Chapter Twenty-Two
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Chester Goode wasn't sure what to make of it.
This morning while at the Marshal's office, word had gotten to him from Sam Parker's widow that Sam's horse had been found. Miles, Parker's oldest son had come across the sorrel mare with her reins tangled in the brush less than a mile from their ranch. There was no telling exactly how long the animal had been there, other than it couldn't have been more than four days.
The most important question now, the one that stuck foremost in Chester's mind, was where was Dan Biggs? Somehow he had suspected all along that the outlaw was far from gone, but he didn't feel any satisfaction at finding his thought confirmed. It was more the opposite; the unsettling notion that Biggs could very well be close by, watching their every move made him nervous all over again. He was anxious to share the news with Luke Crandall as soon as possible. He took a quick look around him to determine where he was.
Ahead, the small rise with its scattering of trees and soap brush now came into view and behind it lay Cross Creek and the Crandall's homestead. The little spread, with its collection of barn, various outbuildings and corrals lay in a green fold of the prairie with a dense growth of cottonwoods close by the house and a creek meandering by. It was a place he had become quite familiar with over the course of the last week.
Chester shifted his weight in the saddle and shortened the reins. Tapping the heel of his good foot to the horse's side, he nudged the chestnut into an easy canter to finish the last mile of his ride.
His arrival was soon noticed. Sitting in the shade of the huge cottonwood that grew right outside the Marshal's bedroom window, Rory and Carrie were enjoying themselves, showering the big tabby cat with affection. The animal was taking it in stride. With an occasional twitch of her tail, she lay comfortably sprawled on her side, soaking up the welcome attention as small hands gently stroked her silky, sun-warmed fur.
Suddenly, Rory's head perked up, distracted by the muffled drumming of hoofbeats. His gaze settled on the trail that wound its way down the sloping hillside and his sharp eyes quickly picked out the dark form of a horse and rider as they broached the horizon at the top of the rise.
He hurriedly scrambled to his feet, startling the feline in the process. Meowing in protest, the animal gracefully leaped a few paces before settling down beside the water trough. For a short moment, she watched the children intently from luminous, green eyes and then began to lick her paws.
"It's Chester! It's Chester!" the little boy began to shout excitedly when he recognized the rider who was coming down the dirt trail at a steady pace. It hadn't been all that difficult to make out who he was. Rory had quickly learned that there weren't too many men around who rode with their right leg in a long stirrup.
Bouncing up and down with excitement, he nudged his little sister who had clambered to her feet as well and was now standing docilely beside him, sucking on her thumb. "Come on, let's tell Uncle Luke!" he said with the enthusiasm, typical of a seven-year-old. He whirled around, his bare feet pounding the dust as he dashed across the yard, Carrie toddling behind, struggling in vain to keep up with him.
The boy's shouts hadn't gone unnoticed. By the time Rory reached the porch, his uncle was already standing at the edge of it, squinting against the glare of afternoon sunlight off towards the approaching rider. "I seen him first!" Rory was panting for breath as he jumped up the wooden porch steps, two at a time, to come to a stop before the towering presence of his uncle.
"No, me first!" protested Carrie immediately as she, too finally reached the porch a short moment later. A scowl on her chubby face, she pattered up the steps and pushed herself in front of her brother, vying for her uncle's attention.
"No, you didn't!" A nudge from Rory was her reward for which the toddler quickly retaliated with one of her own.
"Me see!" she insisted loudly.
Luke crouched down before the two youngsters who had become a part of his family only a short week ago. "Now hold on there, you two," he laughed. "Why don't you mosey on inside and see if Aunt Millie's got some of those lemon drops left." He affectionately ruffled Rory's blonde curls that had been cropped by Ma Smalley into a more manageable style and then straightened back up.
Their little disagreement was quickly forgotten. With whoops and shouts that closely resembled the cries of an Apache war party, the two children noisily bustled through the door to disappear into the house.
Luke allowed himself an indulgent grin as he watched the rag doll being dragged across the threshold, barely clearing the door before it closed on its hinges with a bang. He turned his attention back to the trail. The rat-a-tat cadence of hooves against the stony soil echoed loud and clear in the stillness of the warm July afternoon as Chester came riding into the yard at a ground covering jog. The ex-lawman could tell right away by the tense way the young man rode that something important was on his mind. He hoped it was good news.
