Passage West (42 page)

He glanced up and their gazes met and held. She smiled weakly and swallowed back the tears she felt at the sight of him.

Rourke knew he ought to be furious with her for staying. But he felt a wave of relief that she had survived the night. The only thing he cared about now was Abby’s safety. His own life was now in the hands of others. And he could sense their lust for blood.

While the bailiff read the charges against Rourke, Abby glanced around the room. Every bench was filled, and people stood in aisles and corners. Those who couldn’t fit inside the building stood outside near windows, eager to hear everything that was said.

Abby saw Flint Barrows and felt a little shudder pass through her. Last night the hotel owner had told her someone was asking for her. He had given the man her room number. She knew it was Flint, and she knew what he planned to do. To evade him, she spent the night in the stable with the horses. The hay was clean and dry, and she had covered herself with Rourke’s blanket. Somehow, she felt closer to him there. And she had no doubt that the stable was infinitely safer than the hotel.

She turned to study the judge and jury, and missed seeing the tall, thin young man who stood at the back of the courtroom. But he had seen her. Thunderstruck, he hurried away to share his news.

“Daniel Rourke.” Abby glanced toward the gray- haired judge who was speaking. “You have been charged with deliberately following and killing four men in Arizona Territory one year ago. These men, a jury of your peers, will determine your fate. The bailiff will now hear your oath to speak only the truth in this court of law.”

Abby leaned forward as Rourke was led before the judge, where he swore to tell the truth. When he was seated facing the jury, the packed courtroom fell silent.

“You served in the Union army, sir?” the judge asked.

“I did.” Rourke’s voice was firm and strong.

“In what capacity?”

“I was a captain.”

“Captain? How did you come by that rank?”

Abby glanced around at the faces of those nearby. All were watching and listening intently.

“I took my training at West Point.”

“West Point?” The judge studied Rourke for long, silent minutes. “Are you related to General John Edward Rourke?”

“He was my father.”

The crowd gasped. He had been a decorated war hero, who, because of his brilliance and fair treatment, was admired by both sides in the war.

“Were you honorably discharged from the army, sir?”

Rourke nodded. “I was.”

The judge’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And yet a man from a fine military family, educated at West Point, who served his country honorably, has deliberately trailed and murdered four men in cold blood?”

Rourke remained silent, staring straight ahead.

“I see no remorse in you, Captain Rourke. And so I must probe further.” The judge cleared his throat. “From the documents before me, I see that you are married.”

“I was.”

Abby’s mouth opened, then closed. Why had it never occurred to her that Rourke could have a wife? She felt a cold ribbon of fear around her heart.

“Was.” The judge paused a moment. “Your wife is dead?”

“She is.”

“Do you have children, Captain Rourke?”

“I had one son. He is dead also.”

Abby thought of the tenderness Rourke had shown Timmy Garner, and she swallowed back the cry that sprang to her lips. Dear God. A wife and son. Both dead. And he had never been able to bring himself to tell her.

“How did your wife and son die, Captain Rourke?”

Along with the crowd, Abby strained to hear his response.

“They were brutalized and murdered.” His voice nearly broke. He clenched his hands together tightly, fighting for control.

The crowd began murmuring. Abby’s heart ached for him. There was nothing she could do to make this easier. He was being forced to bare his pain in front of a mob of strangers.

Banging his gavel, the judge glared at the spectators, then turned toward Rourke. “Continue, Captain. Tell us in your own words what happened.”

Except for a narrowing of his eyes, Rourke showed no further emotion. His hands were grasped firmly together, the knuckles white. In a clear voice he said, “I returned from the war to find my buildings and crops burned to the ground, my livestock stolen. And down by the creek, I found the bodies of my wife and infant son. Their bodies had been”—he swallowed and the word came out in a whisper—“mutilated.”

The crowd gasped.

“Did you know who did these things, Captain?”

“I knew. I had been trailing them for weeks. They left a trail of death and destruction wherever they passed.”

“And who were these men?”

