Outlaw's Bride (16 page)

T
he Hostetlers set up camp in back of the post office. They pitched a tent and hobbled a couple of shaggy pack mules, which brayed day and night. The noise was deafening.

Ragan passed a bowl of gravy to Johnny the second morning, blearyeyed from lack of sleep. “Well, what do you think?”

He broke open a biscuit and ladled gravy over it. “I think it’s going to be a hot one today.”

Judge McMann rolled his eyes.

“What do you think about the Brown Branch boys?” she persisted. “And none of this ‘it’s not my problem’ nonsense. It
is
your problem, whether you like it or not.”

Johnny chewed a bite of biscuit and gravy, and then he calmly drained his coffee cup and pushed back from the table.

Ragan waited. This time he was going to answer, or she was going to throttle an opinion out of him.

“I think they could use a haircut and a bath.”

She calmly picked up the bowl of gravy and dumped the contents in his lap.

Johnny shoved back from the table. Kitty seized the moment and began licking gravy off the floor. He shot Ragan a look that would have scared most women.

Casually reaching for the bowl of scrambled eggs, Ragan studied it.
“Surely you have some teensy, tiny comment?” Her expression hardened. “Don’t you?”

The judge hurriedly took a sip of coffee, and then he backed his chair to safety.

“Ragan—”

Her eyes snapped fire. “Don’t you?” She hefted the bowl threateningly.

Johnny mopped gravy off the front of his clothes. “The town doesn’t want to hear what I think. They made that clear at the meeting.”

“The town might not, but I do,” the judge said, returning to the table, interest lighting his eyes. “I would value your opinion, John.”

Kitty jumped onto the judge’s lap, sniffing his hand for a treat. Dipping his fingers in the remains of the gravy, he allowed the cat to lick them clean.

Carrying a stack of dishes to the sink, Johnny deposited them in the dishpan. “I don’t understand why they want to hire someone to do their job.”

The judge leaned back, studying him. “You’re saying you think we haven’t tried to defend ourselves?”

Johnny’s eyes met Ragan’s. “I know how you’ve been terrorized, your father burned out, and the town shot to pieces.” He looked at the judge. “I know about Ragan’s brother, and I know about being scared and helpless, but you can’t expect others to protect you. You want my opinion? I think you’re a community of gutless cowards who won’t stand up for what’s rightly yours.”

He turned on his heel and left the room.

For a moment, neither Ragan nor the judge could find their tongues.

Finally Ragan picked up the empty gravy bowl and wiped the table clean.

“Well,” the judge observed. “As I said, we have to consider all communication as positive.”

T
hat afternoon Johnny stayed behind while Ragan and Judge McMann visited Main Street to see the Hostetlers’ progress. A gang hadn’t come through since their arrival, and things were uncommonly quiet.

“Are you sure you won’t come?” Ragan asked as she pushed the judge’s chair past Johnny and through the open gate.

“No. I promised Mrs. Curbow I’d fix a loose shutter for her this afternoon.” Johnny closed the gate behind them and latched it.

Work around the judge’s house had slowed to the point that Ragan had started to loan Johnny out to the town’s widows. Between painting and gardening, he was busy most of the time.

“Mind if Kitty goes with me?”

The judge and Ragan turned to look over their shoulders. He met their stunned gazes easily.

“No, go right ahead. She’ll enjoy tagging along,” the judge said.

When they reached Main Street, Ragan braked the chair, eyeing the activity. The three Hostetlers and Rantz ran back and forth from one side of the street to the other, stringing rope across the north entrance.

“What on earth are they doing?” Squinting, the judge leaned forward in his chair, shading his eyes against the sun’s glare.

“Looks like they’re tying rope to posts at the telegraph office and then
tying the other end to the mercantile across the street. Maybe they’re going to hang a sign.” Ragan couldn’t imagine why they’d do that.

Billy snapped orders while Cisco tied the rope on one side and Rantz tied it on the other. Buck measured out another length and started toward the south end of town, dragging the hemp behind him. He grinned, tipping his hat as he passed the judge. The tip of his tongue protruded through the gap from his missing front tooth.

Billy barely glanced up when Ragan rolled the judge’s chair within hearing distance.

“What are you doing, son?”

The boy looped the rope around a post and tightened it. “Strangin’ rope.”

“I can see that. What’s the plan?”

“Gonna strang rope ’cross the road for when the gangs ride through again.”

