Authors: Robert Vaughan
“I do like that you can take the top off, though,” Carlisle said. “I’m going to buy him a fine suit, and I want you to keep the top off the coffin until just before he’s buried. I want the town to see what those murderin’ sheep herders did to my boy.”
“Very well,” Prufrock said. “I’ll take care of everything, Mr. Carlisle. And again, you have my sympathy for your loss.”
“Come along, Jesse,” Carlisle said. “We have to go pick out a suit for your brother.”
“Yes, sir,” Jesse said, speaking for the first time since they arrived in town.
“THEY WAS GOOD BOYS, ALL OF THEM,” FENTON
said. He, Wilson, and Carlisle were in the Cattleman’s Saloon. “It broke my heart to have to send a note back with Pete’s body, expressin’ my sorrow to his folks.”
“Yeah, me too,” Wilson said.
“But neither one of us had to go through what you did, Rome, losin’ your boy like that,” Fenton said. “They didn’t come no better’n Johnny. You must have been just real proud of him.”
“I was proud of him,” Carlisle said.
Sheriff Tilghman was in the saloon as well, and he was sitting at a nearby table, drinking a cup of coffee. Carlisle turned to him.
“If you were any kind of a sheriff, you would go out there right now and arrest the ones who were responsi
ble for killing my son and the other three boys,” Carlisle said.
“And just who would I arrest?” the sheriff asked. “I understand that it was dark. Can anyone say, for sure, who was shooting?”
“If it was up to me, I’d say arrest the lot of ’em,” Carlisle said. “Or at least Mason Hawke. Hell, you know those lily livered sheep men couldn’t have done this by themselves. He had to be the one behind it. He’s the one that led them onto our land, then set up an ambush.”
“As I understand it, everything took place on open range,” Sheriff Tilghman said.
“So?”
“So that means it isn’t exactly your land.”
“Sheriff, you’ve seen that judge’s injunction, same as all the rest of us. You know that the open range has been closed to the sheep herders. They had no business bein’ out there.”
“The last word I had was that the range wasn’t closed,” the sheriff said.
“Oh, yeah? Did you see that in writing?” Carlisle asked.
“No.”
“Then, according to Mr. Gilmore, until we see it in writing, it ain’t happened yet.”
“I also understand that the reason the cattlemen were out there last night was to shoot sheep,” the sheriff said. “Is that true? Did those men go out there to shoot sheep?”
“Maybe so, but shootin’ sheep ain’t the same as shootin’ people,” Carlisle said.
“Perhaps not. But a person has the right to protect his property. So if your men went out there to start shooting
sheep, then the sheep herders had every legal right to shoot back.”
The heated conversation between Sheriff Tilghman and the cattlemen was interrupted by a low, evil chuckle. Looking toward the sound of the laughter, the men saw Clay Morgan sitting at his table, playing solitaire.
“You think this is funny, do you, Mr. Morgan?” Carlisle asked.
“Yeah,” Morgan replied, his voice low and sibilant. “I think it’s funny.”
“Four men were killed, Mr. Morgan, including my son,” Carlisle said angrily. “What makes you think something like that is funny?”
“Amateurs,” Morgan said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Amateurs,” Morgan repeated. “Amateurs always make me laugh.”
“I see.”
Morgan looked up from his card game. “You hired me to take care of the situation for you, didn’t you?”
“Creed hired you, I didn’t.”
The smile left Morgan’s lips. “Oh? Well, that’s too bad.”
“What do you mean, it’s too bad?”
“When I come into a place to do a job, I divide the people into two groups. Those who hired me, and everyone else. Those who hired me have nothing to fear from me.”
“Meaning the rest of us do?” Carlisle challenged.
“Rome, back off,” Wilson cautioned, putting his hand on Carlisle’s shoulder.
“I would listen to your friend, if I were you,” Morgan said.
“Don’t pay him no never mind, Mr. Morgan,” Wilson
said. “He lost his boy last night. He’s upset.”
Morgan stared at Carlisle for a long moment, then, without saying another word, he went back to his game of solitaire.
In the parlor of his house, Ian was sitting in his wheelchair, poking a long stick down inside his leg casts.
“Oh, this blessed itch!” he said. “That bothers me more than the break did.” He poked the stick in again and began jabbing it back and forth.
“The doctor said your casts can come off tomorrow,” Cynthia said.