“The Borders brothers, James and Jarold, who had deserted the army, and three other men who joined them along the trail whose names I never learned.”

“Was it your job to find these men and return them to the army?”

“No, it was not.”

“But you were trailing them. Why?”

“I was heading home. I came across the first grisly murder on my way. They and I seemed to be heading in the same direction.”

“But you continued trailing them. I ask you again, Captain. Why?”

Rourke’s voice lowered. “Because I was sick of the killing. There had been enough of it, too much of it in the war. It had to end.”

“Did you know they were heading toward your home?”

Rourke hesitated. “I didn’t know. I feared they might be. But though I rode all night, I didn’t manage to overtake them.”

“And so you found the destruction of your land and the … remains of your family?”

Rourke nodded.

“After you discovered the bodies of your wife and son, did you feel you had a right to track down these men without being given that authority by the law?”

Rourke glanced at the judge. His eyes were cold. “I needed no one to tell me I had that right. I swore when I found them I would kill them.”

A murmur went up through the crowd. Angrily the judge slammed the gavel down on his desk.

“How do you know that the men you killed were the ones who killed your wife and son?”

“They left a very distinctive trail. Two of the horses, belonging to the Borders brothers, had nail heads that formed a little cross. That made it possible to trail them to the ends of the earth if necessary. Besides their horses’ tracks, they left another trail.”

“And what was that?”

“They enjoyed killing, especially women and children. Though I was only miles behind them, they managed to kill six more times before I caught up with them.”

“Where did you finally catch them, Captain?”

The rapt audience strained to hear every word.

“In Arizona Territory. They were holed up in a shack. When I burst in on them, they had a young Indian girl. No more than ten or twelve.” Rourke glanced down at his hands, and for a moment the crowd shuffled uneasily. “I shot the Borders before they knew what hit them. One of the others grabbed the girl and held a knife to her throat. I shot him where he stood. A fourth attacked me with a club. We scuffled. He wrenched my gun from me and shot me. I retrieved my gun. I managed to drop him on the third shot.”

“What about the fifth man?” the judge asked.

“He got away while I was fighting with the others. I never saw his face. But I can still identify him.”

“And how is that?” the judge asked.

“He had his clothes off when I first came through the door. He was”—Rourke glanced toward the judge, then away—“abusing the Indian girl. He has a dark, wine-colored birthmark on his back, shaped like a diamond.”

The crowd erupted into a loud chorus of voices. Glancing around sharply, Judge Feeny rapped the gavel.

“Are you still trailing this man?” the judge asked.

“I’ve never stopped.” Rourke said simply.

“You realize that you have no authority to track a criminal. You are neither sheriff, marshal, nor bounty hunter.”

Rourke remained silent.

“What happened to the Indian girl?”

Rourke swallowed. “She begged me to kill her. Said her tribe would never take her back. The Borderses had carved her face with a knife when she resisted them.”

The crowd went deathly silent.

“Did you comply with her wish, Captain?”

Rourke let out a long stream of breath. “I wish I could have. I’ll never know what happened to her. But I couldn’t bring myself to kill an innocent.”

“What did you do with the bodies of the men you killed?” the judge asked.

“I left them in the shack. There was no time to return them to the authorities. I wanted to stay on the trail of the man who escaped.”

“Did you notify the authorities that you had killed the Borders brothers and the other two men?”

Rourke shook his head. “I did not.”

“Why not?” the judge asked.

The room was so still, a child’s laughter could be heard filtering through the open window. It sounded strangely out of place in this tense courtroom.

“Because I was not working for the authorities. I was seeking revenge for the murder of my wife and child. I figured the proper authorities would know soon enough about the Borderses’ death when the killing stopped.”

“And has the killing stopped?” Judge Feeny asked.

Rourke shook his head.

“Do you have anything more to say on your behalf, Captain Rourke?”

Rourke glanced around the courtroom until his gaze came to rest on Abby. Though she showed little emotion, her eyes were red-rimmed. What a terrible way for her to learn the truth about him, he thought, hating himself.

