The Last Renegade (41 page)

That was Kellen’s observation as well. “The Burdicks I met don’t expect an argument.”

“The other men are only visitors. Maybe they don’t realize he’s a Burdick.”

“You don’t think they’ve figured it out? They’ve seen Eli and Clay in the saloon, and Clay has been warning them to stay away from Burdick land.”

“This doesn’t belong to the Burdicks. It’s government land.”

“I’m thinking Uriah has a different opinion. When we get back to town, I’m going to visit the land office again and talk to the Sample cousins—separately this time. It’s possible one of them will have something to say that the other one won’t…or can’t.”

“You think that’s what Isaac’s doing? Warning them off?”

“Another guess.”

“I wonder why Uriah sent Isaac out to meet them.”

“Sent? Don’t you think this could be accidental?”

Raine thought about it. “I suppose I’m used to believing that Uriah Burdick always has a plan.”

“He might have asked Isaac to keep an eye out this way. Still, it would make more sense to send Eli or Clay.”

They fell quiet again, watching. Reasoner and Petit made no move to pack up the equipment. Jones rolled up the map but continued to use it like a hammer when he wanted to emphasize a point. Isaac spurred his horse forward. Reasoner jumped away from the camera. Petit held his ground. Jones dropped the map and came up with a gun.

Isaac swung his mount to the side and reached for his weapon at the same time.

It was impossible to tell who fired first. The flashes seemed simultaneous. The sound reached out to Kellen and Raine a moment later just as Mr. Petit fell to the ground.

The story of how Mr. Jones saved Isaac Burdick’s life by shooting Mr. Petit at Hickory Lake spread through Bitter Springs like a grease fire on a griddle. Raine and Kellen heard about it from Sue Hage when they arrived in town two hours after Reasoner and Jones returned with Mr. Petit’s body. They heard a similar version sometime later from Rabbit and Finn, who
were more impressed with Mr. Jones when they learned he had killed someone. Rabbit and Finn aside, most folks talked about the shooting as if it were incidental to the tale. What they really cared about was the sudden appearance of Isaac Burdick. It was one thing to suspect his family had harbored him all these years, quite another to learn that he was testing the boundaries of his confinement.

Kellen and Raine’s late return was deliberate. To avoid being suspected of witnessing what happened, they waited while the three men crowded around Petit’s body. Petit’s fate was made clear to them when Isaac and Reasoner lifted the smaller man and hoisted him over the saddle of his horse. They covered him with a blanket and strapped him down. Jones took the camera and tripod and returned it to the packhorse.

Raine and Kellen did not speak while this was going on. Isaac Burdick left the area first, heading west toward the Burdick spread. Mr. Reasoner and Mr. Jones stood beside Petit’s horse and talked for a while. Raine supposed they were agreeing on their story. Kellen supposed exactly the same.

They did not discuss it until they were certain Reasoner and Jones were not going to circle the lake, as it seemed they might at first. When the pair turned their animals in the direction of Bitter Springs and did not reappear over the course of an hour, Kellen declared it was finally safe for them to leave their hiding place.

They accepted the story that Sue told them and listened without argument to the slightly more grisly rendition offered by Rabbit and Finn, although it pained them to do it.

Arrangements had already been made to bury Mr. Petit in the graveyard, although just outside the fence that cordoned off the graves of decent folk. The undertaker, Mr. Irvin, agreed to take care of the body but wanted to know about payment. He was more gracious when Raine returned and offered to pay for his services, which included words appropriate to the burial. Mr. Petit’s body was put in the ground with his feet facing west. That way, Mr. Irvin explained, when the sun rose on Judgment Day, Mr. Petit would rise up with his back to the devil and might get a running start.

“Ridiculous man,” Raine told Kellen. She was sitting in the tub with her head bowed so Kellen could pour clear, warm water over her hair.

“Who’s ridiculous?” He had long since lost track of their conversation. Raine’s hair was infinitely more interesting to him. He tipped the pitcher and let the water sluice over her head and rinse away the soap.

“Mr. Irvin. All that business this afternoon about burying Mr. Petit with his feet to the west. It was silly.”

“In Texas they often bury people in the opposite direction. Something about their redeemed souls rising to face Judgment. Perhaps Texans put more stock in redemption than Mr. Irvin.”

Raine tried to look at him to gauge his truthfulness, but he put his hand over her head and kept her turned away.

“You’ll get soap in your eyes,” he told her.

