Authors: Christine Michels
"Are you in pain?" Eve asked.
Tom nodded. "But it's worth it to be awake. I wanted to see your beautiful face just one more time," he murmured. "If there is one memory I want to take with me it's that.” He raised a trembling hand to trace the curve of Eve's cheek while she tilted her face into his touch. "Can you smile for me? Just one last time?"
A sob caught in Eve's throat, but she nodded and smiled for him. The smile wobbled, but it was apparently enough for Tom.
"Thank you, darlin'. You know how much I love you, don't you?"
Eve nodded and the sob finally escaped. "Oh, Tom, I don't want to lose you."
"I know darlin'," he murmured as he stroked her hair as though attempting to memorize its texture. "Now give me a hug so that I can smell your perfume."
Eve nodded and bent forward to kiss the side of his face. Tom's arms wrapped around her briefly and he sighed. And then slowly, so slowly his arms dropped back to his sides. "Tom?" Eve said.
But there was no reply for Delilah had seen what Eve had not. On his final sigh of contentment in holding the woman he loved, Tom had left this life.
Eve pulled back to look down at him but his eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling. "Tom?" she cried more loudly.
Delilah went to her. "He's gone, sweetheart. Tom's at peace now."
"No," a wail of denial rose in Eve's throat. And then turning into Delilah's embrace she asked, "How will I live without him?"
Delilah didn't bother murmuring reassurances now. Nothing she could say would ease the pain Eve was feeling. Later she could remind Eve that although Tom had passed, his love for her wasn't gone. Later she would remind her that she would always hold Tom in her heart. Later, she would remind her that as long as she remembered him, a part of Tom would always be alive and with her. For now though, she simply held her sister and let her weep.
"I don't know. . . how I'll manage without him," Eve sobbed brokenly.
But Delilah had recognized what Eve had not yet realized: the fact that Eve had been functioning quite well without Tom for quite some time now. She'd been doing everything that managing a ranch entailed. She would now lack her husband's counsel, but she had her own strength, determination and intelligence. Eve would triumph. But Delilah said only, "You'll manage. You have my word on it."
At that moment, the doctor entered the room. He looked at Delilah wordlessly, but the question was plain in his eyes.
Delilah nodded. "Tom's gone," she murmured.
"Did he wake?"
"Yes. He talked for a moment and then. . . he just sighed."
Doctor Hale nodded. "It happens like that sometimes.” He glanced at Eve and then back to Delilah. "You're going to take care of her?" he asked.
"Of course."
"See that she gets some sleep. I'll get hold of Mr. Howard and Reverend Duncan to make arrangements for the funeral. It'll probably be best if we get that accomplished tomorrow."
Delilah stared at him numbly, glad that he was thinking about necessities because her own mind suddenly felt as though it was slogging through a dense fog. "Mr. Howard?" she repeated in a deadened tone.
"The undertaker."
Delilah nodded. Of course. They would need an undertaker.
Some time later, once Tom's body had been taken by Mr. Howard, the undertaker, to be prepared for his funeral in the suit that Eve had had the foresight to bring along, Delilah took Eve back to the hotel with her and tried to get her to rest.
* * *
Samson sat astride Goliath, concealed in the shadow of a huge cedar where he'd been sitting for the past few hours observing Simon Earl's Rocking E ranch. He needed to catch Simon Earl red-handed if he was going to jail the man for rustling. Otherwise, he had only Powell's word on Earl's involvement. And truth to be told, Samson would not bet his life on Powell's honesty. Neither would a judge. 'Course the other hands had backed Powell's statement once they learned the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Still, Samson had no proof that Earl was involved. He'd caught the others red-handed, but not Earl. And the idea that the powerful rancher might get away with saving his ranch at the expense of his more respectable neighbors grated like sandpaper on Samson's sense of decency.
