Black Ransom (22 page)

It was imperative that Ehron Lee be told the truth. That he know of Abigail's cunning. That Melinda hadn't died; she'd given birth to his child, his son, and hadn't abandoned him during his years at Rockmound. If Ehron Lee could be made to see the truth, maybe George Watson's wife had a chance.

But for that to succeed, Buck would have to convince Melinda to come along with him once he heard from Superintendent Watson that a follow-up note had been delivered. It was Buck's one chance to reason with the man. Ehron Lee would need to see her, and Melinda would have to explain and be utterly sincere in her telling of what really had happened.

Yet even that presented a gamble. There would still be Ward Crawford—and possibly other bandits—to contend with. If Crawford and Ehron Lee were working in some vengeful union, Ward's participation would be for an entirely different purpose. He would have his own reason for going along, perhaps based more on primal outlaw bloodlust, completely separate from Ehron Lee's own twisted sense of justice.

Ehron Lee was not truly a criminal and perhaps could still be reasoned with; Ward Crawford was a cold-blooded killer who likely would not be taken alive.

* * *

Buck had hardly gotten off the stage in Brackett when he was informed by one of the townspeople of the saloon shooting in which a stranger to town had been wounded and arrested. Apparently the bullet injury, which at first had seemed minor, had caused more damage than originally thought and had swiftly become infected. The stranger was in and out of a delirium, locked in the town jail, and in moments of lucidity became overwhelmed with doubt that his shooting would be considered self-defense. This had set a panic in the man and he had done some talking that had seemed curious to the Brackett sheriff but which might be of value to the U.S. marshal.

Buck delayed his visit to Melinda Burrows and hurried along the boardwalk to the jailhouse. Once he went inside the office, the sheriff, a dusty old character named Pillsbury, close to retirement and eager to hang up his badge, greeted Buck curtly. He rose wearily from his chair and, walking with a pronounced limp, escorted Buck into a side corridor where the cells were situated. The sheriff commented that “business” had been slow, and of the three cells, only one was occupied. He chortled as he added, “And by a dyin' man.”

Buck paid no attention to the sheriff's words or his dispassionate attitude. Not immediately. Not until he noticed in the stink-laden cell closest to the door a man lying under a blanket on the bunk, moaning and twitching and obviously in very bad shape.

Buck frowned and said with abrupt concern, “Why the hell hasn't he been looked after proper?”

“No point,” the sheriff replied with a lift of his shoulder. “Ain't nothin' can be done for him. Can die here as well as anyplace.”

Buck gave the sheriff a sharp, critical look.

“He been looked at by the doctor?” Buck asked roughly.

“Like I told yuh, he's dyin' . . . and he's feverish,” the sheriff explained simply. “Yeah, Doc's been here. Was outta town when they brought him in, didn't get back 'til a coupla days later. By that time the fella took a turn for the worse. We cleaned him up as best we could but couldn't dig the bullet out. Infection set in. The sawbones said just to keep him quiet and comfortable. Ain't been too quiet, though. Been spoutin' off all sortsa wild talk.”

“D'yuh know who he is?” Buck asked.

“Boys he was playin' cards with said he introduced himself only as Randy. You'd hafta ask him, only he ain't makin' much sense anymore. For a time he kept goin' on 'bout some fellas he used to be with. Can't figger what he meant other than he was likely workin' outside the law. Mumblin' 'bout robbin' banks . . . said somethin' bout some girls plannin' to be snatched.”

Buck's head pivoted toward the sheriff and he eyed him questioningly.

“Girls . . . bein' snatched,” he echoed.

The sheriff stiffly rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno. Just somethin' he said along with his other ramblin's. Couldn't rightly figger anything he was sayin'.”

Buck responded with urgency. He ordered the sheriff to unlock the cell, then he stepped inside and went over to the man lying on the chain-fastened bunk, dropping to a knee beside him. Buck didn't recognize the sweaty-faced stranger who called himself Randy, but he knew he had to get him to talk—to tell Buck what, if anything, he knew—in the short time remaining to him.

Again, he was playing a hunch.

Buck was impatient, and while he had rebuked the sheriff for allowing a mortally wounded man to breathe out his last moments of life confined in a jail cell, his own attitude came across as brusque and demanding.

For close to a quarter hour Buck attempted to question Randy, but his efforts yielded nothing of value. Weaving in and out of consciousness, his eyes glassy and unfocused, the man offered little beyond what had already been established by the sheriff. It was evident that he'd had an outlaw past but in his dying expressed little regret for what he'd done.

Then—just toward what seemed to be the end—a momentary awareness overtook Randy and his eyes flashed wide, seemingly alert, and he spoke with clarity, though his sentences were clipped.