With a tug on the reins, Chester brought the chestnut to a halt when he reached the porch moments later. He easily swung his bad right leg over the horse's croup and planted it in the dust with a soft crunch while freeing his left toe from the stirrup.
"Luke," he said without preamble as he looped the reins over the crude hitch rail. "They's found Sam Parker's horse this mornin'."
Chester's words confirmed Luke's suspicion-although it wasn't exactly the kind of news he had hoped for.
He glanced down at the jailer. "Where at?" he wanted to know.
Bringing his hand up to shield his eyes against the bright glare of sunlight, Chester squinted up at the porch and wagged his thumb over his shoulder. "Well, Miles Parker says he's found him about a mile west of their ranch...all tangled up in the brush he was."
Luke stroked his droopy mustache thoughtfully, quickly calculating the distance to the Parker's place in his head. "That's past Miller's Bend," he muttered to himself, realizing that it was at least a good five miles from here.
"What do you think could've happened there?" wondered Chester as he came clomping up the porch steps with his peculiar, lop-sided gait. "You reckon Biggs could've lost the horse?"
The older man bit his lip and shook his head. "I don't know, Chester," he voiced his uncertainty, "it's possible, of course, but there's no real way of tellin' for sure."
"Well, maybe he never had the horse at all, ya know...it could've just run off on him," Chester now ventured.
Luke nodded slowly, willing to accept that as a possibility. "That or Biggs let it go on purpose, hopin' we would chase after it, thinking he was tryin' to make a run for it. What he didn't count on, was the animal gettin' tangled."
Chester mulled that over, realizing that there were quite a few possibilities, one as plausible as the next. It was quite frustrating. He pulled off his hat and began to brush the trail dust off it.
"I reckon that means we're right back where we started now," he surmised gloomily.
The ex-lawman was in partial agreement. "Well, not quite. We know that without a horse, Biggs couldn't have gotten very far...especially not bein' wounded."
Chester scraped his thumbnail along the nape of his neck as he fixed Luke with a surprised look. "But you said yourself, we don't know how bad he's hurt...what I mean is, it coulda been just a scrape-"
Luke leaned back against one of the porch posts and removed his old slouch hat. He ran a hand over the top of his thick, graying hair to thoughtfully scratch the back of it. "No, Chester," he said at last. "I know it's more than that."
His bullet had hit Biggs' torso. He was fairly certain of that. By all means, the outlaw should have been dead, or at least badly wounded. Why was it that they hadn't found him yet? The perceived blunder on his part continued to weigh heavily on his mind and Luke felt it was his responsibility to right it.
There was a contemplative expression set on his weathered features as he stared across the yard and off into the distance. It was afternoon and the shadows were already creeping. Although he knew how to tell time by a clock, he rarely used the old, silver-embossed pocket watch that had once been his father's. Looking at the angle of the shadow that the barn was throwing onto the hard-packed soil of the yard, he figured it was about three or a little after. Early enough to put a couple more useful hours of search in.
He straightened, about to tell Chester of his intentions when the door suddenly swung open with a soft creak of the rusty hinges.
It was Kitty. Having spent the past several nights with the Crandalls, she looked more rested than she had in days. The dark shadows under her eyes had disappeared and she wore a smile to complement the simple fawn-colored skirt and sea-foam green blouse she had donned this morning.
"Hello, Chester," she greeted the young jailer as she stepped out onto the sun-warmed porch to join the two men. "We were just told that you arrived." Her blue eyes twinkling, she cast Luke a bemused glance who smiled mildly in return, knowing all too well the identity of her little 'informants'.
Chester touched his fingers to the brim of his battered, brown hat and nodded. "Miss Kitty," he acknowledged her politely. But despite the smile he had managed to plaster to his lips, the tense expression on his face remained.
Kitty picked up on it immediately and concern began to darken her eyes. She fixed Chester with her inquiring gaze. "Anything wrong?" she asked uneasily.
Chester shuffled nervously in response, not sure whether Luke wanted him to tell her the news. His eyes slid to the ex-Sheriff, looking for guidance.
Right away, Kitty's own eyes moved to Luke's in request for an answer.
Luke cleared his throat and straightened away from the porch post he had been leaning up against. The big, tabby cat came skulking up the stairs on padded paws, rubbing her back against Luke's boots in a plea for attention.
