Chapter 18

More Questions Answered

The pillow was still damp with her tears, but her crying had stopped long ago. She lay curled up on top of her bed, clutching the worn and faded doll that she had brought with her from her home in New Mexico. Her thoughts were confused and conflicted. She wanted to believe that her father was innocent, but the evidence against him was strong. She had witnessed herself that he'd gone out the night before, without explanation, and then suddenly the other rancher's horses had been in his corral. And her father had been an outlaw most of his life, so maybe he'd reverted to his old ways? 'No, he wouldn't…and even if he did, he wouldn't be careless enough to bring the stolen animals here to his own ranch. It doesn't make any sense.'

But Jeremiah insisted that he had done exactly that. 'He loves me; I know he does. He wants us to be married. So why would he lie to me?' she thought, her mind swimming around in circles, going back and forth over the same questions time and again.

She heard sounds from the hall outside her room, voices and shuffling footsteps. Then she thought she heard the door to her uncle's room open. 'Is Uncle Heyes back so soon?' she wondered, glad to have something other than her father to think about. 'He'll know what to do.' She sat up on her bed, ready to run to her uncle and implore him to help his friend, her father. Then she realized that neither of the voices she'd heard sounded like Heyes. One of the voices belonged to a woman and the other sounded like Jeremiah's.

She frowned, wondering why Jeremiah would be upstairs in their house, and who the woman with him was. She wanted to peek out into the hall and see for herself, but she was afraid to. She didn't want Jeremiah to see her spying on him, so she sat quietly on her bed, straining to hear.

Nothing more was audible for several minutes. She sensed that the two people had gone into her uncle's room but couldn't imagine, didn't want to imagine what they might be doing in there.

After a few more minutes, she heard the door to Heyes' room opening and being pulled shut again; then silence.

After another few minutes had passed, she heard footsteps crossing the hall from Heyes' room to the stairs and then fading as the person descended the staircase. She could tell by the gait and the sound of the steps that it was more than likely a man, Jeremiah, who'd passed by her door. That meant that the woman who had come up with him had remained. Catherine was becoming more and more concerned.

Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she dared a peek out of her door, opening it just wide enough for her to see down the hallway to where Heyes' room was. Just as she did, however, the door to the room burst open and Charlotte Gray rushed through it. Catherine couldn't have been more surprised to see her there than if she'd been the Queen of England.

She opened her own door wider, shock at seeing the school teacher running out of her uncle's bedroom making her thoughts sluggish. Charlotte gasped in surprise too, probably upset at being caught in a man's room. But instead of looking embarrassed or ashamed, she just looked determined and a little bit afraid.

Catherine thought she would flee down the stairs and was flabbergasted when the older woman muttered, "Oh, thank God, Catherine. You're all right." And then glancing over her shoulder nervously, she ran to where Catherine stood holding onto the door knob of her open door and grabbed her by the hand, dragging her back into Heyes' room with her. With one last quick, nervous glance down the hallway Charlotte pulled the door shut and then leaned against the door, breathing deeply.

Catherine watched her, confused; wondering what had happened to make the normally calm and collected school teacher act so afraid, and wondering what she and Jeremiah had been doing up here. "What are you doing, Miss Gray? And did I hear Jeremiah with you?"

Instead of answering, Charlotte gestured toward the bed. Catherine turned and for the first time realized that her uncle was lying there, on top of the covers. The sight of him, still and pale, with his head bandaged, made her cry out quietly. She ran to his side and peered down at him, gripping his hand much like Charlotte herself had been doing just a few minutes ago.

"What happened to him?" Catherine asked, her eyes filling up with tears.

"I'm not sure. Jeremiah told me he'd fallen from his horse and hit his head, but I don't think I believe his story."

Catherine felt herself becoming angry. Through her tears, she demanded, "Why don't you believe him? Why would he lie?" Her words felt jarringly familiar, and she realized she'd just been wondering the same thing about her fiancé after what he'd said about her father. A tiny pinch of doubt tightened in her stomach but she refused to allow it to grow.

"I'm not sure, Catherine. I don't know all of what's going on here but when I arrived at the ranch with the telegram Heyes sent for your father, I found Heyes like this and Jeremiah was with him."

"That doesn't prove anything. I'm sure he was just trying to help."

"No, it doesn't prove anything. But I saw Heyes' horse. She was locked up in a stall. If Heyes had fallen off of her and hit his head, she would have been out running free."

Catherine's hand went to her stomach. The pinch of doubt was back and this time it was just a little tighter. She pushed it away.

"Catherine, I think we're in danger. We have to—"

"In danger? From Jeremiah? No, that's crazy. He'd never hurt me. He loves me. We're planning to be married."

"Catherine, listen to me…I'm pretty sure Jeremiah hit your uncle over the head with a rock. And I think he would have hit him again, harder, if I hadn't shown up when I did."

