Black Ransom (27 page)

She hesitated only seconds before rising, still hoping that Ehron Lee would shoot a glance her way. But he seemed to be preoccupied with his own thoughts, taking her request as nothing more than what it seemed.

“Well, if you're in such a hurry to go, just get it done with,” Ward barked at her.

The sharpness of his voice pulled Ehron Lee away from himself and he finally cast his eyes on Cora, now lifting herself fully from her chair. She needed just that moment and she made the most of it, widening her eyes in an attempt to convey her message to Ehron Lee, hoping that he understood. But she didn't know, could not be sure, since Ehron Lee's expression betrayed nothing.

If her ruse was discovered, she and most likely Ehron Lee would be shot dead. But she realized there was every chance of that happening in any case, and so she decided to carry on with her plan. The gun would have to be concealed, however, and with her clothing consisting of jeans and a flannel shirt, there was no way she could sneak the gun in without Ward noticing. She walked over to grab her poncho off the wall peg. She tried not to be obvious as she fitted the garment over herself.

Ward was watching her . . . and so was Ehron Lee. There looked to be the response she'd been hoping for, though subtle, in his expression. The slightest nod he passed to her confirmed it, and Cora felt a sudden surge of confidence.

“Seems like you're bundlin' yourself purty good just to mosey outside to do your business,” Ward said.

His remark, which again relayed his misgivings, caught Cora off guard, but she recovered smoothly.

“Might have to walk a bit, and it's gettin' colder,” she replied.

Ward hesitated before he nodded. “All right. But get it done quick and get back inside.”

Cora left the cabin. Ehron Lee now believed he had figured out her real intention. He couldn't know her specific plan but suspected she had something up her sleeve and that he had to be ready for whatever that was. He decided to hopefully heighten their advantage and regain Ward's confidence by casting his own doubt upon Cora.

“Yuh trust her?” he asked Ward.

Ward's face registered a curious look.

“That ain't somethin' I expect to hear from you, Burrows,” he said.

“Maybe I got more at stake than I expected,” Ehron said. “Maybe 'cause of that, you got reason not to trust me . . .” He thrust a thumb toward George Watson and Judge Harrison. “But I got no love for them two.”

Ward spit on the floor and said with a sneer, “It ain't them two vultures that concern me. We know what's gonna happen to them. It's them others . . . yeah, and that includes your wife, Burrows.”

Ehron Lee had to speak the hardest words he'd ever had to say—and make them sound convincing.

“She was dead to me a long time ago. That aside, she's got no business bein' here.”

“Yeah, well, she is,” Ward said strategically.

“Yeah, she is,” Ehron Lee acknowledged straightly.

Ward listened to how he spoke his words—the inflection in his voice sounded genuine. But they did little to lessen Ward's suspicions. After all, they were only words. He wasn't so numbed by sleeplessness not to recognize that what Ehron Lee said and what he really felt were not necessarily the same and possibly his words were simply a ploy to get Ward to lower his guard.

“Might be best if'n yuh prove it,” Ward said cagily.

Ehron Lee suffered a sick feeling in his gut. He knew what Ward was aiming at. He understood what was expected of him. What Ward was offering was all or nothing.

Ward regarded him broodingly. “Can't be leavin' behind no witnesses, Burrows. If you're still really in with me, if'n we ride out together . . . I'll give yuh a chance.”

“A chance?”

Ward's cold, hard eyes burrowed into him. “Yeah. Once I take care of these others, I'll give yuh back your gun—and save yuh one bullet.”

Ehron Lee fought back a heavy swallow. “For my wife.”

The thin line of a smile traced across Ward's lips. “We both know she ain't no longer your wife.”

Ehron Lee didn't answer.

“'Fact, I reckon she's cozied up with that lawman in there,” Ward added, veering his eyes sideways, indicating the bedroom.

Ehron Lee knew that Ward was trying to get a reaction out of him. But as tough as it might be, he wasn't going to oblige. He kept himself calm and steady. Possibly there might even be some truth to what Ward was saying; Ehron Lee noticed how the marshal had held Melinda close when they were brought into the cabin. On top of that, a lot of lost years had passed between him and his wife—Ehron Lee believing her dead, Melinda falling prey to her sister's machinations and thinking that he wanted her out of his life. Neither was to blame, of course, nor could Ehron Lee truthfully believe there could be a rekindling of the same love that once had existed between them. A cruel quirk in destiny had decided otherwise. Whether Buck Leighton was “cozying” up to Melinda really seemed unimportant now.

“So I figger you see there ain't nothin' really stoppin' yuh from what's gotta be done,” Ward said.

