Judgment at Red Creek (15 page)

Clayt stood over him for a few seconds, then he recovered the pieces of the broken bludgeon and the bucket.

“Let's get out of here,” he gasped.

Oss set the chain and padlock on the door and nodded toward the houses. “Nelda and Kate are coming looking.”

“I don't want them to see me like this. Tell Nelda to bring me some fresh clothes and leave them on the bank. I'm going down to the pool below the dam and clean up.” He gave Oss a critical examination. “And you'd better ask her to bring some for you, too. Right now, we're both pretty high.”

Clayt didn't see the horrified expressions on the girls' faces as Oss, standing some feet apart from them, explained what had happened.

Both Clayt and Oss were bathing naked in the cold pool when Henry appeared carrying their fresh clothing. “The girls told me what happened,” he said. “Now I've really got plans for that foul-hearted Hellhound! Before I'm through with him, he's going to wish to God that you had killed him.”

Harmer, forced to live in the mess of his own making, was put on one skimpy meal a day and just enough water to keep him alive. Henry, with both Clayt and Oss standing guard, and with two other armed men outside as a precaution, pounded away on the prisoner until he was brought to the ragged edge of collapse. Finally, after nearly a week of torment, treatment that brought appeals for at least some mercy from several of the women, under heavy guard, Harmer was taken below the dam to the pool and made to wash. He was given fresh clothes, “A dead man's clothes,” Henry reminded him as they chained him to a tree until two of the women who volunteered to do it, scrubbed the little storage house.

Reluctantly, Henry put Harmer back on two meals. Standing with Clayt and Oss as he was returned to his prison, the older man spoke to him quietly.

“We're going to break you, Harmer. Marshall or no marshall, you're going to roast in here until you tell us who put you up to it. It's up to you. If you can prove that you were obeying orders, that somebody above you put you up to it, it could go easier with you. You might get off with life.”

“I'll see ya in hell before I tell ya anything!” he growled. “Go on. Do yer damnedest!”

Henry moistened his lips and nodded. “Alright, Harmer. We'll take you at your word. I'll make you a promise. A week from today you'll be begging us to hand you over to the law.” He started to turn away. Pointedly, he added, “And by that time, it may be too late for you.”

Within two days the cramped little strong house was a sweat box again. Dressed only in trousers, Harmer waited and wondered. They wouldn't kill him. He was certain of that. For some reason they were dead set on letting the law do that. Once T.K. knew what was happening to him, the favors the law granted to cattlemen and railroads would get him off. If he had to wait that long to get even, it would be worth it. Hatred for the settlers burned in him like bile. His hatred for Clayton was beyond measure. He would kill him an inch at a time. Lost in grim revelry, he recalled the story a Comanche chief told: “More cuts than bird has feathers—man no dead yet!”

He climbed up on the foot of the bunk and pressed his face against the bars. By sundown, the canyon had cooled a bit and the fresh air revived him some.

As twilight faded the settlers began to appear carrying lanterns. They were heading for the meeting house. Many of them seemed to pause to look in his direction. It was clear to Harmer that the assembly had something to do with him. He guessed they would be discussing more ways to wear him down, to make him talk. Well, they could burn in hell and he'd live long enough to light the fire!

Standing by the lectern, Henry Deyer waited for the people to take their places on the log benches. He had called the meeting. It was one he did not want just now, but he felt the changing mood of many of the surviving settlers demanded an air clearing. When the last of them had settled themselves, Jakob Gruen rose and indicated those sitting beside and behind him on the rear benches.

“Henry,” he began, “in order to keep this matter from running on late, I've been asked to say how they feel, including my own feelings about Harmer.”

Henry nodded. “Please go on, Jakob. State the case.”

“Well, make no mistake, we all want to see the man convicted under law and killed under law. That's how Asa wanted it and we do, too. But if Asa was still with us, we wonder if he wouldn't have had a bellyful of the man's filthy mouth by now.”