"Kitty," he began, ignoring the soft meows of the feline. "We just found out that Sam Parker's horse turned up, about a mile west of Miller's Bend."
Kitty regarded him with slight confusion. His eyes were shaded by the brim of his hat, but she didn't need to see his face to know that this was apparently significant-the troubled tone of his voice spoke for itself. Although she had known the ex-lawman for only little less than a week, she had quickly learned that when Luke was worried, it meant that there was something to worry about.
"Well, what does it mean?" she wondered, instinctively knowing that it had something to do with the elusive outlaw.
Chester rolled his shoulders as he haplessly rubbed his neck. "Well, to tell ya the truth, we ain't so sure what it means," he admitted rather lamely.
"I was just fixin' to ride out there, Kitty," said Luke. "I was gonna take a look at the horse and talk to Miles. Maybe he's seen anythin' that could be of help to us."
Chester turned his gaze on the ex-lawman. "You want me ride along with you?"
But Luke didn't see that wise, especially now that their suspicion that Biggs was still in the area had been confirmed beyond doubt at last. He shook his head slightly. "No, Chester, I think it'd be better for you to stay here."
Chester hesitated as he considered, just for a moment, arguing the point further. Then he thought of Mister Dillon. No, he quickly decided, Luke was right, he was better off sticking close to the Marshal.
"Well, are you gonna tell Matt?" asked Kitty. If truth be told, she wasn't so sure whether she wanted him to find out. Knowing Matt as she did, she was afraid that he would try to do something that he was in no shape doing.
Luke could tell what was on her mind; he had been thinking along those lines as well. Looking at Matt Dillon was very much like looking into a mirror and seeing himself twenty-four years ago. It made the young lawman quite predictable.
But be it as it may, the Marshal needed to be made aware of this new development. Luke sighed inwardly. His face set determined, he nodded at last. "Yeah. Yeah, I think he needs to know about this, Kitty."
As worried as she was, Kitty understood the reasoning behind Luke's words.
Chester cast her a sympathetic look. "I go an' let Mister Dillon know," he volunteered helpfully, knowing that it would be easier if he was the one telling him.
Luke nodded agreeably. "All right you do that. I don't know when I'll be back. Make sure all of you keep your eyes open." He didn't like the idea of going off and leaving, but then and there, he didn't see any other option. It was a clue that needed to be pursued and investigated. Maybe the spot where the horse had been found would yield any information in regards to the severity of Biggs' injury or, even better, his whereabouts.
Chester looked fiercely determined. "Well, you better believe it, don't you worry none about that."
The corners of Luke's mouth turned in a tight smile beneath the bushy mustache. "I won't worry, Chester." He adjusted the old slouch hat on his head, tugging the brim lower over his brow against the glare of sunlight. He reached for his rifle that was leaning up against the porch rail. "Well, so long then." With a nod at Kitty, he started down the small flight of stairs, Chester following him down to retrieve his own rifle from his saddle.
Kitty stepped up to the edge of the porch. She folded her fingers over the top rail and watched the ex-Sheriff cross the sunny yard with quick strides as he headed for the barn. Not for the first time wished she that they could move Matt back to Dodge. Somehow she felt that he would be a lot safer there.
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Warm, late afternoon sunlight slanted brightly through the open double doors into the barn and many cracks in the rough wall boards, creating an oyster-pale haze in the darker interior. Revealed by the light, flecks of dust danced in the air, shimmering like a million tiny jewels. Dan Biggs' big roan was the only animal left inside. The Marshal's buckskin, as well as Luke's own team, while not in use, had been turned out to pasture.
Luke retrieved the heavy, tooled-leather saddle from the stall divider and hefted it easily onto the roan's back. After adjusting it carefully over the saddle blanket to avoid any bunching, he stooped to reach under and pull up the cinch. The broad-shouldered, sturdy-legged animal was a fine horse with a well-shaped head and intelligent eyes and in the few days Luke had been using the gelding, he had grown quite fond of him.
With a final tug, he pulled the cinch strap tight and then looped it through the saddle ring to tie it down.
He slipped his big rifle into the "Well, old boy, maybe we'll find us your owner today," he told the horse, unaware that his every word was being overheard from nearby. He gave the gelding's neck a pat and then took hold of the reins to lead him from the barn.
