Destined to Die (5 page)

Soon there was to be another confrontation. This time in cold blood, to test that his first victory had not been a matter of luck. It had not, and Barnaby Gold won the right to be left alone by his contemporaries. To read a great deal, to stand on the waterfront and gaze out across the ocean beyond which lay Europe and to develop a natural ability for working with timber.

He was aware of the puzzled comments passed by adults about him - some of them addressed to his father - but he paid no heed to them. Either back in New York City or in the more confined society of the small towns of Arizona. Where he discovered he enjoyed horse riding, so became good at it. And game shooting with the Murcott. Whoring with the Mexican girls in the cantina at Standing.

He had a great deal of luck when he first had to use a revolver to kill a man. But since then he had indulged in many practice sessions as he crossed the deserts and mountains, leaving a clear trail for the hired gunslingers to follow. And had long since recovered from the surprise of finding out that he took to handguns as instinctively as, years before, he had discovered his talent for wood working.

And that, after the first time, to kill people bothered him not at all.

But here in the comfortably furnished parlour of the Gershel house, none of his practical skills were of any use to him as he sat trapped to the chair, hearing the fly as it sought escape from the room and the small sounds made by Martha doing chores in the kitchen.

What he was able to do was twist his right wrist and wriggle his hands into the side pocket of his pants. Ease open the box of matches in there and take them out one at a time. Strike each one on the edge of the chair seat and hold it so that the flame could eat into the rope at the top of his thigh. Aware of the danger that the rope could flare and catch his clothing alight.

The rope was a quarter-way burnt through and there were six dead, charred matchsticks on the floor beside the chair when Martha GersheFs footfalls rapped in the hallway. She pointedly avoided looking in through the open door of the parlour before she went off to the bedroom.

‘Not asleep yet, my dear?’

‘It’s hard, Mrs Gershel.’ There was pain and misery in the girl’s tone. ‘Knowing that awful man is in the house.’

‘He can’t harm you, Joanne. Not anymore. You try to sleep now. You’ll feel much better when you wake up.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

The door closed and this time the woman did pause to glance in at Barnaby Gold, her good-looking face wearing a scowl of revulsion. But her sniff was not of the disdainful kind and Gold knew she had caught the acrid taint of burnt rope. Using the cover of the tabletop, he tried to part his legs, but too many fibres of the rope were still intact.

Martha Gershel came into the parlour. Determined, then anxious as she neared the table. Her hands were clean of the flour now, but the grains were still daubed on her cheek. Her face was sheened with sweat.

‘I only allow Will to smoke his pipe in here after supper,’ she said quickly. And just as
quickly moved up to the table, leaned across with both hands and dragged the cup and saucer and the opened cheroot tin from in front of Gold. Then her attitude was of relief when she had placed them on the tray with the cup and saucer her husband had used at the far end of the table. Her eyes poured scorn and hatred on him as she said, ‘They’ll maybe allow you one more smoke before they hang you. So I’ll keep these things safe.’

‘Appreciate it.’

Some of the high emotion drained out of her. ‘They will hang you, you know. You bein’ what you are. And Jesse and Joanne and her folks bein’ like us. Ordinary, decent folks. I won’t agree with it. Not that you shouldn’t hang for what you done. But the law should do it. Proper, with whatever kind of dignity there can be in such a thing.’

‘Appreciate what you say, lady.’

‘Well, you’re some mother’s son.’

‘Like Jesse.’

She stiffened. ‘Our kind ain’t killers and ... and rapists! Why, Jesse got treated like a son by Mary-Ann and Virgil any time he went over to their place. Same way we treat Joanne. And them two children, they’re promised to each other. Just as soon as the girl’s of age to marry. That’s one mountain custom we didn’t bring out West. Girl gotta be sixteen or more before she’s allowed to marry and ... and be taken by a man.’

Gold had the impression that, when Martha Gershel spoke of rape and a woman being taken by a man, she experienced a surge of excitement. He judged this from the way her eyes brightened and her grip tightened on the tray.

