The Mother Lode (12 page)

“I'll get the money,” she whispered, “but I'll use it to help free you any way that I can.”

“No,” he told her. “Don't you see it plain? I'm no good. You wasted your time and your Christian spirit on a man who ain't worth savin'. So let it be and let me hang.”

“And what about Fiona?” she asked, knowing this was the one thing that would turn his head around. “What about her and that child that you're searching for? If you hang in Carson City, Fiona and that child will never know that you came to find them. And even if Fiona did read about your being hanged, how is that going to make her feel? Hearing that you murdered two innocent men and then scalped them?”

“They weren't innocent!”

“That's right,” Ellen said, desperate for him to see her point. “They were thieves and they were trying to rob and then kill you. And you need to be set free so you can tell Fiona the
truth.
”

“You could find and tell her,” Joe said, a little hope creeping into his one half-shuttered eye. “You could do it and use that money to help the three of you.”

“No!”

“If you did that, I'd march up the gallows stairs with a smile and die a happy man. Ellen, I'm begging you.”

He had never called her Ellen before, and that made her feel a small amount of joy. Yet, hearing his words, she shook her head. “I'm using the money to try and save your life, Joe. And if I fail, then I'll take what's left of it and find Fiona. She can have it all.”

“You should have some of it, too,” Joe said urgently. “There's a lot left that wasn't stolen. And there's my horse, saddle, and weapons . . . get 'em before someone steals 'em.”

Ellen lowered her voice even more. “Who do you think stole your money last night after you killed those men and were beaten senseless?”

Joe didn't know if Sheriff Olsen could overhear their whispers or not, so he took no chances as he turned his eyes to the man with the badge.

Ellen twisted her head slightly and stared at Olsen, who was busying himself cleaning his nails with a pocket knife. In a barely audible voice, she asked, “Olsen did?”

“Yeah. I had all that money still in my pocket when they hauled me downstairs and over to this jail. I was fightin' like a wildcat and Sheriff Olsen pistol-whipped me. When I woke up this morning, the roll of bills in my pocket was gone.”

“Time's up!” the sheriff yelled, coming to his feet, then folding his knife and dropping it into his leather vest. “Ma'am, I hope you appreciate the grief I'm going to catch for letting you come in here and speak in private to my prisoner.”

“I do appreciate it,” Ellen said, avoiding his eyes.

“Well,” Olsen said, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “I expect he lied to you and said it was self-defense.”

“That's right.”

“And of course, since he's ‘your friend,' you believed him.”

“I
do
believe him.”

The sheriff shook his head with pity. “Go back to your people in Genoa and forget all about this,” he advised. “It would be the wisest and kindest thing you could possibly do.”

Ellen forced herself to nod her head in sad agreement. But, in truth, she had no intention whatsoever of taking this corrupt sheriff's advice.

The angry crowd outside gave Ellen Johnson looks that would have withered a field of spring flowers. But she fixed her eyes straight ahead until Elder Purvis grabbed her arm and dragged her down the street as if she were a truant schoolgirl.

“Ellen, what in God's name has gotten into you? Have you any idea what a fool you've made of yourself and how you've insulted our entire community?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry!” he roared. “Woman, you have disgraced us all. You'll have to do a severe penance. And frankly, I'm not sure that I want to have anything more to do with you.”

Ellen was shoved roughly up onto the wagon seat. Purvis took the lines and sent the horses jumping forward with his whip. His round face was red with anger. “You have outraged our community, Mrs. Johnson. I don't know if I can abide
ever
having you as one of my wives!”

Ellen had heard more than she could stand. She turned on Purvis and in a trembling voice said, “Oh, yes, you could abide it, Mr. Purvis. Because money is your god. But don't you worry about any of this, because I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth!”

He lost control and backhanded her so hard, Ellen was knocked off her seat and fell heavily to the ground. Stunned and struggling for the breath that had been forced from her lungs by the impact, Ellen lay still for a few moments. Then, before Eli Purvis could turn the buckboard around and retrieve her, Ellen stood up and walked away.

“Ellen!” he shouted. “I'm sorry. Come back here!”

But she just kept walking with her head high and her smashed lips twisted into a grim smile. She would walk to her farm, and then she would get her two horses and return to Carson City after dark. She'd retrieve Joe's horse and outfit from the livery and she'd get that buried money.

After that, Ellen wasn't exactly sure what she would do either for herself, Joe Moss, or Fiona. But one thing she did know was that she wasn't going to let a wild but innocent man be hanged.

I
T WAS LATE when Ellen Johnson arrived at her farm, and she was in considerable pain. Her lips had been smashed and the left side of her face was badly swollen. She had also landed on her hip and was limping badly. But despite her injuries, her determination to try and save Joe Moss had only grown with each faltering step toward Genoa.

Now, she wasted no time in sacking up all her cash, gold jewelry, and most precious belongings along with food and two canteens of water. She did not know if she would be returning to this farm. If she was caught helping Joe, she was sure that the town's elders would forever banish her from Genoa . . . sending her away in poverty and disgrace. They would surely take her land by force, including her house, animals, tools, and even furniture. It wouldn't be lawful, but in this place the church elders were the only law, and they would be led by Eli Purvis, who would no doubt be enraged by her rejection and behavior in Carson City.

“It's probably just as well,” she told her farm animals as she turned them free to wander off into the darkness. “When my husband died, the die was cast and my fate sealed. I either had to marry Eli and become the latest of his wives, giving him all my wealth and possessions . . . or leave this beautiful place with little in the way of worldly goods.”

Ellen saddled her swiftest horse and skillfully packed her other horse as the hour became late. She could see Eli's house not far away, and all the lights in every window were blazing. He might, she realized, even now be having an emergency council meeting demanding a vote to expel her from her property and the Church.