"No! That's impossible. Jeremiah loves me!"

"Catherine—"

"I think you should leave now. I'll take care of Uncle Heyes. You need to go."

"I can't leave you. The telegram Heyes sent said your father should watch over you…and since your father isn't here…well, then it's up to me."

"Let me see the telegram," Catherine demanded.

Charlotte took the folded paper from her skirt pocket and handed it to the girl. She watched as Catherine read the note, once, and then twice. Something that Charlotte hoped was doubt clouded the young girl's features. She looked up from the paper and asked softly, "Did my uncle go to Cheyenne to check up on Jeremiah?" guessing what the note was referring to.

"I don't know…I think so," Charlotte answered, just as softly.

Catherine stared off, clutching the telegram in her hand tightly, wrinkling the paper with her grip. "So that must mean that Uncle Heyes doesn't underst—"

From the bed, Heyes groaned softly and both women rushed to his side. Charlotte knelt on the rug, near where his head rested on a pillow. "It looks as though the bleeding has almost stopped," she said, moving his head far enough so she could examine the bandage. "But he's going to need to see a doctor. When is your father expected home, Catherine?"

Catherine's eyes widened with surprise, "Didn't Jeremiah tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"The sheriff came out here this morning and took my pa into town."

"What for?"

"He thinks Pa stole those horses from that other ranch. So he and a couple other men took him in. I think he's under arrest. Jeremiah didn't tell you?" she asked again, in obvious distress.

"No. He just said your father went into town this morning. He didn't say anything else."

"Why didn't he tell you," Catherine asked, more to herself than to Charlotte. Her mind was racing but the answer kept eluding her. "It doesn't make any sense."

Heyes groaned again, louder. Catherine and Charlotte fell silent, watching him. His eyes fluttered but didn't open. He grimaced in pain, his hand came up from where it had been resting and he tried to touch his head, but Charlotte grabbed his arm, keeping him from disturbing the bandages. "Shhh, Hannibal. It's going to be all right. You need to rest," she murmured softly into his ear.

His eyelids opened, the ache in his head making him wince. He frowned, realizing where he was. "Charlotte? What are you doing here?" he asked weakly. "What—what happened?" He tried to sit up, but only managed to raise his head an inch or two off the pillow before dropping back down.

"I'm not sure, darling. Please, don't try to move yet."

"My head…feels like an anvil dropped on me."

Charlotte cast a guilty glance in Catherine's direction before saying, "I'm not sure, Heyes, but I think Wilde might have hit you with a rock."

"Wilde? I—I don't remember. I remember getting off my horse and then—nothing." He closed his eyes again and breathed quietly for a while as both women watched over him; Charlotte, kneeling by his bedside, and Catherine standing on the opposite side of him, wringing her hands nervously. Then, his eyes opened as if suddenly remembering something important.

"Where's Kid?" he asked, worry tying a knot in his stomach.

"The sheriff came for him this morning, Hannibal."

"What?" he cried out, trying to sit up again, but the pain drove him onto his back.

"Shhhh…you need to lie still."

"You have to warn her, Charlotte." His words were becoming weaker; the strain of trying to talk getting the better of him.

"What, Heyes? Tell me. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Tell Catherine." His words were almost a whisper; she needed to lean in close to his lips to hear.

"What Heyes? Tell her what?"

"Tell her to be careful. Tell her to stay away from Wilde." His words were merely puffs of sound floating off his lips—and then he was gone, drifting back out of consciousness.

Suddenly the door burst open and both women spun around to see Jeremiah standing in the doorway. He held a gun, the muzzle pointed directly at Charlotte.

Catherine's breath caught painfully in her throat as a sob struggled to free itself from deep inside her soul. Jeremiah's eyes were shining unnaturally bright, but all his attention was focused on Heyes and Charlotte. Catherine noticed, with a feeling akin to horror, that Jeremiah was clutching several lengths of rope in his other hand.

"Jeremiah?" she cried, forcing him to look at her. "What are you doing?"

"It's ok, darling. Slight change of plans is all. We have to leave. Things aren't working out quite like I planned, but we can still be together."

"What?"

He tossed the sections of rope he was holding in her direction, expecting her to catch them; instead they dropped in a loopy pile to the ground near her feet. He frowned at her and said, his voice revealing a hint of irritation. "Pick them up, Catherine. We need to tie them up."

"What?" she repeated, her voice sounding tinny and hollow in her ears. She was staring at Jeremiah with new eyes, unable to recognize the charming boy that she'd fallen in love with. She risked a quick glance at Charlotte and then at her uncle Heyes, lying still and pale in his bed. Then her eyes were drawn back to Jeremiah.

He gestured at her, using his gun to indicate that she should pick up the ropes, and be quick about it. She merely shook her head at him, her eyes now fastened on the end of the gun barrel. His frown deepened, unable to comprehend why she was being so stubborn and uncooperative.