She let him have his way because the water felt so good sliding over her hair and shoulders and down her back. She did not want to think about unpleasant things. It was disappointing when those thoughts intruded anyway.

“A lot of people would sleep better tonight if Mr. Jones had shot Isaac Burdick. Poor Mr. Petit. What did he ever do except take pictures?”

Kellen put the pitcher aside and began finger combing Raine’s hair. Thoughtful, he asked, “Where are Mr. Petit’s things now?”

“I asked Walt to pack everything up and clean out the room. I imagine he stowed it in the back room where he sleeps. It would be like Walt to want to take care of it until we know if there’s someone in Mr. Petit’s life with a claim to it. I’m thinking of the photographic equipment. I don’t know that there was anything else of significant value.”

Kellen removed his fingers from Raine’s hair and sat up straight.

Raine’s head swiveled sideways. “What?”

He swore softly. “The photographs. The goddamn photographs he took when he and Reasoner found Emily’s body. I need to see them again.” He started to rise from the stool,
thought better of it, and bent to drop a swift, hard kiss on Raine’s parted lips. “Tempting, but no.”

Raine stared at the empty doorway long after he was gone.

Kellen found Walt alone in the saloon, broom in hand as he swept under the tables.

“Everyone’s gone, Mr. Coltrane,” Walt said as Kellen approached. “Early night for most folks. Had a few stragglers still wantin’ to jaw about what happened out at the lake, but I shooed them out. They didn’t really know Mr. Petit, so it wasn’t right for them to go on as if they did. Mrs. Berry, I mean, Mrs.
Coltrane
, wouldn’t have liked it.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Kellen. “I’m actually here because Raine asked me to find out about Mr. Petit’s things. Are they in the back room?”

“Yes, sir. They’re safe there. I figure it’s best if I keep an eye on them. I would have done the same for Mr. Weyman, but we both know what became of his belongings.”

Kellen nodded. “Did Mr. Reasoner and Mr. Jones return the camera and other equipment?”

“Well, they came back with it, and I was the one that took it off the packhorse, so I suppose I’d have to say they returned it. Leastways, neither of them argued too much about it. They were pretty shaken, trembling like aspens, the pair of them, and Deputy Sugar showed up and asked a lot of questions. Mostly I just minded my business and did what I thought Mrs. Coltrane would want me to do.”

“You did well, Walt. Raine is interested in Mr. Petit’s photographs. There must have been a lot of those.”

“Sure there were. He had a small chest full of them.” Walt’s forehead creased with worry. “Was I wrong to look inside? I hope I wasn’t wrong.”

“No, Walt. It’s fine. Could you show me the chest?” Walt set the broom aside and led Kellen to the rear of the saloon. Walt’s small sleeping area was neatly organized with his belongings hanging on the wall above his cot or in the two wooden crates under it, while cases and kegs, mops, brooms,
and buckets occupied most of the space that was left. Kellen had to follow Walt completely into the room before Mr. Petit’s equipment and trunks could be revealed in the corner behind the door.

“There you go,” said Walt, pointing to the chest. “It’s got a satin lining. How about that? Expected to find the crown jewels inside.” He chuckled. “Maybe that’s why Mr. Reasoner asked after it, too.”

“He did?” Kellen lifted the chest by its brass handles. It was not as large as a case of liquor and much lighter. Most of the weight was in the chest itself, not in its contents. “Did he say what he wanted with it?”

“Well, he said seein’ how he and Mr. Petit were friends, and what happened out at the lake didn’t really change that, and how since he had been helpin’ Mr. Petit with the photographs, he thought Mr. Petit would want him to have some of them. Mementos, he said.”

“Did you let him take any?”

“No, sir. I would never. Not my place. That’s for Mrs. Coltrane to decide, and that’s what I told him. He said he would ask her.”

“Maybe that’s why Raine asked me to get them for her,” Kellen said.

“She didn’t tell you?”

Kellen sighed. “A consequence of marriage, Walt. I just do her bidding.”

Raine rose from the sofa as Kellen unceremoniously dumped the contents of the chest onto the table. She reached the table in time to keep half a dozen photographs from sliding to the floor. She pulled out a chair and rested one knee on it as she glanced over the photographs. “What are we looking for?”

Kellen put the chest on the floor at his feet. He braced his arms on the edge of the table and looked over the bounty. “I’m not certain. I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it.”