The judge glanced at the rope and then at Billy. “And what’s supposed to happen?”

“The gangs’ll ride in, and the rope’ll catch ’em right here.” He gave a hard chop to his sternum.

Rantz snickered as he came over. “Knock ’em right off their horses.”

“Knock them off their horses?” The judge studied the rope. “That’s your plan?”

Buck approached, sweat rolling down his baby-faced features. “Knock ’em offen their horses, and then the sheriff’s deputies can arrest ’em and throw ’em in jail.”

Ragan was glad that Johnny wasn’t witnessing this. “Is that wise? The impact could hang a person, couldn’t it?”

“Naw, jest knock ’em offen their horse, ma’am.” Billy pointed to several coils of rope lying on the ground. “We got us four ropes.” He grinned. “We’ll catch ’em all, don’t you worry none.”

Her heart sank.

“Billy, let me see if I understand you.” The judge appeared to study the plan. “The gangs will ride into town. You’re banking on them
being blind; that they won’t be able to see the rope strung across the road. When they stupidly ride into the rope, they’ll be knocked off their horses, and all the deputies have to do is sashay out there and tie them up. The gangs will just keep riding into the rope until there are no more to ride in, or the four ropes give out. Is that your plan?”

Buck nodded. “Yessir.” He flashed a toothless grin.

“Ragan?”

“Yes, Judge?”

“Take me home. I have a splitting headache.”

“Yes, Judge.” She turned the chair and started off.

“String a rope! I’ve heard it all now.”

“Yes, sir.” She bit back a grin. “Can we agree not to mention this to Johnny?”

“Have mercy. Maybe the boys will change their minds before they can put the plan into action.”

They passed Rantz, who was trekking across the street, dragging a trail of rope behind him.

“Then again, I guess that’s too much to hope for.”

A commotion had erupted at the saloon. Ragan moved the judge’s chair to the shade of the building, and they watched as a crowd of men hustled in and out of the bar, carrying chairs.

“Morning, Shorty, Hubie.”

“Morning, Judge, Ragan.”

“What’s going on?”

Hubie hoisted another chair onto a buckboard. “Hostetler told us to make space for the prisoners.”

“You honestly believe there are going to be some?”

Shorty frowned. “Well, shore. Billy says the jail ain’t gonna hold all the gangs.”

“Ragan?”

“Yes, Judge?”

“My headache’s getting worse by the minute.”

S
aturday morning dawned dry with a hot breeze. Ragan wiped her forehead with her apron hem before setting eggs and ham on the table. “Is it ever going to rain again?”

She poured coffee, watching Johnny salt his gravy. “It’s been three days and no raids.”

The judge grunted, reaching for the sugar bowl. “Through no virtue of the Brown Branch bunch.”

Unfolding his napkin, Johnny laid it in his lap. “I understand those ropes are causing quite a problem.” He met Ragan’s eyes, and she could swear he was laughing at her. Well, who wouldn’t laugh? The Hostetlers’ idea was downright embarrassing. To think the town had spent money on this fiasco.

“Most idiotic situation I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness,” the judge grumbled. “Everyone’s complaining because they have to park their buggies outside of town. Harold Bradshaw was mad enough to eat nails yesterday. He had to carry fifteen sacks of grain to his wagon because of that rope. Lowell Homer turned his wagon upside down when he tried to cut between the mercantile and Sheriff Lutz’s office. Dumped the whole load of hay on the jail steps. Where the cat hair is Alvin Lutz?”

Ragan carried a skillet to the sink. “He’s down in his joints, Procky.”

“We might as well not have a sheriff.”

“Was Lowell hurt?” Ragan asked.

“No, you know Lowell. Hardheaded as a gourd. That team pulled the wagon on its side and strung hay all the way down Main Street. It’s a disgrace, I tell you. We’ll be the laughingstock of the county.”

Johnny reached for the butter, trying to catch Ragan’s eye, but she refused to accommodate him. “Ahh, yes. The old rope trick.” He casually buttered a biscuit and then bit into it. “Who knows?” Ragan finally looked at him, and he winked at her. “It might work.”

“Five days and no raids,” Judge McMann said.

The silence of the last few days was unsettling, and Ragan’s nerves were on edge. A rope wasn’t going to keep the gangs away. The outlaws were only biding their time until they could devise their own plan. In the meantime, everyone in town was inconvenienced.

“Well, it’s what we wanted,” Ragan said as she turned a shovelful of potatoes in the garden. “You’re not unhappy about that, are you, Procky?”