"Catherine," he spoke quietly and patiently, as if explaining a difficult situation to a small child. "We need to hurry. Come on…chop, chop, let's go." He tried a smile, but it came out looking forced and unnatural, not a bit charming, and not achieving the result he had hoped for; Catherine's cooperation.

After leaving Charlotte earlier, Jeremiah had thought long and hard, trying to come up with some solution that would save his plan from failure. But every avenue he went down ended at the same dead end; he was not going to be able to gain control of the ranch and make the quick sale to Denton. Damn Curry and his suspicions and accusations, he'd forced his hand too soon. The only thing he had any hope of keeping was Catherine, small enough prize that she was and not what he was hoping for, but he could at least have her—for as long as he wanted and for whatever purpose he desired—and then when his use for her ran out, he could just get rid of her.

So that became his last-ditch plan…take Catherine and go. At least then, he'd have accomplished one small goal; making Kid Curry's life hell for the rest of his miserable days, knowing that he had lost the one thing that could have redeemed him, his daughter.

But now, the girl was just standing there staring at him mindlessly, her eyes looking like they were ready to pop right out of her head. He felt angry; he wanted to smash her head against the wall and make her see reason. His vision started to blur slightly as his anger grew, but he was finally able push the negative emotions back down to a manageable level. He tried another smile, his charm had always paved the way for him before and it would this time too.

"Catherine?"

The ropes were still lying on the floor. Her eyes darted from him to the school teacher, who opened her mouth as if to speak. He quickly silenced her by pointing the barrel of the gun toward her face. Her mouth shut without uttering a single syllable. He smiled.

"The ropes, Catherine."

"No," she said, her voice shaky, but her face resolute.

He was annoyed, but at the same time pleasantly surprised. 'She might make this interesting after all,' he thought. He walked over to her, motioning her backwards with a jerk of his gun. He leaned down, never taking his eyes off the two women, and feeling around on the floor with his free hand, picked up the ropes. He stepped closer to Catherine, trying to get her to take them from him. "Here, tie them up," he encouraged, smiling at her. "Let's go."

"No, Jeremiah. I won't. And I'm not going with you!"

Like quicksilver, his hand, still clutching the ropes, lashed out, striking her, closed-fisted, across her cheek. An angry red circle immediately appeared on her soft, pale skin. Surprised, she cried out briefly but recovered quickly, forcing herself not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her defiance made him angrier and he raised his hand a second time, ready to hit her again. Then he thought better of it, the image of Kid Curry's wrath hanging over him like a ghost; and with a deliberate effort, lowered his hand to his side, his fist still clenched into a tight, white-knuckled ball.

"All right, Catherine. Have it your way. You might want to have a chair then." He pushed her down into a chair. Then he gestured at Charlotte. "You…school teacher. Tie my fiancé up please, and make it quick…or else I'm going to have to shoot your boyfriend here."

Charlotte took the rope Jeremiah held out to her. It seemed safer to go along with his requests than to argue, and then he'd leave, once they were safely out of his way. That's what she hoped anyway.

With apologetic eyes, Charlotte tied Catherine's hands and feet. "Very good," Jeremiah commented, checking her work. "Nice knots. Now it's your turn." He looked around as if searching for another chair to tie her into. Finding none, he commanded, "Lie down on the bed, on your stomach."

Charlotte bristled at the suggestion but seeing no options, she complied, lying down on the half of the bed unoccupied by an unconscious Heyes. Jeremiah quickly set to work tying her hands and feet.

After he was finished, he looked at Heyes, considering what to do with him. He was still tempted to shoot him where he laid finishing off the job he'd started. It would be so easy; one single bullet is all it would take.

He looked over at Catherine, helplessly tied. His eyes gazed at her coldly. "So what do you think, Catherine? Should I let your uncle live? Or end his miserable, worthless life right now?"

"What?" she said, panic reflected in her eyes.

"I said—should I let him live, or shall I kill him?" he replied in a too-calm voice.

"Please, Jeremiah—why are you doing this?"

"I mean, I could just shoot him and be done with it…"

She stared at him in shock, shaking her head.

"Or…I could leave him, so he has to live the rest of his life with the knowledge that I beat him."

"Yes, please. Just leave—"

"Imagine that. The great Hannibal Heyes beaten by an unknown; not to mention Kid Curry. I guess I took care of him too, didn't I? That could prove to be a heavy burden for the arrogant bastards to carry around with them, don't you think?"

Catherine was reduced to sobbing by this time, listening to the man she thought she had loved discuss her father and uncle with such venom and rancor.

He kept talking, unaware of Catherine's reaction. "So what's it gonna be, Cat? Death, or humiliation for the old man?" He lifted his gun. She watched as he pulled back the hammer and sighted the barrel at Heyes' head. She could hear her voice pleading for her uncle's life, pleading while Jeremiah Wilde laughed.