“He probably would have, Jakob, but none of us could know that the marshall was shot by rustlers trying to perform his duty, and that another one would take so long replacing him. I think he would still have argued for patience.”

Jakob turned to Mary Adams who was seated beside Clayt and Oss. Nelda and Kate sat with him.

“You knew him best of all, Mary. Do you think his patience would str“etch this far?”

Mary frowned and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“I believe so,” she said. “Asa always kept promises, and he expected others' promises to be kept.”

Gruen toyed with the wooden peg fastener on his homespun blouse. Turning, he addressed the same question to Clayt.

“Father had patience enough to put this settlement together. He would have had patience enough to do the necessary to keep it together.”

Henry Deyer, standing with his work-hardened hands braced on the edge of the lectern, nodded in agreement.

Jakob did not expect support for precipitous action from the Adams family, but they were the minority. With the vision of his wife dead in his arms, he was no longer a part of the minority urging restraint. He wanted retribution soon—tonight if possible. He didn't care to be reminded still again that if they took the law into their own hands, there would be no end to their troubles and, inevitably, it would mean the end of Red Creek as soon as Oakley and whoever he answered to could execute another attack.

“So, Henry,” Jakob continued, “there's some differences here and we have always settled those by a vote with the majority's wish being respected.”

Henry Deyer straighted and regarded the people he had been instrumental in recruiting to form the settlement. Under his unblinking scrutiny they grew uncomfortable.

“So,
Jakob
,” he said, deliberately, “am I to understand that you all want to bring this situation to a head and vote on it tonight?”

“We do, Henry.”

“And what we'll be voting on is the immediate hanging of Jake Harmer, his being punished by order of a kangaroo court?”

The German silversmith shook his head. “We are not a mob, a kangaroo court, Henry. We don't want to railroad the man. He's guilty by his own mouth.” He turned to Clayt. “The man as much as confessed to Clayt. So did Oakley. And Tanner will bear witness too—before God. No injustice will be done here, Henry....“A murmur of agreement ran through the hall.

“We've had weeks of the man's rotten-hearted language and threats. He tried to kill Clayt and Oss. He would have killed any of us who got in his way if he'd blasted his way free—” He spread his arms in supplication. “Do we need any more cause? We pray to a just God. It is written, 'Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot.'”

Henry Deyer, who conducted the sabbath services, lowered his head. A thin smile softened his stern face. The words had first been written by Hammurabi, two thousand years before Christ.

“It is also written, Jakob, my friend, from the lips of our Savior, that we 'resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also....'” As he spoke the words from the Sermon on the Mount, Henry recalled how long he had struggled to determine their true meaning—that nothing was said of cowardice, that peace could be won only by having the courage to turn from violence and by dedicating a life to the observance of God's Laws.

Here and there in the hall, he could hear some whispered grumbling, dissent over the apparent contradictions in the Scriptures. He understood it well. Wagging a finger at Jakob Gruen, he continued, ”'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth is the law of battle: a sword for a sword, a bullet for a bullet, a life for a life—and never will there be a real victor.” He shook his head sadly. “How well Asa and I—and thousands of our comrades in arms—learned that.”

Jakob raised a fist and shook it. “Is it God's Law that we should turn the other cheek to that mad man locked up over there, that we should turn him over to man's law, probably to be set free?” The words came in a near shout.

Henry Deyer, who so recently and so tragically had become the reluctant patriarch of the settlement, lifted both hands in a staying gesture.

“Some things are beyond my wisdom, Jakob, but I understand as deeply as any of you, the pain in your hearts. What I am asking for is the courage to honor a promise to a man, which I also take to be a law blessed by God.”

Jakob remained silent with his fist still clenched. After a moment, he lowered it and turned questioning eyes to the others.

Clayt rose slowly. “But for the grace of God, I'd be lying in the newest grave across the creek. You know how I'll vote. You know how Henry and Oss will vote, how my family will vote.” He rested a hand on his mother's shoulder. “I have not asked to speak “

“Speak up,” Henry said. “Speak up.”

