Authors: Kerry Newcomb
The chop-chop-chop of a pileated woodpecker disturbed the natural quiet of the forest. Jesse checked the trees and spied a flash of its crimson crown as the woodpecker stabbed its beak into the bark. The industrious creature would soon have a respectable hole and be able to feast on the nest of carpenter ants it had discovered.
The same tingling as he had earlier experienced crept along the back of Jesse’s neck, and again he was certain he was being watched by someone other than the three Knights blocking the road. Beams of slanted sunlight intersected the path and lay between the Knights and the Union captain like iridescent rods of gold upholding the patches of cobalt-blue ceiling above the treetops.
“I thought you brave souls only came out at night,” Jesse said. He was about ten yards from the hooded horsemen and still he did not try to slow his mount.
“We appear whenever and wherever we are needed,” Sawyer Truett said. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He did not like the way that Jesse seemed willing to ride right through them without even slowing his gray. Did he take them that lightly? Sawyer frowned beneath his hood and looked first at Buck Langdon on his right and then at Chris Foot on his left. Both men appeared to be unnerved by Jesse’s disregard for the threat they posed. “That’s far enough. We aim to see you’ll not trouble Tullock Roberts again.”
Five yards now and closing, Jesse warily approached. “I came here in peace, lads. Sawyer Truett, I recognize that gelding of yours. I even helped you to saddle-break it, have you forgot?” Jesse appraised the other two men. He could not identify them beneath their hoods; still, he tried to appeal to the three and bluff his way past in the process. “With all the trouble the territory has seen lately, there comes a time when men need to sit down and talk before things get completely out of hand. Surely you can see that, even with your heads covered.”
“Get him!” Sawyer shouted.
“Then again I could be wrong,” Jesse added, and reached for his gun. Sawyer charged forward and brought his ax handle down across Jesse’s right arm as he drew his revolver. Pain shot the length of his arm as the Colt went flying. Jesse touched his spurs to the gray and the animal charged forward. Jesse ducked Sawyer’s second blow and rode his horse into Chris Foot, who flailed at his attacker. Buck Langdon connected with a roundhouse swing that caught Jesse in the side and sent him tumbling from horseback. He dragged Chris Foot out of the saddle as well and used him as a shield while he tried to catch his breath. Chris twisted free. Jesse’s left fist connected with the Choctaw’s jaw and Chris stumbled and fell over on his backside.
Jesse wrenched the ax handle from the fallen man’s grasp. He turned and managed to block a swipe from Sawyer that would have fractured his collarbone. In the process Jesse left himself open for Buck Langdon’s blow to catch him along the side of the head and send him staggering toward the underbrush. He heard the horses approaching and spun on his heels and charged the two horsemen, a move that caught them unprepared. He darted and dodged and caught Buck on the kneecap with enough force to break the ax handle and set the hooded rider howling. Jesse made a lunge for the Colt he’d dropped. Sawyer maneuvered his horse to block McQueen from reaching the revolver lying in the trampled dirt. Jesse swerved at the last second, glanced off the gelding’s muscled flanks, and stumbled off through the brush with Sawyer in pursuit.
Jesse dropped to one knee. His right arm was numb to the fingertips, so with his left he freed the .22 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver from his boot. He snapped off a shot that went wide of the mark but served its purpose. Sawyer Truett, realizing he was under the gun, whirled his horse and headed back to safety. He found Chris Foot on horseback, rubbing a swollen jaw, and Buck Langdon clutching his right knee and groaning in agony.
“Goddamn you and your ideas,” Buck wailed.
“I ain’t about to face Jesse’s gun,” Chris added, then turned to Buck. “C’mon.” He led the way down the road and back toward the plantation. Buck followed his companion, but at a slower pace so as not to jostle his injured leg. Sawyer peered over his shoulder as Jesse staggered into view. Sawyer had a gun in his belt, but Jesse’s was drawn and aimed right at his midriff. Courage failed the last of the hooded riders and he beat a hasty retreat. Jesse let him go.
“They just needed a little persuasion is all,” Jesse muttered. His right arm was numb, his side ached like hell and blood was dripping from a goose-egg-sized lump on the side of his head, not to mention from his split lip. “Nothing to it,” he added. Then he heard the telltale click of a rifle being cocked. He wiped the sweat and blood from his eyes with his good left arm and located the source of the ominous sound. Studying a grove of hickory on the opposite side of the road, Jesse glimpsed a rifle barrel poking between two gnarled tree trunks and parting a tall thicket of Solomon’s seal whose broad emerald leaves trembled at the caress of blued steel.
