Petticoat Ranch (31 page)

“Kinda makes you wonder what became of the Mead brothers.” Sheriff Everett narrowed his eyes at the bound men.

“It surely does,” Ranger Mitchell said.

“It never made sense, them running off and leaving their spread.” Badje pulled a white handkerchief out of his back pocket and mopped at beads of sweat that streaked his face in the late summer afternoon.

“The wound isn’t deep.” Sophie fastened a quick bandage in place. “It just caught the outside edge of your shoulder.”

Clay reached over to pat her hand where it lay resting high on his arm. He said softly, so only she could hear, “I know, darlin’. Thanks.”

Sophie smiled, and Clay looked like he might say more, maybe say something else nice. For a change. Jackson chose that moment to turn on the men tied over the horses.

With soft menace, Jackson said, “We need to know where you boys have been hiding out.”

Percy grunted. “Forget it. We ain’t tellin’ you nothin’.”

“They’ll tell us,” Mitchell said. “They’ll tell us and like it.”

“Separate ’em.” Ranger Jackson started forward. “I don’t want ’em knowing what their friends are saying. We’ll see who talks first.”

“Ain’t none of us got nothin’ to say to any of you.” Percy struggled with his bonds until he tipped himself off the horse’s back. Nobody rushed to break his fall, but Ranger Mitchell did walk over and stuff Percy’s gag back in his mouth.

The sorrel pranced sideways, and Mitchell crouched down beside Percy. “The way I see it, a whole lotta things got
almost
done up on that
mountain today. When we all start talking to the judge, some of you may have been innocent bystanders backing up a saddle partner, and some of you may be guilty of planning cold-blooded murder.”

Ranger Jackson pulled Jesse off the sorrel and let him slump to the ground. “Just ’cuz one of you is riding a stolen horse, another is carrying a stolen rifle, and maybe a third throws a knife at a man from cover and tells a woman he’s planning to kill her doesn’t mean you all have to hang for it.”

“I wasn’t even with ’em till a few days ago,” Jesse shouted. “I didn’t know about no lynching.”

Jackson slapped the gag back in Jesse’s mouth. “Mitchell, take the one on the buckskin into the barn.” Jackson gestured at the gathered ranch hands. “A few of you men go along.”

Whitey nodded and took hold of the buckskin’s reins.

“Sheriff Everett, I’ll let you talk to Jesse. He seems eager to tell you how innocent he is. Go behind the bunkhouse. And take your deputies. We want Jesse here to know for sure he hasn’t got the slightest hope of escape.”

“C’mon boys,” Everett said. “It’s always fun to try and see how tough a man is who’ll threaten a woman.”

Jackson caught the bridle on a mouse gray mustang. It pulled against the firm grip. The metal hasps on the reins clinked as the horse whoofed out a fearful snort. “I’m taking this one behind the house. That way they can’t hear what the others say and concoct some kind of story together.”

Ranger Mitchell rubbed his chin. “Maybe they should be farther apart, Tom. Whatta ya say? They’ll be able to hear if anyone starts screaming or crying or begging for mercy.”

All four prisoners turned to look at Mitchell, fear evident on their faces.

Jackson said, “I think that’ll only encourage the others—”

“—the ones who ain’t screaming yet—” Mitchell put in.

“—to start talking sooner,” Jackson finished.

Sophie started rolling up the portion of the bandage she hadn’t used. She could tell this was a routine the two rangers had done many times before. But the prisoners didn’t seem to think they were being conned. They looked eager to be led a safe distance away so they could start telling all they knew.

Ranger Jackson looked at Percy. “I think I’ll let Adam here question you, Percy. He seems to have a powerful mad on him about you, and I don’t think it’d be wrong to give him a chance to work that off. Clay can talk to you, too. Maybe it’ll make that stab wound in his arm feel a little better. And there’s no way you’re walking away from any of this, so making you talk isn’t necessary.” Jackson’s words could have left bite marks.

Sophie looked at the furious satisfaction on Adam’s face and thought,
Help me
.

A heavy hand rested on her shoulder. She looked at Luther. For all his grizzle and trail dust, she saw kind, understanding eyes.

