Gun Work: The Further Exploits of Hayden Tilden (27 page)

Clapped him on the shoulder. Said, “Deserve doesn't have anything to do with it, Carl.”

“I know,” he said, then pitched the shovel aside. “But, if I'd of had my way, we'd a dragged 'em out into the big cold and lonely. Covered 'em with a pile of rocks to keep the coyotes off, way we done for that poor idiot of a kid Daisy Cassidy left under the tree. Far as I'm concerned, it's all any of 'em should've expected—whether they deserved it or not.”

And so, we made our way back to Fort Smith. I wrote my reports and waited. And, as usual, our actions and the outcome of the chase went unchallenged.

Truth be told, the whole mess turned out right profitable. Posted rewards on Jesse and Leroy Coltrane amounted to almost three thousand dollars. About a month after we made it back got word from Mr. Wilton's office that Ennis Buckheart and Egger Salt were wanted in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, for murdering the hell out of a farmer during the attempted robbery of a branch of the Elk Horn Bank located right in the middle of that picturesque downtown. Folks there wanted those boys bad enough that they put up two thousand apiece, dead or alive. Seems Eureka Springs' dead farmer had a lot of friends.

Couldn't do much but try to salve my conscience with such monetary good news, given the bloody outcome of the hunt. 'Course I never discussed that particular expedition with Elizabeth. Just couldn't bring myself to talk about it. Fact is, I don't remember ever mentioning the story to anyone, till now. But, you know, after the gunfight at Morgan's Cut, that beautiful gal of mine always allowed as how I was never exactly the same.

Had a lot of years to think about the whole ugly incident, and have to admit, I think Elizabeth was right.

GOT TO GIVE credit where credit's due. Martha Frances Harrison, appearing mesmerized, sat unmoving the whole night long. She listened to my lengthy yarn of lunatic behavior, gun smoke, and violent death like an awestruck child. Seemed as though as long as I talked, she had barely moved. Sometimes not even sure she breathed while I spun the tale out for her.

But when I finished, and after a few seconds of silence, she gazed up at me with misty eyes and said, “That's the most incredible story I've ever heard, Hayden. Exactly what you warned me to expect. Nothing like any western movie I've ever seen, that's for sure. A twisted, unrelenting, realistic tale of obsession, blood, murder, and as you warned before starting, quick death.”

Outside the highly polished windows of our sunporch haven, off to the east, a snipped fingernail of sunlight sliced across the distant horizon. Muted light, filtered by a bank of thin, dark clouds, and reflected off the Arkansas River, bathed our hideout under the potted palm in a soft, reddish hue. Came damn near to being the exact color of blood.

Martye leaned my direction. She placed a warm hand on my leg. Squeezed, then said, “Had someone else told me that selfsame story, I would have dismissed it out of hand as being nothing more than a fanciful concoction designed to shock a tenderhearted listener. Truth is, I could never have brought myself to believe a man of your splendid conduct, and Southern cavalier refinement, ever took part in such brutal affairs. But having heard it directly from your own lips, well, I suppose the reality of those horrible events can't be denied.”

Tried to smile, but couldn't. “You know, Martye, I do believe you're the best thing that's happened to me since Carl passed away. Right lonely around here till you showed up, darlin'. Really enjoy your company. Figured my experience with the devilish Daisy Cassidy would show you a side of me I've kept hidden from most people for more years than I care to remember. Pray I didn't say anything that would damage our friendship. One I sincerely hope lasts for some time to come.”

She smiled. Grabbed my hand and stood. Pulled me out of my seat. Linked one arm in mine and started moving us down the hallway toward the cafeteria and a waiting breakfast.

We hadn't gone very far when she leaned against me and whispered, “Hayden, have you ever wondered what would have happened to Daisy Cassidy if you had managed to bring her back alive?”

Her question rang in my leathery old heart like a cracked church bell. “Yes. More times than I care to recall. More times than I care to think about.”

“Would you venture a guess? Just for me.”

Chin on my chest, I muttered, “Well, I'm pretty sure that after being found guilty, Judge Parker would have sentenced her to hang. And, very likely, her lawyers would have appealed that sentence.”

“So, in your estimation, had the Cassidy girl lived, she wouldn't have been known to history as the first woman hanged by Judge Parker in Fort Smith?”

“Didn't say that. In the end, when all her appeals had justifiably failed, and the case had finally shaken out to its logical conclusion, in my estimation, Daisy Cassidy would have walked to her fate on the arm of hangman George Maledon. Climbed the steps of his Gates of Hell gallows in the little hollow not far from the courthouse. And, in all likelihood, Carlton and I would have been compelled to attend her hanging.”

“My God.”

“Indeed. It's an image that I'm eternally grateful had no chance to take root and add another scar on my heart.”

Martye clung to my arm. Snuggled closer. Felt damned good having her next to me. And given the dangerous and deadly course of my past life, simply being alive and able to walk the halls of the Rolling Hills Home for the Aged felt good. Felt damned good.