A short moment later the rhythmic clomping of the animal's shod hooves could be heard as Luke cantered from the yard.
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Only then did he move.
Bits of straw and dust trickled through the wide gaps in the rough plank floor of the barn loft, dropping undetected to the ground below as he carefully scooted back from the edge. Straw was rustling softly beneath his hands and knees but it went unheard.
When he was sure that he had retreated deep enough into the concealing shadows of the hayloft, he sat back. He reached into a pile of straw and groped for the water canteen and the last of the jerky and hard tack he had managed to sneak from his own saddle bags three nights ago.
Dan Biggs chuckled to himself. Everybody had expected him to be long gone by now, when in truth, he had been hiding out right under their noses all along. Using his yellowed teeth, he bit down onto the cork stopper and yanked it from the opening. He carelessly spit it in his lap and brought the canteen to his lips to take a pull of the stale-tasting, tepid water. It was almost gone, but he didn't care; soon, after he had dealt with Dillon, he would see to his needs.
He twisted a little to glance down at his right side. The shirt was stiff with dried blood and plastered to his body. The wound, although it had stopped bleeding, was stinging sharply with every movement, but he barely noticed it. His mind was focused on one thing only. Matt Dillon.
His patience had paid off. The posse was gone, had given up. This pesky Crandall was out on yet another pointless search. That only left the cripple, the two women, those kids and, most importantly-Dillon. His face darkened again at the thought of the lawman. He clenched one huge hand into a fist, smashing it angrily into the open palm of the other.
Damn Dillon. Damn him to hell. It was all his fault. His fault that his brother was dead, his fault that both of his men were dead, and, to make matters worse, that damn Marshal had managed to survive, depriving him of his revenge.
Not for long, Biggs, thought grimly to himself. This time, he would make sure that Dillon got what he had coming to him. He would make him pay good, one bullet at a time. His hand slipped the converted colt .44 from the holster. An ugly grin spread across his face as he hefted the steel-gray weapon in his palm. Not a bad gun, he thought. Some capable gunsmith had gone through the trouble of converting the 1860 model colt from percussion to cartridge fire by cutting off the rear end of the cylinder and replacing it with a breech block containing a loading gate and rebounding fire pin. It was his now since its previous owner, who was lying with his head smashed in somewhere halfway between Dodge and Cross Creek, obviously didn't have any more use for it. He slid the gun back into the holster and the grin disappeared, his disfigured features hardening. "Time to get even, Dillon," he hissed through tobacco-stained teeth as he clambered to his feet.
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Tag was a wonderful game. The rules were simple and all it took was two willing participants. Like countless generations of children before them, Rory and Carrie engaged often in the timeless fun. The Crandall's once quiet farm yard was now alive with the laughter and giggles of the two children as they happily chased each other around cottonwoods, barrels and other various objects that occupied the yard.
Presently, it was Carrie's turn to catch her older brother. As young as she was, she was still easily distracted and apt to forget the game in favor of chasing butterflies or examining the odd flower. But Rory had quickly learned to compensate for her short attention span by sticking close to her, allowing her to almost catch up with him and then elude her at the last second. This practice not only focused her attention, but he found that it also added to the fun.
"Come on an' catch me, Carrie!" he giggled delightedly as the little girl was advancing on him yet again with outstretched arms.
Their happy game took them all over the yard, and eventually, close to the barn. With Carrie close in pursuit, Rory quickly rounded the corner of the big wooden structure only to find himself suddenly at the front of it. The half-open door beckoned. With his little sister nearing, his mind was made up quickly. In an instant, he had slipped into the dim shadows of the barn. Right away, the fragrant scent of recently cut hay, mingled with the sharper odor of manure greeted him as he soundlessly pulled the door shut behind himself.
For a moment he stood quietly in the cool, semi-darkness, his ears tuned in to the soft patter of Carrie's footsteps outside beyond the door. A giggle was building inside his throat as he heard her calling his name. He clapped his hand over his mouth to muffle it. Then, suddenly, straw rustled somewhere deep in the murky depths of the barn. Confused, Rory turned, the game and his little sister momentarily forgotten. He opened his eyes wide, trying to see what had made the noise. Slowly, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark Rory saw the darkness fade to gray and a strange form started to take shape before him. Immediately, the smile faded from the little boy's face.