So Samson had done something he would have preferred not to have done. He and Deputy Wilkes had made a deal with One-Eyed Jim. They would talk to the judge on One-Eye's behalf if old Jim helped them get Simon Earl. Jim had balked at first: He wanted to be set free—period. But when he realized that Samson wouldn't agree to that, he accepted the offer he'd been given. Or rather he had seemed to accept it. Samson wouldn't put it past him to try to escape if he got the chance. That was why Samson and Carl had provided an escort for One-Eyed Jim, bringing him out here. Then, they'd hidden in the hills above the ranch to watch him ride in.
The plan was that One-Eyed Jim would go to Simon Earl and tell him that the rest of the gang had been caught with some of the cattle
outside
the canyon. He'd tell Earl that the remaining cattle—animals that Samson had ensured were still carrying brands belonging to Simon Earl's neighbors—needed to be moved that night before the sheriff came back and found the access to the canyon. If Earl was real smart, he'd do nothing, and Samson still wouldn't be able to link him to the operation with any tangible proof. But Samson figured that Simon Earl's greed would hang a lickin' on his intelligence. Samson and Carl Wilkes figured that Earl would make one of two moves. Either he'd try to herd the cattle out of the area immediately, concluding that he could avoid the deputies that would be combing the hills. Or, he'd herd them back to his place real quick and hide them amongst his own cattle. Samson's bet was on the second move because he figured that's what he'd do in Earl's position, but he was prepared for either eventuality.
Once Simon Earl and whomever among his own hands he would trust were in the process of moving the cattle, either back here to the ranch or off to sell, Samson and Carl would arrest them. It wasn't a very elaborate plan, and even from Samson's point-of-view it was as full of holes as last year's socks, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice.
And he needed to catch Earl quickly. If he didn't and, for whatever reason, Earl didn't set up another rustling operation, the rancher would get off scot-free.
With the exception of One-Eyed Jim, Earl's other partners were still languishing in Samson's jail under the guard of Bill Tillis who, although he was hobbling around on crutches, could still wield a gun well enough.
Jim had entered the Earl's ranch house a few hours ago. There'd been a brief flurry of movement on the part of the ranch hands after Jim's arrival, then nothing. Samson itched to know what was going on down there. But as the waiting dragged on, his thoughts inevitably turned to Delilah and the social.
For the first time since coming to Red Rock and being pegged as the most eligible bachelor in town, Samson was looking forward to the monthly church social. He couldn't count the number of socials he'd attended where his primary thought the entire evening had been
escape
. Nor could he count the number of socials that he'd managed to avoid for the sake of duty. Duty being
anything
drastic enough to keep him out of the ladies clutches for just one more month. Being the sheriff, he'd been informed upon his arrival in town that it was his responsibility to attend all town functions with the exception of those times when his duties as sheriff precluded attendance.
By Samson's definition a sheriff's duties were pretty varied. Anything from rescuing kittens to catching bad guys. Young Sarah Jennings' kitten, Mischief, had offered him the excuse he needed for missing one social. It had taken him most of the evening to save that cat. Unfortunately, in a town the size of Red Rock, there weren't all that many timely rescues to be made, and Samson had had to attend more socials that he cared to remember. Heck, when he thought about it, he'd been embroiled in so many female machinations in the last two years that he figured the good Lord might let him skip purgatory when he died on account of time already served. Tomorrow night was the first time he'd be attending a social with a lady of
his
choosing on his arm.
And Delilah was
all
lady.
He frowned abruptly as he recalled Mrs. Williamson's reaction to Delilah Sterne's presence in town. He hoped he hadn't made a mistake in inviting Delilah. He would feel responsible for her discomfort if the town matrons were rude to her.
The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. Why hadn't he thought of that? "Damn!" he muttered to himself. Then, a stirring at the ranch house below distracted him.
Somebody went running from the main house to the bunkhouse. Then a couple of minutes later, three men emerged. They saddled five horses and rode up to the main house where they sat waiting out front with the two extra horses.
Something was definitely happening.