“Get me a knife,” Ian said.
“A knife? What for?”
“If they can come off tomorrow, they can come off today,” he said. “I don’t think I can stand another blessed minute of it.”
“All right,” Cynthia said. “But be careful.”
She got the knife, as requested, and Ian cut the casts off. For the first few moments he scratched his legs, sighing in contentment.
“Papa, I need to ask you something,” Hannah said.
Ian looked up.
“I want to go to Johnny Carlisle’s funeral.”
Ian shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, child.”
“Papa, please.”
“Why would you want to go to the funeral anyway? You know what kind of a person Johnny was. He was no good.”
“I know he was no good,” Hannah said. “But I’m not doing it for him, Papa. He was Jesse’s brother, and I’m doing it for Jesse.”
“I still don’t think it’s a very good idea. I can’t go with
you. And I don’t want you to go by yourself.”
“What if Mr. Hawke takes me?”
“I’m sure that the last thing Hawke wants to do is take you to Johnny Carlisle’s funeral,” Ian said.
“If he says he’ll take me, is it all right? Papa, please, this is very important to me.”
Ian sighed, then he chuckled and shook his head. “I swear, darlin’, you could talk a rabbit out of his hole. All right, I’ll ask Hawke to take you.”
Hannah smiled broadly, then threw her arms around Ian’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you, Papa, thank you,” she said.
“Give me those two canes,” Ian told Cynthia. “This is as good a time to try them as any. I’ll go ask him.”
As Hannah watched her father’s laborious walk, aided by his canes, Cynthia came up behind her and put her hands on Hannah’s shoulders.
“Sweetheart, I hope you know what you are doing,” she said.
“Mama, I feel like I must go,” Hannah replied. “Jesse needs to see me there.”
“I just don’t want to see you hurt, is all.”
The churchyard was filled with saddled horses, wagons pulled by oxen, buckboards by mules, buggies by a single horse, and surreys pulled by matching teams. The church itself was too crowded for Hannah and Hawke to go inside, so they stayed on the buckboard, parked just outside. When the funeral service ended, the doors were opened and several people filed out. Most of the mourners were cowboys, not only from the Carlisle ranch, but from all the other ranches as well.
Finally, Hannah saw Jesse coming out of the church, walking beside his mother. Callie Carlisle was dressed all
in black, including a long black veil. Jesse’s father was at his wife’s side, and, despite what she knew about Johnny, Hannah couldn’t help but feel a sense of pity for the mother’s loss.
Jesse happened to look toward Hannah, and for a moment his face almost registered his joy at seeing her. Then, seeing who was with her, his expression changed to anger.
“Oh,” Hannah said quietly. “Oh, he hates me now.”
“No he doesn’t, Hannah,” Hawke said. “He hates me.”
“Oh, I…I should have realized,” she said. “It was a mistake to come, wasn’t it?”
“No,” Hawke said. “You did what your heart told you to do. It is never a mistake to follow your heart.”
A glass-sided hearse was backed up to the front door of the church, and the six pall bearers, which included Lonnie Creed, bore the coffin out. Lonnie was dressed in a new black suit, complete with a vest and tie, and, as per Carlisle’s instructions, the top half of the coffin was left open so everyone could see the body.
Prufrock stood by giving directions as the coffin was placed in the hearse. He had put a wedge on the floor of the hearse so the upper part of the coffin was slightly elevated. This gave the people who lined the route between the church and the cemetery an opportunity to view the body.
A sign on the hearse read:
J
OHN
B
ARTLETT
C
ARLISLE
A
WONDERFUL SON AND A GOOD BROTHER
S
HAMELESSLY MURDERED BY
NIGHT RIDING SHEEP HERDERS
A team of matched black horses, wearing black
bunting and black plumage, pulled the hearse smartly away from the church. Hawke waited until the last conveyance had passed before he pulled in behind to follow the cortege south on Pitchfork Road, then west on Meridian Road until they reached the cemetery. There, again, the horses and conveyances were left as the occupants moved to the open grave where Johnny would be interred.
“I’m going to the graveside,” Hannah said.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Hawke asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll go with you.” Setting the brake and wrapping the reins around the brake handle, Hawke started to climb down from the buckboard.
“No, please, Mr. Hawke, don’t,” Hannah said, reaching out to put her hand on his. “I think it would be better if I go alone.”