“We won’t let Adam do nothin’ what carries hard on his conscience, ma’am,” Luther assured her.

Ranger Mitchell started leading the buckskin away. He slipped the gag off the man, and although she couldn’t make out the words, Sophie could hear the prisoner talking fast to the ranger.

“Adam is a good man,” Sophie said to Luther. “One of the best men I’ve ever known. But he’s so angry. I can see the hunger in him for revenge.”

She and Luther watched the sheriff lead another horse toward the bunkhouse.

“I know, and I’m right honored that I’m the one who hears your worries and can step in to help. But he’s not the only one here that’s wanting vengeance. I see it in Clay.”

Sophie’s eyes darted to her husband. His attention was squarely on Percy. Clay, Adam, and the remaining hired men had moved away from where Sophie stood with Luther. They surrounded Percy where he lay sprawled, faceup, in the dirt.

She saw the anger Clay had banked down. These were men who had a hand in his brother’s death. They had tried to kill him and threatened to kill her. He had it under better control than Adam did, but yes, Clay was very angry.

Ranger Jackson pulled a vicious-looking knife out of his boot and slashed the rope binding Jesse’s feet and hoisted him up. He shoved him away from the group.

“It’s not just them neither, ma’am. I see it in you, too.”

Startled, Sophie looked back at Luther. Their eyes held. After she got over the surprise, she realized there was truth in what he said—a lot of truth. She’d like very much to do some damage to these evil men. “I might feel anger, but I wouldn’t do anything to hurt them.”

“I know, ma’am, but hatred can burn a hole clear through a person’s gut without her ever lifting a hand. Buff and me are here to make sure nothing happens. But it’s a man’s business, and it might be ugly before it’s over. I think it’s best if you go on back to the house.”

“No. If I’m here they’ll control themselves better.”

“Or they may shame themselves deeper,” Luther said. “It’s a poor thing for a man to shame himself in front of a woman he loves.”

Sophie looked away from Luther and stared at the ground. She knew he was right. She didn’t want to go. She was eager for some revenge of her own. She wanted to see these men get hurt. She wanted to hurt them herself. She whispered aloud, “Help me.”

“He is helping you, gal. But you gotta let Him.”

Suddenly Sophie felt something give inside her, and she relaxed and smiled at Luther. “I’ll go. I trust you to see that nothing’s done to that scoundrel that’ll hurt these two men of mine.”

“I won’t fail ya, ma’am.” Luther tipped his hat, and Sophie turned and walked back to the house.

When Sophie left, Clay heaved a sigh of relief. At the same time, he
couldn’t believe it. The woman had a knack for knowing what he wanted her to do and then doing just the opposite. And right now he wanted her out of the way. Bad.

So it stood to reason she’d stick like a burr to a horse’s tail.

He couldn’t sort out all his fury. His shoulder ached like fire, and he should beat Percy’s face in for that alone. But this man had been party to killing his brother. Clay knew it just from watching the trapped look on Percy’s face.

Still, the thing that kept pushing every other thought out of his head was the way they’d threatened Sophie. That’s what made him clench his fists. That’s what called out to his blood and made it boil.

Reacting to the growing fury, Clay leaned forward to put his hands on Percy. Before he could reach him, Adam had the man by his shirtfront. He hauled Percy to his feet and shook him like a cat shakes a rat to its death.

Two of Clay’s hired hands stepped forward and caught hold of Percy’s arms. Adam let go of the vermin’s shirt and pulled back a powerful fist. Luther moved quickly for an old mountain man. He was suddenly beside Adam. He had the strength of the mountains he’d lived in, too. He caught the flying fist, and with a loud
whack
of flesh against flesh, Luther stopped Adam cold. Then he spun Adam around to face him. Rage flared in Adam’s eyes, and Clay wondered if Adam would strike Luther.

Clay saw Adam fight for control and knew it didn’t come easy to him. Adam’s chest heaved, and he jerked at the hand Luther had imprisoned in his massive grip.

