Killing Halfbreed (6 page)

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!"   The deputy was hovering just outside my cell door.  I hadn't even heard him coming.

Sleep had been impossible.  Apparently, a peaceful night's rest fled swiftly when you only had a few hours to live.

***

I dwelt on the manacles chafing my wrists as I emerged into the blinding sunlight from the dark confines of my prison.  They were solid, tight, not even a hint of extra room to wriggle my wrists through in an escape.  I could grab at the sheriff’s gun, but I wasn’t about to shoot somebody else, especially a lawman.  Shooting Logan had been a drunken mistake.  Sober, I couldn’t contemplate such a thing.

The roughly-hewn gallows loomed across the street.  Surrounding the base of the platform were more people than I had seen gathered together in a long time, and their glares were universally unforgiving.  I’d been just another ranch hand until two days ago, working hard and living rough.  Now, I was the man of the hour. 

Two nights ago, I’d come to town with some other cowhands to live it up, which had become part of my frustrated routine.  We’d played cards off and on and drank more than we played.  For some unfathomable reason, Tom Logan had chosen that night of all nights to publicly accuse me of rustling his cattle.

No time would have been a good time to accuse me of something like that, since nothing made my blood boil more than a false accusation, but that night was one of the worst times he could have picked as I was over-the-top drunk and feeling uncommonly frustrated over Ben’s disappearance.

Logan was a highly respected man in Cottonwood valley, a family man of impeccable character who employed anywhere from 20 to 30 men on his ranch, depending on the time of year.  He also served on the town council and owned one of the general stores.

Logan had always treated me with cordiality and respect, and I’d always liked him, but when he accused me of rustling cattle, that half bottle of whiskey drowned out what little was left of my weakened voice of reason.

I called him a liar and the argument escalated quickly.  I vaguely remember yelling for Logan to draw, and then my gun was in my hand, smoking before Logan had even cleared leather.

I’d been too drunk to notice that Logan wasn’t armed.

The wrath of the town descended upon me swiftly.  My own compadres grabbed me, pinned my arms to my sides, and then wrenched away my gun.  As I watched Tom bleed to death on the coarse, wooden floor, the bartender pulled a well-oiled shotgun from behind his bar to cover me while somebody else ran to get the sheriff.

The next morning, my hangover was compounded by the horrendous realization of what I’d done, which was cheerfully recounted to me by the sheriff's deputy at least thirteen different times.  Everyone in that saloon had seen me shoot down one of the town’s most admired men in an unfair fight.  The town council had no problem sentencing me to be hanged.  The only delay would be the time it took them to build the gallows.

Squinting in the sun’s glare, I stared at my fate.  Sheriff McCraigh led me by the arm toward the wooden platform and then stopped me ten feet short of the stairs.  An odd silence hung in the air.

Glares all around.

Then, the jeering began.  A few here and there at first, then growing into a jumbled roar of insults and mockery.

I glared back at them defiantly.  What right did they have to judge me?  Anyone with any sense knew that if you were going to accuse someone of a crime like cattle rustling, you’d better come prepared to fight.  It wasn’t my fault Logan hadn’t been armed. 
Logan knew I was drunk
.  
He knew I’d fight.  How was I to know he wasn’t carrying a gun
?

This whole scene was ridiculous, I decided.  If Logan had been just another gunslinger, nobody would’ve cared, but because of his standing, they were going to hang me.

“Hang you!” I shouted back at the jeering crowd.  I spat at them, which only incensed them all the more.

The townspeople suddenly quieted unexpectedly.  I turned to see what had captured their attention.

The jail door had reopened.

The mayor and several members of the town council emerged, along with the sheriff’s deputy.  A man I didn't know walked in the center of them.  Each of the council members hung their heads, as if ashamed, except for one, Tom Burgess, the town mayor.  The deputy sneered angrily, but averted his face south as well.

They escorted the stranger toward me.  At first, I thought the man was another prisoner, but I hadn’t heard of any other recent crimes, and he wasn’t manacled like I was.  He walked freely.

I held my breath as the small group approached, waiting for a break in the strange suspense.  They passed me by, without even a glance my way, and proceeded up the steps to the platform of the gallows.  The crowd remained silent as they watched the events unfold.

To my surprise, Tom Burgess walked the stranger to the center of the platform and placed the noose around his neck as the rest of the council looked on.  I could see that Burgess had tears in his eyes as he leaned in, his mouth close to the stranger’s ear.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

The stranger nodded and looked down at me.  He had kind eyes.  His smile was out of place.

Burgess gave the signal to Joe Klein, another councilman who stood by the lever which would drop the trap door.  A hush fell over all as Klein lifted a trembling hand to the lever.  He hesitated for what seemed an eternity, then finally brought the lever down swiftly.

The trap door slammed open and the stranger dropped through the hole, his neck breaking instantly.  The sound of its crack rang throughout the street.

Before I knew what was happening, the sheriff had whisked me back inside the jail.

***

McCraigh yanked me through the door and slammed it shut behind us.  He ripped my hands upward and unlocked the cuffs.

Glaring at me with an undisguised fury, he growled through gritted teeth, “Go on, get out of here, and make it quick.”

I stared, unbelieving, at my freed wrists and stammered, “I...I don’t understand, Sheriff.  What’s going on?  Why are you letting me go?”

His smoldering eyes told me he was having trouble controlling himself.

“You saw that man they hung out there?  He was hung in your place!  I don’t have to tell you that I don’t like it.  Not one bit!  If it were up to me, I’d hang you twice, you sorry excuse for a dog.  I wish to God I could have strung
you
up, but it ain’t in my hands.  The crime’s been paid for as far as the law is concerned and you’re free to go.  Now git, before I lose my temper!”  He literally snarled these last words.