Jesse tried to steady himself as the earth began to reel. He had one chance—well, no chance really against a big-bore rifle—but he made the attempt. His arm shot up and he tried to bring the hide out gun to bear. The Smith & Wesson slipped from his grasp and went spinning off through the shadows and Jesse was left pointing a curled finger at his unseen assailant. He stared stupidly at his empty fist, then turned his palm upward. “Surely we talk before the…hand…gets completely…” He paused and tried to straighten his words out. The road hit him in the face before he could finish.
T
HE FRONT DOOR BANGED
back against the inside wall of the marshal’s office with the force of a gunshot and startled Parson Marshal T. Alan Booth as he slept with a Bible open to the judgment of Solomon. Those holy pages had left an imprint in his cheeks above his white chin whiskers. He’d been studying scripture, his legs propped upon his desk, his chair tilted back and balanced at a perfect angle for maximum comfort. Johnny Medicine Fox had shattered the marshal’s reverie when he kicked open the door and made his raucous entrance. Booth lost his balance, his legs high-kicking toward the ceiling. He yelled and clutched at his leather-bound Bible and pitched over backward, crashing to the floor. He cursed in a most unpreacherlike fashion and struggled to stand, but his legs were caught between the desk and the chair and then there was the matter of his crumpled hat and the tear in one sleeve of his frock coat where it brushed the wall and caught on a splinter.
“You need help, Parson—uh—Marshal Booth?” Johnny said with his arms full of the lunch basket Mary Lou Gude had stuffed with sandwiches and a sweet potato pie for the law officer and his famished prisoners.
“No, goddamn it, I don’t need any gall-blasted help!” the marshal fumed. “And forget everything you heard here today.”
“Yessir,” John said, staring at the one leg that still flailed the air. “Miss Gude promised me a peppermint stick if I’d bring your lunch up and save you a trip.”
“Mighty nice of her,” Marshal Booth replied, his disembodied voice drifting up from behind the desk. “Maybe I will take a little help.”
“Say, Marshal. Have the boy let us out, and we can give you a hand,” Moses Tellico called from his cell. The door leading to the jail cells was ajar and the prisoners could see the law officer’s mishap. They were enjoying the situation. “Ain’t that right, Theotis?”
Moses’ burly, older brother was standing alongside him, his thick forearms curled through the bars. “Sure ’nuff Moses. C’mon over here, Johnny Fox, and fetch that there key from the wall peg outside the door and open our cell.”
“You boys keep that up and I’ll have you on hard biscuits and cold coffee until you serve off your time,” the marshal retorted. Booth, with the boy’s help, managed to untangle himself from the chair and desk and clamber to his feet.
“Would you be wrestling with your faith again, T. Alan?” Raven said from the doorway. She had arrived in time to see John Medicine Fox help Booth to his feet and dust off his frock coat.
Booth groaned. “Now see here, Miss Raven, don’t you be adding to my troubles. And where did you come from, anyway?” Then a look of realization crossed his features. “Ah—you heard about Jesse.”
“I thought he might be here,” said Raven. “I checked the hotel and found he hadn’t taken a room.”
“He’s staying over at Carmichael’s, I suspect. At least him and Ross were acting mighty friendly when I saw them last night. And she has a room to let right above the
Courier.”
When Raven turned to leave, he stopped her by adding, “Of course he ain’t there right now ’cause I saw him ride off, heading east.” Booth carried the food basket to his desk and sent Johnny on his way. The ten-year-old boy touched the brim of his hat as he walked past Jesse’s grandmother and scampered through the open doorway. His image flitted past the window.
“East?” Raven repeated, wondering what exactly her grandson was up to.
Booth seemed to read her thoughts. “My guess is he’s heading out to Honey Ridge. But it won’t do him any good. I paid Tullock several visits and never had a bit of luck. He won’t use his influence to help ease the tensions, no sir. I practically begged him last time. That’s one humble pie I don’t relish ever tasting again.”
Raven brushed her long silver-streaked black hair away from her face. She wore a buckskin blouse and dark blue wool riding skirt. A braided cord around her throat trailed a flat-brimmed hat that dangled between her shoulder blades. “You sound irritated, T. Alan. If he has come to bring peace to the territory, maybe it is a good thing.”