Hawke nodded. “All right, if you say so,” he said. He sat back down. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“Thanks.”
Hannah picked her way unobtrusively through the crowd until she was standing no more than ten feet from where Jesse and his parents were sitting on folding chairs beside the grave.
Using ropes, the pall bearers lowered the coffin, which now had the top in place and was closed, into the grave. After the ropes were withdrawn, the Reverend E. D. Geers signaled Jesse, who stepped up to the edge of the grave. He picked up a handful of dirt and held it, as the Reverend Geers began the interment prayer.
“‘For as much at it hath pleased Almighty God, in His wise providence, to take out of this world the soul of our deceased brother, Johnny, we therefore commit his body to
the ground; earth to earth.’”
The Reverend Geers nodded at Jesse, and Jesse dropped the dirt into the grave. Hannah heard it thump on the coffin below.
The preacher continued. “‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ.’”
When the graveside services were over and everyone started to leave, Hannah stayed in place until Jesse and his family left the graveside.
“Jesse?” Hannah called.
He looked toward her, then away.
“Jesse, please!” Hannah called.
Jesse said something to his parents, then came over to talk to Hannah.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said.
“I had to come. He was your brother. I knew how hurt you would be.”
“And so you thought that coming to the funeral with the very man who killed my brother would make me feel better?” Jesse asked bitterly.
“What do you mean, the man who killed Johnny?” Hannah asked. “It was dark, everyone was shooting, including your brother.”
“Hawke had two run-ins with my brother,” Jesse said. “And consider this. Hawke is a known gunfighter. The other men there were nothing but sheep herders. Now, do you really think he didn’t kill Johnny?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah admitted.
“Jesse,” Carlisle called.
“I have to go,” Jesse said.
“Jesse, when can we meet at our spot again?”
Jesse shook his head. “I don’t think we should see each
other anymore, Hannah,” he said. “Too much has happened.”
“Jesse, no,” Hannah said.
“Jesse, come on,” Carlisle called. “It is time to take your mother home.”
“Good-bye, Hannah,” Jesse said.
With tears streaming down her face, Hannah watched as Jesse helped his mother into the surrey. She stood there as they drove away, hoping that Jesse would look back at her, but he did not.
When Hannah turned around, she was surprised to see Hawke standing right behind her.
“Oh, Mr. Hawke,” she said, her voice breaking. “He doesn’t want to see me anymore. He hates me.”
Hannah went to Hawke, and he found himself in the unfamiliar position of providing comfort for a young girl. He wrapped his arms around her and let her cry against his chest. He couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that he was comforting his niece, a young woman who was, by birth, a part of him. It touched him more deeply than he would have thought.
“I don’t think he hates you, Hannah,” Hawke said. “He is just a young man who is overwhelmed by events. Have you ever heard the term ‘star-crossed’?”
“‘Some consequence yet hanging in the stars,’” Hannah said.
“What?”
“That’s a quote from
Romeo and Juliet.
Mr. Booker said it refers to the fact that Romeo and Juliet were star-crossed.”
“Then you do understand.”
“Yes.”
Hawke walked Hannah back to the buckboard and helped her up. As they drove back through town, they
passed in front of the Cattlemen’s Saloon. A big man dressed in black pants, black shirt, and wearing a black hat, was leaning against one of the pillars that supported the porch roof. There was a purple scar on his face that started just under his left eye and ended in his moustache. He was wearing a badge on his shirt and an ivory-handled pistol in a holster that was low and tied down on his right leg.
Staring, unblinking, at Hawke, he stuck a cheroot in his mouth, scratched a match on the porch pillar, then lit it. Hawke did not give him the satisfaction of staring back.
“That was him, wasn’t it?” Hannah said. “That was the gunfighter they sent for.”
“Clay Morgan, yes,” Hawke said.
“Do you know him?”
“Not really. But I have heard of him.”
“Do you think he knows who you are?”
“Until just now, I would have said no,” Hawke said. “But from the way he was looking at me?” Hawke nodded. “Yes, I’d say that he knows all about me.”
“He may be the single most frightening person I have ever seen,” Hannah said.
“You are right to be frightened of him,” Hawke said, without making any attempt to calm her uneasiness about the man.
“Mr. Hawke?”
“Yes?”
“Did you kill Johnny?”
Hawke hesitated but a half beat before he responded.
“Probably,” he admitted.
“Thank you for not lying to me.”