A Time For Hanging (22 page)

The cowboys yelled in agreement.

Vincent carefully kept his hand away from his gun.
 
He could see they were all worked up, all except for Benteen and Case, who looked a little doubtful about the whole thing.
 
And maybe excepting the preacher, too.
 
The rest of them weren't quite at the point where they'd shoot their sheriff yet, but they weren't that far from it, either.
 
He didn't know what to do except to keep on standing there and hoping they'd get tired of jawin' and leave.

Vincent decided to try an appeal to the Randall.
 
"Preacher, you know this ain't right.
 
The Bible teaches forgiveness, not takin' the law into your own hands.
 
Vengeance is the Lord's, ain't that what it says?"

The sheriff had appealed to the wrong man.
 
In his addled state, Randall did not recall any scriptures that encouraged forgiveness.

He looked at Vincent with his dead eyes and began to speak.
 
HIs voice was quiet at first, but it rose in volume and power as he went along.
 
"And the Lord God said to Moses, 'If men strive, and hurt a woman with child, so that her fruit depart from her, and if any mischief follow, thou shalt give life for life!'"

"Amen!" Ross Turley yelled.

"'Eye for eye!'" Randall said.

"Amen!" Turley yelled again, and this time Harper and Hawkins joined in.

"'Tooth for tooth!'"

"Amen!"
 
They were all yelling now, except for Charley Davis, Harl Case, and Benteen.

"'Hand for hand!'"

"Amen!"
 
Davis was with them by now.

"'Foot for foot!'"

"Amen!
 
Amen!"

"'Burning for burning!'"

"Amen, Preacher, Amen!"

"'Wound for wound!'"

"Amen, Amen, Amen!"

"'Stripe for stripe!'

"You said it, Preacher!
 
Amen!
 
Amen!"

Randall fell silent, sitting rigid and staring straight ahead, but the other men were practically dancing in their saddles, laughing, talking, reaching out and slapping one another on the shoulder, yelling "Amen!" over and over.
 
Vincent hadn't seen or heard anything like it in his whole life.
 
He was sure sorry he had said anything to the preacher about forgiveness and revenge.

When they had calmed down some, Turley Ross said, "I guess that just about says it all, don't it, Sheriff?
 
You gonna try and stop us now?"

Vincent felt like he might puke.
 
"I ain't gonna stop you.
 
I'm just sayin' that Paco ain't here."
 
He wondered where Mrs. Morales was, what she and the little girls must be thinking.

"I'm sayin' he is here," Ross said.
 
"I'm saying we're gonna find him."

"Wait a minute, Turley," Harl Case said.
 
"Why would the sheriff lie to us?
 
If the boy's gone, we'd just be wastin' our time here."

"I thought you'd gone home to suck your sugar tit, Harl," Ross said.
 
There was laughter from the cowboys and from Harl's friends.

"He's got a point, though, Turley," Len Hawkins said.
 
"What if the kid really did ride outta here on that mule?
 
He's just gettin' that much further ahead of us while we mess around."

Turley thought about it for a minute.
 
"O.K.
 
You may be right.
 
Maybe we oughta split up.
 
Some of us can search the place here, and the rest go lookin' for the mule.
 
We got any trackers in this bunch?"

The big cowboy called Frank spoke up.
 
"I ain't no injun, but I can read sign some.
 
Anybody can show me where that mule started from, I can make a show to follow it."

"Yeah," Hawkins said.
 
"If we can't find where the mule started from, maybe it didn't start at all."

That idea distracted them for a minute, but they soon found what most of them agreed to be fresh tracks around a little corral built of mesquite sticks not too far from the house.
 
Vincent didn't help them.
 
He stood on the porch and watched.

Turley thought maybe it would be best if Harper and Hawkins went with Frank and the cowboys.
 
"That way you can spread out some more if he's really out there and if he's smart enough to try layin' a false trail."

Everyone agreed that seemed like a good idea, and the men rode off, whooping and hollering.
 
That left Randall, Moran, Benteen, Davis, Ross, and Case to search the property.

"Not very damn much to search," Ross pointed out.
 
"Just the house, that shed over there, anyplace in the bushes where he might be hidin'."

"I'm tellin' you, he's not here," Vincent said from the porch.

"Yeah, you said that," Ross told him.
 
"But we're gonna look just the same."

"Not me," Harl said.
 
"I've had enough of this, Turley."

"Well, that's just fine with me, Harl.
 
Why don't you go on home and knit yourself a shawl."

Harley's face burned, but he didn't say anything.
 
He also made no move to leave.

"I'll do no searching, either," Benteen said.
 
"I'm only here to see that things are done right."

Vincent thought that was a damn weak excuse, and he wondered if the man believed it.

"That's all right, Mr. Benteen," Ross said. "We've got enough fellas here to do the job."

Not counting Randall, Vincent thought.
 
Randall didn't look up to doing anything beyond what he was doing, sitting there like some kind of a statue.