‘So the fair hearing talk was crap, lady?’

She flinched when he used the mild expletive. ‘Around here we do things right, stranger! And it ain’t right to use foul language in the hearin’ of a female!’

‘My apologies, lady. Wrong of me to assume that just because the Engel girl has a bad mouth that every...’

‘I’ve never even heard that sweet girl take the Lord’s name in vain!’ she countered, then whirled and strode from the room, the china on the tray rattling.

Gold waited until he could hear her washing the dirty crockery before he struck another match. Then another and another.

Martha Gershel had completed her dish washing chore and had left the house by the rear door before he saw the rope was burned through sufficiently to snap with a hard tug. And he was about to give this a try when he heard a small sound and wrenched up his head to look toward the doorway. Where Joanne Engel stood, her shoes off so that he had not heard her tread across the hall.

‘Martha’s out to the barn doing something, Barnaby,’ the girl said, displaying her slightly buck teeth in a gentle smile. Once more acting the part of a full grown woman, in her juvenile attire of gingham dress and white socks with her hair in pigtails.

She turned sideways on to him, back to the doorframe and one leg raised and bent with the sole of the foot pressed to the woodwork. And she was arched forward a little, to thrust out her underdeveloped breasts.

Gold clicked his tongue.

‘I don’t know what, but it could be she’s doing something to herself. I heard her talking to you awhile back. I reckon she hates you as much as you hate me, Barnaby. But it sounded like she lusts after you, too. When she was talking about—’

‘Beat it, kid.’

Anger coloured her freckled cheeks and injected rigidity into her alluring stance. ‘I told you before, don’t call me that!’

‘What other kind of shit can you stir for me, kid?’

She dropped the folded-up foot to the floor and swung away from the doorframe to face him full on.

‘I was maybe willing to help you, you sonofabitch! Cut you loose so you maybe had a chance of getting away from these rubes around here!’

She came into the room, her rage not so all-consuming that she failed to remember Martha Gershel was close by. So she kept her voice to a venomous, rasping whisper.

‘But now I’m going to watch you swing from a tree branch. And I’m going to get a real thrill out of doing that. Especially since I’ll know you’re dancing on that rope for something you didn’t do. That’ll make it even better, you high nosed bastard. And you’ll know that if you hadn’t treated me like I was just out of diapers, you maybe would’ve missed being lynched.’

She was at the side of the table, her hands splayed on its top, half-leaning across it to bring her flushed face within a foot of Gold’s. He could feel the hot breath of her anger on his skin.

Just one length of rope had been used to secure the prisoner. An end was tied to a leg of the chair and it was simply wound around his thighs then his torso and arms and fastened with a running knot close to the top of the chair back. So that it only had to be parted anywhere along its length and he was free.

‘Emily Jane and Maria were women.’

‘What?’

‘Married one and the other was a whore. Both of them screwed me up real bad. You’re just a kid, but in that department you leave them way behind.’

‘I told you, don’t call me—’

She snatched up one of her hands and made to lash it at his face.

He jerked his thighs apart and the section of charred rope snapped. He powered upright and the coils of the rope fell away. Except where it encircled his chest. Then the act of shooting forward an arm to grasp her wrist caused the knot to run.

The chair fell to the floor.

Joanne Engel screamed her terror.

He used his free hand to raise the rope noose up over his shoulders and head. His hat fell off.

Her scream continued.

He dropped the noose over her head, released his hold on her wrist and jerked the knot tight to the nape of her neck. The sound she was making was choked to a premature end.

‘Be a pleasure to kill you, kid,’ he whispered, close to her ear. ‘But I don’t get my thrills like that.’

The rear door of the house banged open and running footfalls came from the kitchen.

‘Joanne!’

Martha Gershel sounded anxious, but not overly concerned.

Barnaby Gold kept the noose tight enough around the girl’s neck to keep her silent, but not to choke her, as he gathered her up with an arm around her waist and carried her struggling form to the parlour doorway.