“Can tell yuh,” he uttered anxiously. “But if'n I do . . . yuh can't be hangin' me. Never meant to kill no one. Sonofabitch—he cheated me! Shot at me first. Was—was only defendin' myself.”

Buck spoke reassuringly. After all, no matter what had happened back at the saloon, there was no way a noose would be strung around his neck now.

“No one holds yuh responsible for that,” he said. “But tell me 'bout these girls you talked 'bout. The ones you said was plannin' to be snatched.”

Randy was momentarily confused, then his face relaxed and he smiled; the smile widened into a grin.

“Girls,” he said. “Don't know no girls . . . 'ceptin' Cora.”

Buck scrunched up his face. “Cora?”

“Could always count on her. Hell, we all could.”

“Tell me 'bout her,” Buck urged quietly. “Tell me more 'bout Cora.”

Randy said he was thirsty and asked for water, which Buck furnished for him, ladling a taste of the cool liquid into his mouth from the bucket on the floor.

“Cora,” the man then went on, the grin receding to a slight smile upon his lips. “Yeah, she stuck by us. Had to . . . 'cause of her brother. He couldn't get away fast enough. Never told her . . . 'bout Ward havin' to shoot him. Had no choice. He couldn't let him talk.”

Buck didn't have to guess who “Ward” was.
Ward Crawford
.

“Talk? 'Bout what?” Buck said, speaking hurriedly, with more determination. He needed answers and realized there might not be much time left. At the very least, at any second Randy could slip back into incoherence.

“The escape.”

“From Rockmound?” Buck asked.

Randy nodded weakly and suddenly his expression twisted in pain. When he recovered, he spoke with another jolt of clarity.

“Fella, he came to us. Said . . . Ward wanted us . . . wanted us to repay a favor.”

“What favor?”

Randy's eyes took on a faraway look.

“Don't think I gotta worry 'bout hangin',” he muttered, his voice and senses fading rapidly. “Reckon . . . I'm gonna die all on my own.”

“Who was the man who came to you?” Buck pressed.

Randy didn't answer.

Buck leaned in close. “Just tell me this—nod or shake your head if you hafta. Was the man who came to you . . . was his name Ehron Lee?”

Again Randy didn't reply. But maybe it wasn't necessary that he speak his answer. Hearing the name prompted a spark of recognition, registered in his eyes. His lips began to silently form what looked to Buck to be “Ehron.”

Finally Randy breathed out and lapsed into unconsciousness for what was probably the final time. Buck rose to his feet and stepped from the cell.

The sheriff was seated at his desk. His head rose and he asked neutrally, “He dead?”

Buck walked right by without acknowledging the question.

He had hoped to find out more. But what he did discover was important. Ehron Lee was involved in the Rockmound prison break . . . which meant it was almost a surefire guarantee he'd partnered with Ward Crawford in the kidnapping of Superintendent Watson's wife. What puzzled him was Randy's reference to “girls.” Was there someone else who was in jeopardy?

* * *

Outside of leading the deputized posse that had captured the stagecoach desperados, Buck Leighton had had a relatively uneventful career as a lawman. Yet he'd discovered there were elements of his job that, while not fraught with danger, were oftentimes just as unpleasant.

The fact was not lost on Buck that almost every time he'd spoken with Melinda Burrows, it was to deliver grave news. What he had to tell her now was something he dreaded even more than if he'd had to notify her that her husband was dead. At least in that situation, hard as it might be, there was an end. With what was happening now, it was only the beginning . . . and worse, he would have to involve Melinda in a risky venture that did not guarantee a promising outcome. He dreaded the next few minutes as he stood on her doorstep, waiting for her to answer his knock.

When she opened the door and Melinda saw him, hat in hand, his features set and serious, she felt herself grow momentarily weak, expecting to hear the worst. But his familiar attempt at a smile gave her at least a momentary strength and she recovered sufficiently to invite Buck inside.

Once seated in the parlor, Buck got straight to the point, carefully gauging Melinda's every reaction to the words he spoke. Perhaps because she had been through this before with Buck, her face didn't express much emotion and she remained quiet until the marshal was finished with what he had to say.

As Buck expected, Melinda's first reaction was disbelief. He perfectly understood her doubt and decided not to argue his side, instead allowing Melinda the time to absorb the facts and, hopefully, reach the same conclusion as he had.

And soon, on reflection, she did.

She spoke calmly, reasonably. “With all that's happened, I reckon he could change. But to do what you're suggesting—a prison break, kidnapping some innocent woman—when he was free and could have gone on with a new life . . .”

“I think he woulda gone clean,” Buck offered honestly. “But too much has gone ag'in him.”

Before Melinda could again put unfair blame on herself, Buck hushed her.

“You got no reason to feel guilt, Melinda. Think clear and you'll see none of this is your fault. If anythin', without yuh knowin', you was caught in the middle.”