“Sure it is,” Booth said. He rummaged through the basket and helped himself to one of the sandwiches. He could feel Raven watching him. Blast her, anyhow; those dark eyes of hers seemed to bore clean through him. “What do you want me to do?” He did not try to hide the affection in his voice. It was difficult—and for him, impossible—to be stern with this woman of Irish and Choctaw heritage. She never failed to melt his resolve.
“I want you to watch out for Jesse. His homecoming could prove fatal.” Raven walked across the room and placed her hand on Booth’s arm.
“Jesse can take care of himself,” Booth replied.
Raven was not about to let him off the hook. “Promise me.”
“All right. You win.” Booth scratched at his close-cropped white beard. “How do you always manage to do that to me?”
“I appeal to the milk of human kindness that’s flowing in your veins, my friend.”
“Shoot, that milk curdled long ago.”
“There’s one thing more I want, if you’ll do me the favor.”
“Yeah?” Booth bit into a roast-beef sandwich. The meat was as tough as shoe leather and his jaws had to work at it a while. What with the war, most of the decent beef had been shipped off to the Confederacy or driven north into Yankee feed pens up in Missouri. He watched Raven march directly to the doorway that led back to the cells.
“Good morning, boys,” she said. Moses and Theotis straightened and made an attempt to look presentable. “I should like to take your prisoners.”
“What?”
“Pacer needs help out at the farm. I can pay whatever fines the Tellicos have incurred—”
“It’s not all that simple,” Booth protested. “I can’t just let my prisoners roam about at will.”
“They won’t be. I’ll keep them busy. Al Teel told me there was some damage to Lucius Minley’s office.” Raven tossed a gold double eagle to the marshal of Chahta Creek. “If that doesn’t cover the repairs, let me know.” A second double eagle followed the first into Booth’s outstretched hand. “And consider this a contribution to the church.” The parson marshal positively beamed. This would cover the cost of shutters for the church windows.
“Well—have we a deal?” asked Raven.
“Hmmm. I would like to see them sweating instead of lying around waiting for me to wait on them hand and foot.” Booth pretended to struggle with his decision when in reality he had already made up his mind. He did not want to appear too lenient. The peace officer stepped around his desk and walked back to the cells.
“Boys, I’ll be remanding you to the custody of Raven McQueen. You’ll serve your time working for her. See you do that or I’ll come after you myself and drag you back here in chains.”
Moses stroked and twirled the ends of his droopy mustache and grinned. His pale blue eyes brightened at the prospect of being released. He had prowled the cage like a trapped animal ever since sunup. Big, heavyset Theotis Tellico, ugly as a beating, shambled forward out of the cell. He had slept through most of his incarceration.
“Much obliged, Miss Raven,” Moses said. “We’ll work for you.”
“Where’s my rifle? I ain’t leavin’ without my Starr revolver and my Hawken rifle,” Theotis flatly stated.
“Stacked behind the desk. Both rifles and your pistols,” Booth said. “But see you leave by the back way or Lucius Minley will have a fit if he sees you lads turned loose.”
“You finish your business at Teel’s and we’ll meet you on the river road over by the cottonwoods,” Moses told the medicine woman.
Raven nodded and, after bidding the town marshal farewell, started to leave. Booth followed her and caught the woman by the arm.
“One thing more, Miss Raven.”
She turned and faced him as Booth spoke in all seriousness now, his features grave and his voice low.
“Sooner or later Jesse’s bound to show up at your place. When that happens, well, the worst place for you to be is standing between Jesse and Pacer Wolf. Promise me you’ll stay clear.”
“I cannot,” Raven said.
Booth studied her a moment, then shrugged. “You McQueens,” he said with a sigh and a wag of his head, “are the most…most…all fired obstinate, stubborn…”
“Don’t forget muleheaded,” Raven added with a bemused smile.
The parson marshal heartily concurred.
Lorelei Swain perched on the wagon seat in front of Al Teel’s mercantile and combed her auburn hair until her tresses shone lustrous and silky in the sunlight. Raven had been gone a while and left her to see that absent-minded but sweetly dispositioned Al Teel loaded everything on the list. Lorelei considered the task somewhat tedious until Hud Pardee, riding past on his big black stallion, noticed the comely young woman and swung his horse around to the hitching rail and dismounted alongside the steepsided wagon.