“I have not asked to speak because I know the outcome of your vote. The outcome will be judgment by our law and I'm bound by it.” He turned to face the others. “I know what Henry can do to get the confession, the kind we need to get Harmer to the law. I also know that, confession or not, there is a chance that he will not be convicted, especially if it comes to word against word, his against ours. If we judge him guilty and execute him ourselves, Oakley will hire another Harmer to do his dirty work and we won't know a peaceful hour for the rest of our lives here. In this country—and it's starting now—power is measured by the size of the herds going to the railroad. That is another law—not written down—but a law just the same.” He turned back to the lectern. “I'm asking this for you, Henry—and for all of us—do you think you can wring a confession on paper out of Jake Harmer?”

“As God is my witness, Clayt, I will! I'll get one, and it will be legally witnessed in Las Vegas. I just need some more time.”

Turning back to the others, Clayt said, “To honor another promise, will you give Henry the time...?”

“And the help,” Henry interjected.

“The time
and
the help,” Clayt repeated, “to get the job done?”

There was a moment of hesitation, then a murmur of agreement started, punctuated by a somewhat reluctant showing of hands.

The meeting ran for another hour as Henry Deyer outlined his plan.

“The reason I know this will work,” he explained, “is because we found that nothing tears a prisoner down faster than holding out hope for his life, then snatching it away. Usually you don't have to do it more than once. This Harmer fellow is tough, but I think I see signs of cracking. I'm not only going to need your help but your patience, too.” Indicating Nelda, he said, “And you're going to have to play the hardest part, one you're not going to like at all, but it's got to be done. There's no way Harmer can get out of that storage shed without help, and you're going to have to pretend to give it to him, Nelda, because some of the women have had enough.”

When he had finished a detailed explanation of how the plan was to work, Kate turned to Nelda and whispered, “Do you think you can do it?” Nelda drew in a deep breath and nodded.

“I'll do it. How good, I don't know. But I'll try.“

“If you don't want to,” Kate said, “if Clayt will let me, I'll do it.”

Nelda hugged her. “You've been through enough, Kate. It's my place and I'll do it.”

Shortly before noon the following day, Buck Tanner reappeared.

“I cain't stay. I gotta make up time. But two things ya oughta know. Them new owners is comin' in fur a meetin' with Oakley: They'll be on tomorra's stage. I'm ridin' in now with a poke full of sweet money to begin hirin' new hands. Oakley's hotter than a stirred up hornet. He wants me to git at least six new hands, tough ones, he says, who knows cows and guns equal—and who likes money better than whiskey.”

Clayt managed a grin. “You may be in town for a while!” Tanner gave Clayt and Henry a knowing smile. “I plan on havin' me quite a time fillin' that order. They ain't many's gonna do.”

He swung into the saddle with the ease of a younger man.

“I got one more thing. Y'oughta git this law business settled real soon. T.K.'s so mad at ya both gittin' kilt that he's even bein' nice to me!” He reined his horse toward the dam and added, “He figgers with you two dead and buried, he's in the clear. He's gittin' set to worry you folks a lot more.”

The men who had gathered around Henry and Clayt watched until Buck Tanner reached the rim and waved. Then they went back to the meeting house to complete the plans that would begin late in the afternoon.

An hour before sundown angry voices, men's and women's, brought Harmer off the bunk to peer from the little window. A group of settlers, apparently wrangling among themselves, were getting things off their chests a few yards away.

Oss was carrying a hangman's noose at the end of a coil of heavy halter rope. When Nelda tried to restrain him, he pulled away. “I don't care about waiting for the law.” He pointed to the strong house. “That mad dog in there tried to drive a spike club into our heads and shoot his way out.” Pointing toward the trail, he continued in an agitated voice, “There's no marshall in Vegas, and God only knows when there will be one. We're not waiting. If you don't want to watch a killer die, then go back to your houses.”