"Davis, why don't you ride around, see what you can scare up in the scrub," Ross said.
 
"Moran, you look in that shed.
 
I'll look in the house myself."

Vincent knew that this was it.
 
The direct challenge.
 
He would either have to back down and let Ross in the house, or draw on him.

Then he thought of something that might delay the confrontation if not prevent it entirely.

"Mr. Benteen," he said.
 
"Did you know the Randall girl was pregnant when she died?"

"What?" Benteen said, startled.
 
He braced his hands on his saddle horn and leaned forward.

"You heard what the preacher said, didn't you?
 
About hurtin' a woman with child?
 
He wasn't just talkin' the Bible there.
 
He was talkin' about his daughter."

"Maybe so," Benteen said.
 
"But what does that have to do with me."

"I thought maybe you knew about Liz and Charley."

"I think you better shut up now, Sheriff," Charley said.
 
"Mr. Benteen knows I ain't seen Liz for quite a spell."

"That ain't what you told me, Charley," Vincent said.

"What is this?" Ross said.
 
"What's that have to do with anything?"

"Plenty," Vincent said.
 
"Charley's probably the one that got her pregnant."

"What?" Benteen said.
 
"What are you --"

"Goddamn you, Sheriff!" Charley said, his hand going for his gun.

Charley was fast, a lot faster than Vincent, who never thought of Charley drawing on him in the first place.

But Charley was not as fast as Kid Reynolds.

The preacher was confused in his mind, almost three people in one -- a preacher whose daughter had outraged him, a man seeking revenge for the death of a loved one, and Kid Reynolds, who was going to get that revenge.

Despite the fact that he hadn't handled a gun in so many years, neither Charley nor Vincent had cleared leather before Randall drew with a speed and skill that would have been the envy of many a man who practiced every day.

Randall's pistol boomed twice, and two shots hit Charley squarely in the chest.

Charley was gripping the reins with his left hand when the bullets hit him.
 
His hand clenched, pulling backward.
 
The horse reared and turned in a tight circle, reacting to the sudden tugging pressure on the bridle in its mouth.
 
Then it pitched once and the reins slipped out of Charley's suddenly limp fingers as he slid off the saddle to the hard ground, landing on his back, the dark blood staining the front of his shirt.

The horse plunged off across the yard.

Vincent had his pistol out by then, but Randall had holstered his own weapon.
 
He edged his horse over to Charley and looked down at him.

"'Rejoice, O ye nations, with his people:
 
for he will avenge the blood of his servants, and will render vengeance to his adversaries."

Charley lay full length in the dust, his right leg twitching.
 
He was trying to reach his pistol, but he couldn't move his arms.
 
The dog came running from beneath the porch and stood over Charley, barking in his face.

"Sonofabitch," Charley said.
 
"Sonofabitch."

Benteen and Ross got Charley up on the porch out of the sun while the preacher sat on his horse and watched.

Vincent went inside for Mrs. Morales to see if she had anything to dress Charley's wounds with, not that he thought it would do much good.
 
Charley was lung-shot, you could tell.
 
You could almost hear the air whistlin' in and out of the wound.

Moran wasn't much help.
 
He didn't give a damn about Charley, and he was pretty much disgusted by the whole affair.
 
He thought he'd ride around a little, look over the property, see if he could locate the kid.
 
Moran figured that nobody would miss him.
 
They were all too busy looking after the dying ranch foreman.

"Goddamn it, Charley," Benteen said.
 
"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't know," Charley said.
 
It was obviously an effort for him to speak.
 
"I didn't kill that girl, though."

"'Course you didn't kill her," Ross said.
 
"We know who killed her.
 
This is all the sheriff's fault."

"It's our fault," Harl said.
 
He had put the shotgun down. "We shouldn't've come here.
 
It was the wrong thing to do."

Consuela Morales came out of the house with some water and clean rags.
 
She helped Vincent take off Charley's shirt, and then she bathed the wounds.
 
They looked worse than Vincent had first thought.

"How's it look?" Charley said.
 
He kept his eyes averted, looking at Benteen and Vincent.

"It ain't good," Benteen said.

"No use lyin'," Vincent said.
 
"You prob'ly ain't gonna make it, Charley."

"Figgered.
 
Hurts like hell.
 
Wish you'd kept your damn mouth shut, Sheriff."

"Yeah," Vincent said.
 
"Me, too.
 
I shoulda known that preacher was crazy."

"Hell," Charley groaned.
 
"I never saw a man as fast as that.
 
And him a preacher."

"You messed with his daughter," Benteen said.
 
"If you'd messed with mine, I'd've killed you too."
 
He was struck with a sudden thought.
 
"Goddamn.
 
Did you mess with my daughter, you sonofabitch?"

Charley coughed and bright red blood flowed over his chin.
 
Consuela wiped it away.
 
She was sorry for the man, but he should not have come there looking for her son.
 
The livery stable man, Senor Case, was right about that.
 
Now that they had come, one man was already dying; there might be more before the day was over.