Terrified, he attempted to twirl back around-but he was too slow; before he could do anything about it, a strong hand locked tightly around his arm. He struggled and kicked, but the man just laughed wickedly.
"Well, well, if that ain't a surprise," sneered Biggs as he brutally jerked the boy to within inches of his face. He stared at him through feral, bloodshot eyes. "Bet you didn't expect to see me again, eh?"
A soft scraping sound drew Biggs' attention abruptly back to the door. Carrie's expectant giggles sounded from beyond.
With horror, Rory suddenly remembered his little sister. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but a huge hand quickly clamped down over his nose and mouth, muting his words to nothing more but a muffled yelp.
Biggs glowered beneath black brows. "Shut up!" he hissed angrily, his lips close to the frantically squirming boy's ear.
At that moment, a big rectangle of yellow light appeared on the barn floor as the door was slowly pulled open.
Rory's tried dragging air into his lungs but couldn't. His eyes widened with panic as he continued to struggle in mute desperation against the strong hand that was preventing him from breathing.
"Wowy?" the little girl queried hesitantly as she slowly inched her way inside. It was dark, darker than she would have liked. Automatically, she clutched the doll tighter to her chest as she took another tentative step forward. Straw was crunching softly beneath her bare feet, tickling the tender soles with every step, but she was too focused on her surroundings to notice.
When Biggs realized that it was only the child, he relaxed somewhat and his hand loosened just a little.
No longer kicking and struggling, it was all Rory could do to do drag a meager breath into his burning lungs. There was no fight left in him. He had become like a ragdoll in the big man's arms. Bright spots were dancing in front of his vision and his head was reeling from the lack of oxygen.
As her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light inside the barn, Carrie suddenly became aware of Biggs' looming presence, still holding her brother fast in his grasp. It was too much for her young mind to comprehend.
"Wowy?" she asked again, uncertain. What was that big man doing with her brother? Didn't he know that they were playing a game? Was he maybe playing, too?
Biggs scowled at the sight of her. He didn't care much for children, never had. Besides, he already had a hostage and didn't need another to bother with.
"Shoo...run along, little runt!" he growled as he waved her off with his hand.
The rough tone of his voice was easy enough for Carrie to understand. Her dimpled face scrunched up. Her bottom lip pushed out and began to quiver.
Biggs stomped his foot impatiently. "Shoo, li'l brat!" he hissed again.
The rag doll fell to the floor and a frightened wail erupted from the little girl's throat. She turned and fled from the barn as fast as her small feet could carry her.
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Back inside the house, a dish towel tucked into the waistband of her skirt and her sleeves rolled up, Millie Crandall was absorbed in the task of forming dough into biscuits and then carefully placing them in the already heated dutch oven sitting on the stove top. Surprised, she raised her head upon overhearing Carrie's wails of distress. "Oh, my gracious," she exclaimed with mild exasperation. "I wonder what those two are up to now-"
Over at the table, busy peeling potatoes for supper, Kitty lifted her gaze and shrugged. "Well, they were laughing just a minute ago," she replied a little puzzled. "I wonder what happened?"
Millie set the wad of dough down and wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, I better go and see about it," she said with a gusty sigh. "That little rascal's probably caught himself another frog...he knows that Carrie's terrified of those critters."
Kitty smiled at the older woman from across the room as Millie smoothed out her skirts and moved for the door. Millie certainly had her work cut out for herself, she thought with an amused shake of her head. She found herself wondering how she would fare if put into that kind of situation. Somehow, she could picture herself nicely with Matt and a house full of children.
She set the peeled potato down onto the table and let her gaze wander to the bedroom door from where the muffled voices of Matt and Chester were floating to her ear. Although she couldn't make out exactly what they where saying, she could hear the rumble of Matt's deep and pleasant baritone as he responded to something Chester had said. Kitty smiled to herself, happy with the fact that the lawman seemed to have taken the news with stride and hadn't attempted anything foolish like trying to get out of bed and join Luke in the search for Biggs.
Suddenly, she was unceremoniously roused from her reverie by Millie's terrified outcry. It was followed seconds later by another shout that made her blood run cold and caused her to drop the knife.
It was a man's voice. A voice she had hoped never having to hear again as long as she lived.
"DILLON! I'M BACK FOR YOU!"
to be continued...