“Of course not. Just wondering if anyone’s actually dumb enough to ride into those ropes.”

“Actually, one person has. Holly mentioned last night that one of Ted Rowser’s boys from Tom’s Canyon rode into town yesterday and hit the rope. Knocked him clean off his horse. Almost hung himself, Holly said. He has a fierce rope burn across his neck.”

She wasn’t at all surprised at Johnny’s snicker. Naturally he found the situation amusing, but poor Keith Rowser had failed to see the humor.

“Keith was real upset. When he finally got up, he threw a punch at Billy. Sheriff Lutz had to separate them and threatened to haul them off to jail.” She knocked a clod of dirt off her hoe, pinning Johnny with a critical look. He was still snickering. “It’s not funny. Keith could have been seriously hurt.”

Johnny’s features immediately sobered. “I don’t doubt that. If a rope’s taut enough, it’ll take a man’s head off.” He pitched a potato into the pan.

Judge McMann shook his head. “How long is this nonsense going to last? Townsfolk inconvenienced, Lowell tearing up his wagon and losing all that hay, the stage not getting through, and now we’ve nearly decapitated one of our neighbors’ sons.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t think we can afford the Hostetler boys.”

At the sound of gunshots, the judge straightened in his chair. “Listen.”

Hoofbeats and rounds of fire sounded near the south edge of town.

“They’re coming!” Ragan threw the hoe aside, and reached for Kitty. She thrust the cat toward the judge. “Quick! Into the house.”

“Wait!” The judge held up his hand. “Listen.”

The noise of horses and guns gradually receded.

“They’re leaving.”

They stood silently, straining to make out the retreating hoofbeats.

“Doesn’t seem as if they captured the riders,” Ragan said.

The three exchanged looks.

“There wasn’t enough time,” the judge replied. “Let’s go have a look.”

The Hubbards and Kincaids joined them as they hurried toward the post office. An air of expectancy hung over Barren Flats.

“We made the girls stay home,” Lillian explained breathlessly. “We don’t want them witnessing all this violence.”

People streamed into town to see the first evidence of their hardearned money at work. Florence and Hubie Banks stood in front of the saloon, discussing what had just happened.

“What’s going on, Hubie?” the judge called as they got closer. “We heard the riders coming, and then it sounded as if they turned around.”

“There were eight to ten of ’em, Judge. They rode up and saw the rope. That must have caught ’em by surprise, because they turned around and hightailed it out of town. Jim Allen followed them, and he rode back a minute ago and said they were still out there, huddled together on that ridge out near Coyote Road.”

Johnny turned to look over his shoulder. “They’re just sitting there on their horses?”

“Yeah, that’s what Jim said. Wonder what they’re up to now?”

Billy and Buck strode down Main Street, smiling. “No need to get upset, folks. We skeered ’em off.” Billy gave the judge a smug look. “Our plan worked. The minute they spotted that thar rope, they decided not to try their luck.”

Buck chortled. “Skeered ’em to death.”

Thundering hoofbeats interrupted them.

Riders appeared, guns blazing. Reining in at the rope, they slashed it with their knives. Then their horses trampled the tattered remains as they galloped into town.

The townsfolk scattered, and the marauders charged toward the saloon. Ragan pushed Judge McMann through the open doorway. The front window shattered and shots ricocheted off the Oasis sign. Glassware exploded and bottles flew from the shelves. Florence groaned as a bullet hit the gold-framed mirror hanging behind the bar. The frame split and crashed to the floor. A single triangle of glass dangled from the right-hand corner.

The hoodlums rode up and down Main Street, whooping and firing. Then they sliced the rope guarding the north end of town and galloped off.

An eerie silence settled over the stunned population.

Hubie slowly crawled to his feet, setting a chair upright. “Anybody hurt?”

Ragan felt Johnny’s hand on her arm.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he helped her up.

He moved to assist the judge back into his chair.

“I’m okay, son. Thank you. I’m so thankful Maddy isn’t here to see this. It would break her heart.”

As they descended the Oasis steps, Buck ran past carrying what was left of the ropes. Flashing his toothless grin, he called out, “Jest a small setback. We’ll git ’em. Don’t you worry none.”

“Idiots,” the judge grumbled as the crowd dispersed. “We’ve bought ourselves a hundred dollars worth of idiots.” He motioned for Johnny to take him home, and the three were silent as they left Main Street.