Melinda's voice was cautious. “And yet you think I can do somethin' to help?”

“I do,” Buck said firmly. “Leastwise where your husband's concerned.”

Melinda rested her wrist on her knee and rubbed it repeatedly with her other hand.

“And this other . . . this Ward?” she said.

Buck took his time in answering.

“Well,” he drew out. “He's a type that'll have to be handled different. The way I see it, he'll have to be gotten to first, otherwise might be no way to reason with Ehron Lee. And dealin' with Ward Crawford . . . that's my job.”

Melinda went quiet. She sat considering for a while, weighing the truth in what Buck was telling her. Of course she realized he wouldn't be saying such things unless he firmly believed they were so. More important, if there was any way she could help Ehron Lee . . . she knew she would.

Finally she set her eyes directly upon Buck and nodded.

“I'll do whatever needs to be done,” she said.

TWENTY-ONE

THE PROGRESSIVE ILLNESS
of Judge Charles Harrison's wife, which had resulted in longer confinements to her bed, made it easier for Harrison to fabricate a reason for Evaline's sudden absence. The morning after receiving the first note, delivered to him by the shopkeeper's helper in whose store the envelope addressed to him had been found, Harrison gently, and he hoped convincingly, explained to his wife while he sat at her bedside that a telegram had arrived inviting their daughter to visit the school at which both parents had previously discussed enrolling her. She would be gone for only a few days, he assured her. He went further, telling his wife that he'd had to send her off early that morning as no other stagecoach would be leaving Bolton until later in the week. Harrison patted his wife's hand, adding encouragingly and as a reminder that it was an opportunity neither wanted Evaline to miss out on.

Although she expressed disappointment and some bewilderment at her daughter leaving without saying good-bye, Mrs. Harrison was too ill and weak not to accept her husband's story and the reason for Evaline's hasty departure. Before Harrison could leave her room, she had drifted back off to sleep.

Throughout much of their marriage, Harrison's relationship with his wife had been built on lies and deceit. But strangely, and perhaps inexplicably, this was the first time he'd ever truly felt guilty about not being honest with her. Just as it had become apparent to him that with what was to come, he might never be able to make amends.

It was an anxious period for Harrison as he awaited the arrival of the second note. He both anticipated and dreaded its delivery. With it would come the hope that his daughter was still alive. But at that point there would be no turning back from what Harrison had decided he must do. To save Evaline, he would have to follow through with the note's demand.

His only certainty was that the outcome would be his own death.

* * *

George Watson felt only slightly more optimistic. When the telegram arrived at his office, detailing nothing more than a meeting place, a date, and an approximate time, he understood, and he wasted no time dispatching a wire to Buck Leighton in Brackett. Buck received the message through the sheriff's office and went to fetch Melinda, who had readied herself for this moment and was prepared for the journey both in attitude and attire, donning old work pants, a heavy flannel shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat to protect her against the merciless rays of the desert sun during their long ride.

She had already made arrangements with her Mexican neighbor to look after her boy, Charlie. Buck didn't rush Melinda and stood patiently as she spent some minutes with her son, gently explaining to him that she had to be away for a short while but would be back as soon as she could. The boy looked sad and Melinda had to struggle to keep the tears from her own eyes, afraid that it would further upset her son to see her cry. The Mexican woman was kind yet firm and managed to comfort Charlie, telling him in broken English to stand straight and strong for his mother, and the boy wiped dry his watering eyes and waved meekly as he watched his mother ride off with Buck.

With the information forwarded him in Watson's wire, Buck, together with Melinda, headed out directly to the location specified in the telegram: an apparently desolate, rock-strewn area some miles from Border Pass, the exact meeting spot marked by a strange natural formation that was seen by some as a bad omen. There stood a solitary tree with gnarled and barren branches that stretched over the passageway like long, bony fingers, which was known simply as The Skeleton Tree, and was referenced in the telegram. Buck wasn't familiar with the region and had never heard of The Skeleton Tree, and at some point would need to seek out directions (as would, he assumed, George Watson), but it was his intention to arrive early to scout out a good secure spot to keep him and Melinda out of sight while still watching what was to transpire between Watson and whoever would be there to meet him. Buck still wasn't certain of how he would proceed. He understood that there were a number of variables involved, and during the ride he finally decided it would be best not to settle on any plan and to play things as they came.

The ride would take a couple of days, and there wasn't much talk between Buck and Melinda during their journey headed southwest. Both had their own thoughts, and Buck understood particularly how difficult this was for Melinda. She'd had to absorb an awful lot recently, and though he didn't voice it, he admired her all to hell. She couldn't know what they were riding into any more than he did, yet she was doing so willingly, to help both her husband and a woman she'd never met.

Yep, Buck thought, Melinda truly was a gal with some grit.