He'd spoken his words openly and loud enough so that George Watson and Judge Harrison heard. They turned their faces to each other and shared a quick glance. Harrison's eyes were wide with fear; Watson's gaze remained steady and controlled. Both understood that not only were they to be murdered come sunup, but their wife and daughter, respectively, were to share the same fate at Ward Crawford's discretion. Perhaps both should have guessed the outcome, but when presented with the ransom, neither could afford to take the chance to search beyond the obvious. When it came to family or loved ones, emotion took precedence over reason. Although both were men hardened by the demands of their profession, each had forgone rational thinking and succumbed to sentiment. This had become especially true for Judge Harrison, a belated realization that affected him powerfully in what were to be his last hours.

Harrison was a man seized in the grip of terror so overwhelming that he was virtually numb in his comprehension. George Watson had kept himself composed enough to know there was a chance at hope. He had listened to the conversations taking place at the table. His keen eye had picked up the subtle signals between the girl Cora and former inmate Ehron Lee. He understood that this mute exchange between the two, whatever it indicated, might be their only salvation.

Meanwhile, Cora rummaged through the feed box out back of the house, going about her work quietly and stealthily. Yes, weapons were stashed there, yet she couldn't know whether any had been equipped with ammunition. The few rifles and the eight-gauge she pushed aside were of no value. She had to find a handgun, something that she could fit under her heavy poncho to smuggle inside. She struggled to keep her hands from trembling. She was rushed, knowing that she had to act quickly and working under darkness with no light to guide her, relying only on her fingers to fall upon a weapon that would be of use: a weapon that she prayed would be loaded with cartridges.

It had been too long. Ward's suspicions would grow to where he would be sure to check her person when she came back inside. She cursed under her breath. She was unable to lay her hands upon a pistol. The boys' raids had yielded only heavier firepower . . . of absolutely no use to her.

There was no point in seeking any further. Cora heaved a breath, held back her tears, and made her way back inside the cabin, composing herself so as to appear totally natural. At the same time she would have to express in some unobtrusive manner her failure to Ehron Lee. With a sinking heart, she knew it now would have to be up to him . . . and it was clear that with Ward's doubts focused on him, Ehron Lee's position was more tenuous than her own. His risk would be greater.

Ward watched her carefully as she walked into the kitchen, his dull, tired eyes lifting and lowering. Since she had nothing to hide, Cora slid out of her poncho and tossed it aside onto a chair.

Ward checked her over again, searching. There seemed to be nothing out of place and he looked satisfied. Ehron Lee tossed a deliberately harmless glance her way. He could see immediately that she had not succeeded in whatever her plan. The expression on her face was vacant yet at the same time telling.

TWENTY-SEVEN

THE LONG NIGHT
seemed to wear on endlessly. But eventually, inevitably, the first signs of a gold-tinged sunrise appeared on the eastern horizon, the tendrils of daylight stretching across the vast landscape, cresting the mountain peaks and hilly rises and finally spilling over into the valley.

Locked inside a windowless bedroom in which neither could know the hour or be aware of the approach of sunup, Buck Leighton and Melinda Burrows could only sit out their time and wait for the moment when either Ward Crawford or Ehron Lee would come to get them.

Buck had been awake throughout the night. Not only was he positioned uncomfortably, handcuffed to the bedpost, but his mind wouldn't relax. Melinda had given in to physical and emotional exhaustion and dozed periodically, resting her head on Buck's lap—only to snap awake at intervals with a sudden gasp. Buck was sympathetic to the trepidation in Melinda but still believed their one hope was for her to confess to Ehron Lee that he had a son. No one could guess the man's reaction, that was true, but even if there was the slimmest possibility that learning this truth might stimulate some compassion or reason in the man, Buck saw it as a chance worth taking.

“Won't be long now, Melinda,” Buck said to her gently. He didn't want to heighten her fear, only express again the desperate nature of their situation.

“You think it's morning?” she asked tentatively.

Ward rocked his head. “Least pretty close to it.”

“Had horrible dreams,” Melinda confessed. “Every time I closed my eyes . . .”

Ward gave his head an understanding nod.

Melinda's eyebrows constricted and she said with a heavy exhale, “Wish there was just some way I could get those cuffs offa you.”

Buck smiled wanly. “Wouldn't do no good even if yuh could. We could never get past 'em.”

Melinda then redirected her focus and gazed steadily at the bedroom door, with such intent it was as if she were trying by sheer will to penetrate its sealed boundary.

“What d'yuh think they're doing in there?” she asked apprehensively.

“I figger just what us and them others are doin'. Waitin'.”

“Waitin' . . . to die,” Melinda breathed.

“We still have that one chance,” Buck told her outright. “I know it ain't much, but seein' that the way things stand we're all gonna die anyway, I'd urge yuh to come clean with Ehron Lee—'bout your son.”

