Freeman turned to face Jericho, all traces of the smiling countenance he'd presented to the children gone. Jericho noted the hard somberness of his face, his blue eyes like glass.

  "I thought you said—"

  "I didn't kill him. Damn fool was so intent on shooting me he completely ignored a low-hanging tree limb. He rode right into it."

  "I thought…this was my time. Wasn't that why you showed up?"

  "Disappointed, Jericho?"

  He shook his head, forming a careful answer. "No. I thought it was what I wanted. To kill this bunch of bastards and die in the process. But…now I wonder— Freeman, what's gonna happen to these kids?"

  Freeman lifted his chin a notch, his stare boring into Jericho. "I guess that depends solely on you. Most men would think they'd been spared for a reason. But knowing how angry and bitter you've been, I'm not sure if you'll see it that way."

  He wasn't sure how he saw it. It had been like the angel figured it, of course. No way he could be wrong. But things seemed to be changing.

  "They…don't have any other family?"

  Freeman's lips pursed. "If you mean 'blood relatives' – yes."

  Jericho's heart plummeted. It's for the best.

  Freeman continued, "They have an aunt and uncle who've never seen them, but would be glad to have the labor of the three of them. A more uncharitable pair of people I don't believe I've ever known."

  "Do they…have to go? Isn't there someone else?"

  Freeman shrugged. "Where else would they go? They can't stay here, obviously." He watched Jericho for a moment. "That's always the way of it, isn't it? Hoping that someone else will step in and take care of things we don't want to do."

  Jericho's lips thinned in a set line. These children weren't his responsibility, damn it. He didn't want anything to do with them – not really. He'd had two beautiful daughters who he'd loved, a wife he'd treasured. The cross felt as if it were burning a hole in his skin beneath his shirt.

  "It's your conscience, Jericho," Freeman said very quietly. "Nothing more, nothing less."

  "I don't want this!" He tried to keep his voice low, but his anger at the entire situation couldn't be held back. He'd thought he knew what he wanted. Death was the best answer. No more hunger, thirst, or weariness. No more sadness or worry. Only peace, and the calm that would settle upon him forevermore. He'd lost everything. And he'd made the men who'd taken his world from him pay with their lives.

  Freeman slowly looked over to where the children petted the puppy, adoration on their faces. "They've lost everything too, Jericho. A new puppy is a good start at reminding them of what love is, but—" he shook his head, turning back to Jericho. "Once they go to live with their Aunt Nell and Uncle Roscoe, they won't be able to keep him."

  Jericho's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

  "Because," Freeman answered patiently, "Aunt Nell 'don't like dogs.'"

  "Well, I sure as hell ain't stayin' just so they can keep this – this magic puppy you pulled out of thin air. I had plans too, you know."

  "Are you really that anxious to die, Jericho? Do you really want so much to take your last breath? To say goodbye to the feel of the wind in your face and the warmth of the fire on a cold night? Even the ache in your back after a hard day's work? Can you turn away from these children that need you so desperately? You have a chance to make a difference in three lives, Jericho."

  Jericho felt his resolve crumbling. "I want my girls back! And Elena!"

  "That can never be. But you could help th
ese children— Well, never mind."

  Why was Freeman arguing so hard for these children?

  "I'm not arguing for them, Jericho," he murmured, answering Jericho's unasked question. "Don't you see? I'm arguing for you. Don't be afraid to live – and love – again. You fought so hard to rid the world of Tidwell and his men. You almost gave up everything."

  "I did give up everything, Freeman." How could he think otherwise?

  But the angel smiled. "Not quite. I think there's still a tiny spark of humanity left in you. And I think these children—"

  "That wasn't the deal. You let me believe you were here to help me find my way to Elena."

  "There are many ways to do that." But at Jericho's look, Freeman's shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're sure? Because, once it's done, it's final."

  Jericho took a deep breath, uncertainty settling around him like a shroud. Just then, Arthur looked up and met his eyes, and in that instant, Jericho saw that the boy realized he was leaving them for good. He rose and walked toward where Jericho and Freeman stood near the door. There was no censure in his eyes, but an abiding sadness that Jericho felt must mirror his own. He'd suffered losses too…more than he even knew yet, Jericho thought, remembering what Freeman had told him about the inhospitable conditions that awaited him at his aunt and uncle's home.

  Arthur would have to try to make the best of things for Willie and Mary. Regret sliced through Jericho. He should be there, so Arthur could have someone to lean on. He was too young to shoulder such responsibility and sorrow.

  "You leavin' now, Mr. Dean?"

  Jericho was frozen for an instant. The boy seemed to be asking him to stay by asking if he were leaving.

  The puppy ran over to follow him, and he reached down to pet him.

  "Oh, what a good boy." Arthur's gaze met Jericho's once more. "Look here, Mr. Dean. This puppy you brung us, little Rascal, he's already part of the family. He loves us. We'll take good care of him too. Don't you worry none about Rascal, once you're gone."