“There must be two hundred photographs here.” Raine
began to finger through those closest to her. “I suppose we should organize them. You realize, don’t you, that whatever you’re looking for might not be here? Mr. Petit regularly sent photographs back East.”

“I know, but Walt said that Reasoner asked about the photographs. It could be nothing. Maybe he really does want a few as a remembrance.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“It’s hard to be when I know about the photographs that Petit took of Emily. Reasoner was there. I can’t help wonder if that’s what he’s after. Walt wouldn’t give him any of the pictures. He told Reasoner to ask you about them. Did he?”

“No, not yet.” She continued to sort the photographs by location. “Mr. Petit took a lot of photographs in this waterfall area. It’s lovely. I’ve never seen most of these places. And the views. Look at how he was able to capture the light coming through the trees. Every ray is like the finger of God.”

“Uh-huh.”

Raine smiled and shook her head. “Perhaps it’s not the best time to admire his work.” She created a third stack of photographs whose subject was a barren stretch of land along the railroad tracks. In some of them, the station house and platform were evident in the distance. In others she could make out the cluster of businesses and homes that constituted the whole of Bitter Springs. The view from Mr. Petit’s eye was a lonely one. “Did you think it was odd that Mr. Reasoner and Mr. Jones shared a table in the dining room this evening?”

“Not particularly.” Kellen pushed more photographs toward Raine for sorting. “If Reasoner was finding fault with Jones for shooting and killing his friend, then I would find it odd. That’s not the case.
That’s
what I find odd.”

“Dan Sugar was satisfied with their story.”

“He has to be, doesn’t he? It would be a problem for him if Isaac Burdick had been gunned down, and even more of a problem if Petit, Reasoner, and Jones had somehow captured Isaac and brought him in.” He waved a hand over the table. “I’m not seeing any of the photographs of Emily here.”

Raine heard the frustration in his voice. “May I?”

Kellen pushed his hand through his hair and stepped back from the table. “Be my guest.”

As Raine moved toward the photographs, her foot bumped hard against the chest. Cursing softly, she stood on one foot while she raised the other to rub it. “Couldn’t you find a better place for that?”

Instead of replying, Kellen leaned down to grab the chest. He set it on top of a fan of photographs. Then he opened it, and thrust his hand inside.

Raine realized he was looking for something left behind
under
the lining. She saw his expression change the moment he found it.

Kellen withdrew his hand and pointed to the interior of the chest. “Do you have a pair of scissors? I can feel where the lining’s been opened and stitched closed. Remarkably tidy stitches, I might add.”

Raine retrieved scissors from her sewing basket. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I doubt that you have Mr. Petit’s fine hand. You can hold the lamp up so I can see what I’m doing.”

Kellen obliged and Raine carefully sliced through the neat stitches along the bottom left edge of the chest. When she was done, she took the lamp from him and invited him to take out what was under the lining.

“If they’re more photographs of Emily,” she said, “I’m not certain I want to see them.”

Kellen came away with three photographs. He carefully examined each one in turn, keeping them away from Raine. When he finished, he held them against his chest.

“What is it?” she asked. His expression, a mixture of gravity and resignation, caused her heart to quicken. “Show me.” She held out her hand, but he shook his head and held on to them.

“Emily is in all three of them,” he said. “Do you remember that I told you Petit took all of the photographs from the same angle?”

Raine nodded. “You realized he moved Emily’s body, not the camera.”

“Yes, and that was true for the photographs I saw. But these are different. The perspective, the distance. All different from
the others.” He placed one photograph on the table, using his palm to cover the bottom-right-hand corner so that Emily’s body was not visible. “Look at it,” he told Raine. “What do you see?”

She studied the area around Kellen’s hand first, looking for clues that would have been left close to Emily’s body. It was not until she focused her eyes on the broader landscape that she found what he meant her to see. In the deep background, shaded by tall, knobby pines, it was possible to make out the half-hidden figure of a man. The brim of his white hat fairly gleamed in a slanted beam of sunlight. Even that narrow brim would have thrust his face in shadow if he had been wearing the hat. Instead, he was carrying it, holding it against his thigh, his posture frozen by the camera just as it had been at the time. He stood there as rooted to the ground as the tree beside him, afraid to move for fear of being heard. He did not understand the camera’s wider lens or the penetration of its unwavering eye. He saw that it was turned toward Emily’s abused and battered body so he stayed where he was, watching, waiting, and unwittingly becoming the captive of chemicals and photographic plates.