Clay watched Adam’s black skin shine with sweat. Muscles bulged on his back and arms as Adam tried to free his hand. He looked to be over forty. His tightly curled hair was salted with gray, and his face had the weathered crow’s-feet of a man who had lived all his life in the sun. But his body, bare to the waist, had the corded muscles of a man who worked long, brutal hours wrangling cattle. His expression was shot through with rage.

With all his strength and the added power of his fury, Adam
struggled against Luther. Luther was no taller than Adam, but he was twice as broad and it was all solid muscle earned carving out survival in the northern Rockies.

Adam struggled. Luther held fast. An unstoppable force. An immovable object. Something had to give.

On his best day, Adam would have had trouble besting Luther, and today wasn’t close to being Adam’s best day. Clay could see the lines around Adam’s eyes deepened with pain and fatigue. The bullet hole, low on his right side, still oozed a clear liquid. Clay thought of the ugly stripes on Adam’s back. They were a mass of scabs and puckering scars.

“Seems to me,” Luther said, “before you beat information out of a man, you oughta at least ask him some questions.”

Adam pulled back his other fist, his eyes fastened coldly on Luther.

“Think, man.” Luther shook Adam’s fist, still clenched in his massive hand. “You don’t want to hit me.”

Adam jerked his hand away from Luther. “You weren’t there. They came onto us in our sleep. Dinky was standing guard, and they backshot him.”

Adam’s chest heaved and his eyes blazed with hate. “The shot woke me up, and I saw him fall forward and try to get to his feet. By the time I’d thrown my blanket off, they were all around us. Twenty of ’em. They had whips and clubs. They didn’t just hang my friends,”—Adam ran his hands through his coiled hair—“they beat ’em halfway to death first.”

“I heard ’em laughing and gloating about how much money our herd would bring. I crawled away into the bushes like a worthless coward. I must have passed out, because when I woke up it was over.” Adam added with bitter self-contempt, “I slept through my friends’ hangings.”

“And why didn’t they come after you?” Luther asked quietly.

Adam shrugged. “Reckon they forgot about me in the confusion. Lost count.”

Luther prodded him. “This gang has ridden these hills for two years.
No one’s had so much as a hint about who they are, and that’s mainly because they’ve never left a witness. And you’re telling me they couldn’t count to four?”

Adam ignored the question. “I came around and lay there, hiding, and watched my friends twist in the wind, already dead. The men who attacked us were gone. I could see they’d picked over the camp, stolen our supplies. I should have gone after them. I should have given an accounting of myself, even if it meant I died fighting.”

“And why didn’t you?” Clay had to know.

Clay could see Adam was so completely lost in his memories of the attack that he had to make a huge effort to think past it.

Finally Adam said, “Sophie called me.”

Clay shook his head a little, hoping Adam’s words would make sense. “She called you?”

“I heard her voice, clear as day.”

Luther nodded. “She said, ‘Help me.’ ”

Adam nodded. “My back was ripped open from their whips and they’d shot me. But I heard her, and I knew she needed help. I turned away, left my friends swinging. Didn’t even cut ’em down and bury ’em. I started walking to Mosqueros.”

“That’s what happened to us,” Luther said.

“You’re telling me that you heard Sophie’s voice asking for help, both of you, hundreds of miles from here?” Clay asked. “Hundreds of miles apart from each other?”

Luther nodded.

“Clear as if she were standing by my shoulder,” Adam said.

“It was her voice,” Luther added. “But I knew it was about you. I knew you needed help, boy.”

“How can that be?” Clay wondered.

Adam’s head and shoulders drooped as he whispered, “It was God saying I was the answer to Sophie’s prayer.”

“God let us hear it,” Luther said. “And do you think the answer to Sophie’s prayers is to beat the tar out of this man?”

Anger sparked in Adam’s eyes as he looked from Luther to Percy. “Why not? God is a God of justice.”

A hungry satisfaction roared through Clay as he heard Adam’s words. Yes, a God of justice. Except, God was more than that. The miracle of what God had done seeped into the roiling hate in his heart and began to settle him. Reluctantly, Clay said into the moment of silence, “But this isn’t justice, it’s vengeance. And vengeance belongs to God.”