Samson looked over at Wilkes where he lay dozing in the shade of a tree with his battered hat pulled down over his face. Apparently the new addition to his household had not yet learned to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time, and Carl's sleep was suffering as a result. He'd been napping for almost an hour now though. That should help to refresh him. "Carl," Samson called softly.
When the man didn't so much as twitch a muscle, Samson pulled a cone off of a nearby tree and threw it at him. Carl jumped and shoved his hat back. "Come on, Wilkes," Samson said quietly. "Time to join the party."
Wilkes nodded, ran his hands over his face to clear the cobwebs, and rose to mount his sorrel mare, Bella, which he'd left ground-tethered a short distance off. He brought the mare to a halt next to Goliath. "What's goin' on, Matt?" he asked.
Samson shrugged. "I don't know, but they're gettin' ready to ride out, so we'd best follow them and find out what old Simon has in mind."
The moon had set, and it was nearly dawn the next morning before Samson and Wilkes trailed Simon Earl and his boys back onto Rocking E land with their small herd of stolen cattle. To Samson's surprise, rather than immediately herding the cattle in with his own, Earl had them driven into a small dead-end canyon that formed a natural corral some distance away from the ranch buildings. A minute later, when he saw the branding irons being brought out, Samson understood why: Earl was going to destroy all evidence that the cattle weren't his. Or at least he was going to try.
Figuring that the commotion would help conceal their approach, Samson and his deputy waited until the branding was underway before riding down. He expected trouble: Earl did not have much respect for the badge Samson wore nor the law it represented. And once again the odds were five or six against two. But he figured that most of these men were good men who just happened to work for Earl. He hoped he was right. In case he wasn't, though, he'd sent word to each of the ranches involved letting them know that he was bringing Simon Earl in for the rustling of their cattle.
By his calculation if he failed somewhere along the way tonight and Earl won this little battle, the man would have about twenty-four hours before his neighbors took care of the problem. Samson didn't approve of vigilante justice, but it had worked in Montana Territory back in '63 when the miners had organized to get rid of Henry Plummer and his road agents. There were still times when it had its uses.
Samson and Wilkes rode almost within shouting distance of the rustlers before dismounting and secreting their mounts in the dense shadow of a large outcropping. They made their way forward on foot from there.
Cattle bawled. Men shouted. The fire crackled. Hair and flesh sizzled. Smoke hung in the chilled air of early morning. Samson waited for a lull in the action before drawing attention to their presence. "Simon Earl—" he shouted.
There was a moment of stunned silence. "Who's there?" a voice demanded.
"It's Sheriff Chambers."
He vaguely heard someone cuss and then Earl asked belligerently, "What d'ya want, Chambers?"
"Tell your men to throw down their arms, Simon. I'm here to take you in."
"What for?” His tone of voice hadn't changed.
"I think we both know what for," Samson replied.
He saw Earl make a gesture that looked like he was telling his men to make their way around behind him. "Maybe you'd better spell it out for me Chambers. Just so's there's no misunderstandin' an' all.” Earl was killing time.
Samson let him think it was working, but motioned for Wilkes to watch their backs. "Seems like the brands on those cattle aren't Rocking E's."
"How do you figure that?"
"I checked them out yesterday and watched you drive them out."
A man poked his head around a tree trunk a short distance away. Splinters lanced their way into his cheek when a bullet from Wilkes' Colt struck the edge of the trunk right in front of him. He yelped and hi-tailed it back to join the others. Earl took one look at him and said, "You're fired, Rydan."
Rydan brushed at the blood staining his cheek. "That's fine by me, Earl. I signed on as a cowhand, not a goddamn gunfighter. You want gunfighters, you'd better hire 'em straight off next time."
Samson decided to talk directly to the hands arrayed uncertainly at Simon Earl's back. "You men throw down your weapons; my business is with Earl, not you. Unless you figure he's gonna make it worth your while to make his business your business."