The woman emerged from the kitchen and stopped short, suddenly brought to the edge of hysteria. She was carrying the gun-belt.

Joanne Engel saw her and was still. And for a heartbeat, so was the woman. But then she moved her hand toward the studded Peacemaker - had her thumb on the hammer and was about
to swivel the muzzle toward Gold when his voice caused her to freeze.

‘Try it and I’ll throw this lying little bitch at you, lady! And keep hold of my end of the rope!’

Martha GersheFs fine breasts heaved with tension. Her eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets.

‘What’s happened?’ she gasped.

‘Let go of the gun and toss the belt over here, lady.’

‘I can’t.’

Joanne was trying to say something and he allowed a little slack in the rope.

‘I don’t want to die, ma’am!’ she blurted huskily. ‘Please do like he—’

‘I can’t trust you not to—’

Barnaby Gold looked calmly into the mask of horror that was her face. Said: ‘Way you want it, lady.’

‘No!’ She shrieked the single syllable and hurled the gun-belt across the hallway. Hard enough so that he felt a sharp pain when the butt of one of the guns hit his knee.

Then he simply let go of the rope and uncurled his arm from around the girl’s waist. It was not a long fall, but she did not expect it. And there was no time to prepare for the impact. She screamed as her hip, elbow, shoulder and the side of her head cracked against the floor.

Gold went down on to his haunches, took hold of the gun-belt and stood up.

‘
You stinking, rotten—’

‘Watch your mouth, kid,’ Gold cut in on her evenly, as he began to buckle the belt. ‘There is a lady present.’

Martha sagged against the kitchen doorframe. ‘Dear God,’ she whispered, a hand at her throat. ‘I just thought the girl was havin’ a nightmare.’

Gold finished tying the knot to hold the toe of the holster to his thigh. Asked: ‘Were you going to blast her demons away with these .45s, lady?’

‘No, I...’

He retreated into the parlour, to pick up his hat from the floor. Then took the time to go to the window, open it and let out the fly. The dog, which was lying flat out in the shade, growled at the sight of him.

Out in the hallway, the girl had crawled toward the woman, who was still as Gold had left her, sagged against the kitchen doorframe.

‘I think you went to get these guns to kill me, Mrs Gershel.’

She swallowed hard. Then used a great deal of effort to pull herself erect. ‘That’s exactly right, stranger! To get it over and done with. Make it quick for you. And so the decent, hard-working men around this neighbourhood wouldn’t have to carry the guilt of a lynchin’ around with them for the rest of their lives.’

There was pride and defiance in her certainty that what she had planned was the right thing to do. And then she placed a protective arm around the shoulders of Joanne again after the girl had risen painfully to her feet.

Both of them backed fearfully into the kitchen when Gold started toward them.

‘You took my cheroots, lady.’

She nodded toward a small pine, scrubbed-top table against a wall of the kitchen which was as neat and clean as the other parts of the house Gold had seen. His tin of cheroots, still open with the match, ash and remains of a smoke in the lid, was on the tray on the table. He emptied this mess on to the floor and took out a cheroot before placing the tin in an inside pocket of the frock coat. Then crossed to the range and used a match from a box on a shelf above to light the tobacco. He also pocketed the box.

Went toward the open rear door of the house.

‘I’m grateful, stranger,’ Martha Gershel said.

‘Why you thanking him, ma’am?’ Joanne asked, her voice shrill and on the brink of anger.

‘He could have spilled worse than that, child. And taken more than a handful of matches from us.’

Barnaby Gold ignored the girl to direct a lingering look at the woman. The kind of look - arrogantly appraising - which a young man in his mid-twenties did not normally offer to a woman of more than forty.

The old-for-her-age Joanne Engel recognised what was implied by this open gaze from the cool green eyes of the black-clad man. And scowled her resentment.

While Martha’s cheeks became flushed in a manner that would have better suited the girl.

‘Under different circumstances, lady, there’s something here I’m sure I would have enjoyed having.’ He nodded, then added: ‘Bye-bye.’