Melinda's expression took on a vague look of disappointment, and when the words came, her voice was low.

“I—thought I might,” she admitted. “If'n he'd come into the room tonight.”

“That weren't likely. Not with Crawford watchin' over things. Last thing he wants is for you two to spend any time together.”

“Then how am I supposed to—” Melinda started to say.

Buck spoke bluntly. “Only one way, as things look. You gotta just tell him. Even if it's in front of Crawford, as it'll most likely have to be.”

Melinda breathed in deeply as she considered what Buck was telling her. She had been hoping for a different outcome. She had wished that Ehron Lee would come in to speak with her at some point during the night. If they just could have spoken, maybe she could have got him on their side, convinced him to help these people. Help
himself
.

But he hadn't. Perhaps because of what Buck had suggested about Ward Crawford wanting to keep them apart . . . or what was even more disturbing to her, that Ehron Lee just didn't see the need. Either because his feelings toward her
had
changed . . . or was it his seeing her and Buck together and coming to his own conclusion?

If any of them stood even the slightest chance, Melinda knew that she would have to go along with what Buck was suggesting.

She decided: She would tell Ehron Lee about their son.

Finally she looked into Buck's eyes and nodded.

* * *

Sunlight filtered through the thin, tattered curtains in the front room. With purple-pouched eyes, Ward gazed into the muted glow. Then, revolver in hand, he pushed back in his chair and focused his attention on his two hostages. He began rolling the barrel of his gun along his forearm, slowly and repetitiously, taunting with malicious intent, grinning as he did so.

“I want them women out here,” he said to Cora. “But bring 'em out one at a time.” He narrowed his eyes and looked hard and mean at Judge Harrison. “Startin' with the judge's daughter.”

In a futile effort, Harrison began to struggle against the rawhide that bound him to the chair. He emitted desperate if muffled sounds through the kerchief wrapped around his mouth. He understood that he was a dead man and had almost come to accept that. What he feared was that Ward Crawford was bringing out his daughter so that she could watch him be murdered.

Ehron Lee, too, thought that was Ward's intent. He spoke up. “That ain't the way to do this, Ward.”

Ward slowly turned his face toward his partner, barely keeping his head from lolling. The Colt revolver pivoted with him, its aim landing lazily on Ehron Lee.

“Don't give a damn if'n yuh kill 'em,” Ehron Lee went on. “But no need for the women to hafta watch while yuh do it.”

Ward wore an amused expression. “What difference does it make? They'll all be together soon 'nuff.”

Cora stayed put in her chair, her eyes flashing back and forth between the two men, absorbing the tension that once more permeated the room.

“I don't want either of them two to die easy,” Ward said tautly.

Ehron Lee's voice was as firm as the expression he held. “Not that way.”

“From where I sit, you ain't got much say,” Ward said, his mouth twisted in a humorless lopsided grin.

Abruptly his expression changed. He glared at Cora, a virulent look in his eyes.

“Yuh heard what I told yuh,” he said in a snarl.

Cora didn't budge. Mustering her courage, she met Ward's intimidating stare with her own look of defiance.

Ward's glare became more intense, as did the tone in his voice.

“Goin' ag'in me, Cora? Wouldn't advise it.”

“If you're going to kill those men, leave the women outta it,” Cora said back. “The young one . . . she's just a girl.”

Ward kept his eyes steady on her, not noticing that Ehron Lee was very slowly and subtly starting to lift himself from his chair.

But Cora noticed as her eyes flickered toward him, and she knew she had to coax Ward's attention away from him.

“You was never that kinda man, Ward,” she continued, speaking compassionately. “You done things yuh hadda, done a lotta wrong, too; you never made excuses for that. But I never knew you to be cruel. Maybe yuh got a right to kill them two. Yuh feel they wronged you. But neither of them women did you any harm.”

Cora watched as the hardness of Ward's features began to subtly diminish as he seemed to absorb her words, and she hoped against hope that Ehron Lee could move fast enough to attempt his maneuver.

Then—Ward caught her eyes shifting, curiously, toward Ehron Lee. Instinctively his reflexes tensed, but it was too late. In the next instant he was tackled, his body flung to the hardness of the wood floor. Ehron Lee had taken advantage of that brief distraction to make the move he'd anticipated and he fought with all of his strength to overpower Ward. But for a man weakened by fatigue, Ward's own strength proved formidable. He clutched tightly at Ehron Lee's shoulders, holding his attacker back until he freed his left hand and slammed a fist into the side of Ehron Lee's face, briefly stunning him but not with enough force to knock him free from his straddle. Ehron Lee recovered swiftly and grabbed Ward's wrists, struggling to pin them against the floor. Ward then jerked his body in an upward motion and both men toppled onto their side, kicking and throwing punches as they wrestled against each other to gain the upper hand.