I continued to stare, not quite grasping or believing what he was saying, what was happening.  I was supposed to lose my life today. 
What in the world was going on?

“Sheriff, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but this doesn’t make any sense.  If I walk out that door, they’re gonna grab me and hang me anyway.  Just go ahead and do it yourself and stop playing around!”

“The town council knows all about this.  They’re not going to harm you, but I can’t vouch for the people.  Right now, they’re still stunned and not real sure what’s going on, but if you wait around much longer they’re going to collect their senses and then you’re right, they will get you.  I almost
wish
that would happen, but then all this would be a complete waste, so git, before I throw you out!”

“But...but...
I
killed Logan, not that other man!  Who was he?  How can you just hang a man in my place?  That can’t be legal!”

His eyes burned through me.

He was done talking.  He slugged me in the stomach, and hard.  I doubled over, gasping in the face of the unexpected blow.  He ripped the door open and shoved me through it.

“I said git, and you’d better git out of Cottonwood Valley if’n you know what’s good for you!”

I stumbled back into the bright sunlight and the door slammed behind me.  Still gasping, I watched the confused and angry stares of the townspeople, alternately looking between me and the man swinging from the gallows.

The sheriff was right.  Time to leave town, and fast.  I didn’t understand what had happened, but for some reason they were letting me go.  I may have second guessed my new freedom, but I sure as heck wasn’t about to third guess it.

I rushed to the livery stable, hoping my horse would still be there.  The heads of the townsfolk swiveled to follow as I jogged the distance.

Tom Logan’s family stood at the edge of the crowd, stoically staring at the gallows, ignoring me, their faces set firm in anger.  All except my young Jinny, Tom’s daughter, who knelt in anguish, clinging to her mother’s skirts and weeping.

I rode all day and night, putting as much distance as possible between myself and Cottonwood.  I was still in shock.  Just before dawn, I took a two hour nap and then continued on, arriving about noon at a little break in the road called Dry Spot.  Dry Spot was nothing more than a cheap cantina in the middle of nowhere.

Several other horses stood at the rail outside.  This was a place where travelers, roaming cowhands, and your occasional gunslinger would pull up for the night, or for just a drink.

I felt weary, wearier than I could remember feeling in a long time, as if I’d been traveling for a month instead of a day.  I needed time to think, to decide what to do next.

I ordered a steak, then crashed on a cot in one of the tiny rooms behind the bar.  I lay there for a while just thinking, contemplating what had happened, but not understanding it.  Did they think that other guy had killed Logan instead of me? How could they think that?  Everybody knew I’d done it.

Who was that stranger?  Why had they killed him?  It just didn’t make sense.  Why had they let me go?  Would they be coming after me with a posse?  Was this all a big joke?

Disconnected thoughts raced through my mind like thundering horses, yet in the center of the mad maelstrom was a single, solitary image burned into my memory like a brand on my conscience.  I couldn’t shut out the sight of Jinny, too grief-stricken to support her own weight, her dainty knees soiled by the dark dirt, weeping, fists clenched and buried in the folds of her mother’s cotton dress.

Her innocence was something I'd always treasured.  I'd never expected to be the one who would shatter it, dragging her kicking and screaming into the hard, cruel reality that is the world.  We all meet that cruel trickster called life face to face at some point, but it saddened me to know I’d been its instrument for her.

Around six, I awoke to the noise of some excitement in the front of the cantina.  Some cowpoke was talking a mile a minute.

“...let him go they did.  Wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes.  Once we realized what was going on, Jeb Hawkins started hollering about raising a posse up to go after him, but Mayor Burgess shut him down pretty quick.  Said payment had been made for the murder of Tom Logan, and the matter was settled.  Said nobody’d be going after nobody."

"Well, ol’ Jeb said he didn’t think Logan’s family felt that payment had been made, considerin’ the man who did it was still running free.  Everybody else seemed to pretty much agree with Jeb and it looked we were going to have that posse, but then all the other councilmen stepped forward and seconded what Burgess said.  Said ‘restitution had been made’ and ‘there’d be no further action taken'."

"Jeb was fit to spit nails, but didn’t do more than grumble.  The sheriff repeated what the councilmen had said, though you could tell he didn’t care for it, not one bit.

“The deputy was mad too.  He spat, yelled about how ridiculous the whole thing was, that everybody knew it was Talbot who shot Logan.  Started going on about justice and all that, saying we ought to throw in with Jeb, when the sheriff grabbed his ear and gave it a good twist."

"Luckily, I was close enough to hear.  I heard the sheriff tell that deputy that if he didn’t shut up, he was not only gonna be out of a job, but he gonna to have to deal with him on top of it.  For a minute, he looked like he was gonna take the sheriff up on it, but then he cooled his heels."

"Jeb did too. With all them town leaders ag'in his plan, ever’body just kind of drifted away.  Strange, though, ‘cause those councilmen lowered that hung man’s body right away an’ sent it off to the undertaker.  Ain’t never seen ‘em take somebody down so quick.  They usually leave ‘em up there for a day or so as a lesson.  They even gave the undertaker some extra money for a decent coffin.”

I stopped listening after that.  I'd heard enough.  At least I could breathe a bit easier now that I knew there wouldn't be a posse coming after me.  I couldn't believe my luck.  Who'd ever heard of anything like this happening anywhere in the world, much less in this unforgiving part of the country where a noose was ten times easier to find than a judge?

Somehow, I'd been dealt some extraordinary cards.  I knew it and I sure wasn't going to forget it.  I had to figure out what my next step would be.  Even without a posse on my trail, there were others who might decide vengeance was the only route to satisfaction.  I'd best be on my guard.