“I killed four of the men who tortured my wife and baby. And if I ever get the chance to kill the fifth, I will. I have no remorse. If I had to do it again, I would.”

The men who formed the jury had sat impassively, listening to Rourke’s narrative. Even now, when his testimony was completed, they tried to hide their true feelings. But to Abby and other spectators it was obvious. Many of them had lost sons to the war. Many had returned from the war to find their own families scattered, their land lost. And many of them had witnessed or heard about the brutality of some of the deserters. The infamous Quantrills had made the war an excuse for looting and killing. More than one man in the jury brushed a tear from his eye.

As Rourke stepped down from the chair and returned to the rough table to await his sentence, a man rushed from the crowd and grasped Rourke’s hand.

“I fought under you at Antietam, Captain Rourke. Avery’s my name. I saw my comrades fall, and I saw you take both bullet and bayonette. But you fought bravely, sir. And you inspired all of us.”

“Order.” The judge pounded the gavel. “Bailiff, remove that man from the room.”

The man went willingly. But the spectators who remained had heard his glowing words. The men of the jury had heard him as well and were touched by the tribute. As they clustered around, talking, arguing, Abby kept her gaze fixed on Rourke. How he had suffered. And he had kept all this pain locked inside. If possible, she loved him even more, now that she knew of his private hell. She longed to go to him, to put her arms around his neck and rock him, to whisper that she loved him more than ever now that she knew the truth about him.

But all she could do was sit quietly, watching the back of his head, and pray.

When the jury nodded to the judge, he banged his gavel. The murmuring of the crowd died. Even the people outside the room strained at the windows.

“How have you decided?” the judge asked the jury foreman.

The owner of the mercantile stood. “We’ve decided that the murder of the band of killers was justifiable. Any one of us would have done the same. We find Captain Daniel Rourke not guilty.”

Most of the crowd broke into applause. Some hooted and whistled, until the judge banged his gavel and called for silence or he would clear the courtroom.

In his sternest voice, he said, “Captain Rourke, you have been found not guilty by a jury of your peers. I concur with their decision. But I must warn you. Revenge is a poison that can choke the life of the man who continues to nurture it. I sympathize with your loss. But you must let go of this vendetta. Or it will color all your life.”

Rourke stepped forward and shook the judge’s hand. Then, seeing the crowd rushing forward to shake his hand and pat him on the back, he pushed his way through and caught Abby in a bear hug.

“I’m free, Abby. Free.”

As he held her, she felt the band around her heart break loose. She began to sob, great gulping sobs that tore at his heart. She didn’t bother to check the tears. She had never known such blessed joy in her life. She pushed aside the little fear that nagged at the corner of her mind. How could he be truly free as long as one of the men who had killed his wife and child was still out there, taunting his dreams, tearing at his heart?

“Yes, you’re free,” she whispered. “Free to go home to Maryland at last.”

His eyes narrowed. “I no longer have a home in Maryland. I can never go back. The trail has become my home.”

Abby felt a fresh wave of tears. How she longed to make a home for him. How she wished she could make up for all the pain and suffering.

“I want to leave this town now,” he said, leading her toward the door. “Before I have to see that scum, Barrows. Or they’ll be forced to hold another trial for me.”

“Abby!”

At the sound of that familiar voice, Abby could only stare in stunned silence. Standing in the middle of the crowd was a beloved figure from her past.

“Will said you were here. I couldn’t believe it. I had to see for myself.”

“Carrie?”

Rourke stood aside as Abby flung herself into her sister’s arms. While the two tearfully embraced, Rourke and Will shook hands.

“Looks like marriage agrees with you,” Rourke said, taking Will’s measure. The boy seemed to have grown even taller, though he hadn’t put on any weight.

“She’s a good enough cook,” Will said shyly. “And the best seamstress in California.”

“You’re the new seamstress?” Abby hugged her sister, then stood back to study her.

There was a fullness to Carrie that hadn’t been there before. And a soft inner beauty.

“You look beautiful, Carrie.”