Hurry,
she urged herself,
because they might become so angry they will not wait until morning to expel you from this community.

There were a few precious mementoes from her childhood that Ellen also packed in the big, heavy canvas bags that she draped across the second horse. She appeared, she realized, as if she were a pioneer woman setting out from St. Louis bound for California and Oregon. Well, she wasn't going that far, but who could say? Ellen wasn't sure
where
she was going next.

On her way out, she reined her horse up beside her husband's grave and bowed her head in prayer, asking for his understanding. She had never expected to leave his grave-side, but she thought he'd understand because he had also not liked or trusted Eli Purvis. She hoped he would help her in whatever trials lay ahead, but she also prayed that he wasn't aware of the hardships that his death had caused her. He had been a good man and she wanted him to forever rest in peace.

“Good-bye,” she whispered, setting her horses at a steady trot back toward Carson City.

It was well past midnight when she approached the stable where she knew Joe's spotted horse had to be boarded. Ellen tied her horses up in the back deep in shadows and crept into the livery barn. Fortunately, she'd remembered to bring a candle, and now it was very useful as she limped down the row of stalls until she found Joe's handsome Palouse. Ellen let the candle drip on a rail, and then set the candle down in the warm wax and waited until it was set solid. Its flickering light was poor, but enough to do what she needed to do next. The Palouse knew Ellen well, and was not at all nervous when she entered its box stall and then fell to her knees with a tablespoon and began digging frantically for Joe's buried money.

It took Ellen much longer than she expected, and she almost missed the cache because he'd placed it far to the back of the stall almost under the heavy timbers that divided it from the next stall. Once it was in her hand, Ellen took the moneybag, and then she haltered the Palouse and led it quietly out of the barn, finally tying it with her own two horses.

“So far so good. Now what?” she asked the moon.

She had wanted to track down the woman who claimed Joe had invited her Charley and the other man up to his room. But it was way too late for that, and Ellen had no idea where to find Charley's woman. Furthermore, she doubted that the woman would ever recant her lie unless she was very well paid from Joe's recovered money. And somehow, the idea of paying a liar to tell the truth just was too hard for Ellen to swallow.

That meant that there was no choice but to try to free Joe from jail either by trickery or force. Ellen paused in the back of the old barn with the three horses and offered a fervent prayer for guidance and protection. For a way to do what she had to do to save an innocent man . . . a man with whom she had foolishly fallen in love. If she were caught in the act, as she most likely would be, she might go to prison or even be abused or hanged by an already incensed mob.

Ellen had a six-gun. A good pistol that her husband had taught her how to safely and effectively use against coyotes or foxes going after their chickens. But what she faced now was far more than a henhouse varmint. What she faced now was the wrath of a whole town directed at Joe Moss.

At the very least,
she thought grimly,
I'll shove this gun through the cell window so that if they come to hang him, he will be able to defend himself one last time and go down fighting. That's the only way Joe would want it, and I will live with the guilt and consequences for the rest of my life.

Five minutes later, Ellen was standing across the street from the sheriff's office and jail. There were street lamp-lights and the front of the office was well illuminated.

The mob that she had seen earlier and expected now had dispersed, but there were still a few drunks talking, drinking, laughing, and arguing on the sidewalks. Two of them were having a dispute and their voices were loud, slurred with liquor, and angry. Ellen had not heard such language before, and it singed her soul to hear the profanity. But when the pair began to fight, and then tumbled into a heap punching and kicking on the ground, Ellen put that out of her mind and moved close to the jail until she could peek in through a front window.

Sheriff Olsen had been asleep on a cot, but the noisy brawl just outside his office awakened him. And when one of the brawlers pulled a derringer and harmlessly fired its single bullet at the man who was clubbing him with an empty whiskey bottle, Olsen swore and grabbed his gun, coat, and hat.

“Hey!” he yelled, bursting out of his office. “Gawdammit! I'll arrest you both!”

But the two men either didn't hear or didn't care about the sheriff. They kept fighting and bellowing. It was an awful sight to Ellen, with one man's face sheeted in blood and the other looking crazed in the lamplight.

“All right,” Olsen raged as he stepped off the sidewalk and marched toward the brawlers. “I gave you warning and now you're both gonna pay!”

Ellen slipped behind Olsen and into his office through the open door. She rushed to the back of the room and crouched beside the cell. “Joe!”

He was awake. “Ellen?”

“Where are the keys, Joe? Hurry!”

“On his desk!”

Ellen ran over to the desk and found a ring with two keys. The larger was obviously the one that fit into the heavy cell door.

“Ellen, what are you doing?”

“I'm getting you out of here.”

“But they'll catch you!”

It seemed to take forever before she could get the damned key to turn in the lock. By then, Joe was fully awake and pushing the door open. He kissed her, and she almost cried out in pain because of her damaged lips. He recoiled, “What—”

“Never mind! Let's just get out of here!”

“Not without the money Sheriff Olsen stole along with my gun, tomahawk, and bowie knife,” Joe growled.

“No! I uncovered the other half of your money, and your horse and mine are waiting behind the livery. Joe, we don't have time to . . . .”

Suddenly, they heard grunts, curses, and the pounding of boots on the sidewalk just outside the office. It was too late to escape.

“Damn!” Joe hissed, racing over to find his gun and tomahawk. “Ellen, get under the desk and hide!”

There was no time to argue. Ellen dived under the desk just as Olsen kicked his door wide open, dragging inside both of the drunken fighters, one collared in each hand. He was struggling, and so intent on getting the drunks locked up in his jail that he didn't see Joe's attack from the side.

Didn't see Joe's tomahawk as it swept a tight arc downward so that the thick flat of the blade smashed against his skull.