Ehron Lee had underestimated Ward's brutal strength, and he knew he couldn't hold him much longer.

“The gun, Cora!” he shouted.

Cora moved in as soon as she was able to try and retrieve the revolver, which had been knocked from Ward's hand and was lying close to where the men were grappling. Ward saw what she was aiming to do and tried to break free to reach for the weapon first. Ehron Lee struggled to prevent Ward from going for the other gun that still rested in his holster.

Cora took advantage of a quick, clear moment during the fight to bend over and scoop up the Colt. She held the gun firmly in her grip as she started to straighten her posture. Ward grimaced but saw his own advantage and kicked out his leg with a savage thrust, the sole of his boot connecting with Cora's chin before she could fully rise to her feet, snapping her head backward and knocking her out cold. Cora lay sprawled on the floor, arms and legs outstretched, the Colt revolver thrown from her hand and now lying just feet from where Judge Harrison and George Watson sat in the front room. Either could have made a grab for the gun had he been able. But both were bound securely to their chairs and all they could do was stare helplessly at the weapon.

Yet no one could have counted on the commotion prompting Janette Watson to react. At first she edged carefully from the bedroom, followed by Evaline, and upon witnessing the chaotic situation, she dared a desperate move. Catching her sudden presence, Judge Harrison gestured with frantic eyes to the gun not far from his feet. Janette hurried over, seized the revolver with both hands, and cocked the hammer. The barrel was aimed directly at the tangle that was Ehron Lee and Ward. Janette's eyes were wide and determined, expressing an intent that both men could recognize.

“Get to your feet, both of you,” she commanded harshly, taking careful steps backward. “And don't neither of you try anything or I swear to God Almighty I'll shoot.”

Ehron Lee and Ward loosened themselves from each other's grip and complied, slowly lifting to their feet with hands steadily rising upward.

“Evaline, get the men untied,” Janette next instructed. “Hurry!”

Wordlessly, Evaline hastened over to her father and started to fiddle with the rawhide knots tied in back of the chair.

Janette glanced down briefly at Cora's unconscious form and jabbed at her ribs with her shoe in an attempt to revive her. There was no response. Cora wasn't dead, she was breathing as her chest steadily rose and fell, but she could be hurt bad.

Ward wiped some blood from his face, smearing a crimson residue across his whiskered cheek. He appeared unaffected by the unexpected turn of events.

“Sure didn't see this comin',” he said with a characteristic grin.

Janette looked nervous but resolute. She brandished the Colt awkwardly; her hands were unsteady. It was obvious that she'd never held a gun before. Her concern was that Evaline seemed to be having a difficult time undoing the knots that bound her father to the chair.

“If'n you was smart, you'd let loose the lawman,” Ward suggested. He gestured with his eyes toward the second bedroom.

Janette kept her gaze steady on the two men.

Ward sucked a tooth. He maintained an indifferent demeanor.

“Keys are in my pocket,” he said.

“Reach for 'em,” Janette said. “But do it slow and toss 'em over here.”

“I can't get these ropes untied,” Evaline suddenly blurted out in frustration.

Janette turned her eyes to the girl. Just for an instant.

Just long enough for Ward Crawford to withdraw with a trained flourish the Colt from his holster.

The barrel of which was aimed at her by the time Janette returned her attention to the two outlaws.

The movement was so swift no one could have seen it coming—or reacted in time to prevent it. Janette Watson had only that one second to connect with her own mortality. For in the next moment Ward tugged on the trigger of the six-shooter and all in the room watched as Janette's eyes slid down towards the blood that blossomed between her breasts. She dropped to her knees and rolled onto her side, her eyes glazed as she died.

Evaline screamed. George Watson's eyes bugged from their sockets. Ward once again had taken charge, confirming his authority with outright murder. He surveyed the situation: Janette lying dead, Cora unconscious with a small trickle of blood forming at the corner of her slightly parted lips. And Ehron Lee was standing powerless to attempt another move against his armed partner.

“Reckon that's what yuh call a wasted effort,” Ward said to everyone. He then addressed George Watson specifically. “Your missus was a brave woman, Superintendent. But she shoulda had me drop my belt 'fore she played it like the cavalry.”

Ehron Lee regarded Ward with a look of contempt.

“Tricksters,” Ward said sourly. He cast his eyes down toward the motionless Cora. He gave her body a gentle kick with his boot heel. “Yeah, and you almost had me with your fancy talk.”

“She meant what she said, Ward,” Ehron Lee told him sturdily.