Sean Donovan (The Californians, Book 3) (6 page)

"It's what he deserves I tell you! This waiting is utter
foolishness."

"Yet we will wait for Judge Harrison, and I'm telling
you, you'll have to go past me to get to the prisoner."

"Be reasonable, Duncan. Why wait two whole days
and have the trouble of feeding and watching him?"

There was no reply to that question, and Sean realized
that every muscle in his body was as taut as a well-strung
bow. He waited in the dark silence, and after a few more
minutes he thought he heard people leaving.

He must have been right because his jailer returned to
the cell holding a lamp and a shotgun. He was with
another man, and this man let himself into the cell to remove Sean's bonds. Sean was more than a little aware
of the way the barrel of the shotgun never wavered from
his chest. If he could have spoken, he would have told
the men he couldn't run. His legs would never hold him.

They didn't speak to Sean or to each other, but before
the men left the cell they stared at Sean for a few intense
seconds. His fear returned fullscale at having these two
men staring at him. Knowing he was completely at their
mercy was even more frightening than when the safe
blew.

If the light had been better, Sean might have noticed
that the older man's look was regretful, not cruel.

"He's nothing but a kid." The deep voice was soft,
contemplative.

"How could you tell under all that hair?"

"His eyes. Clear as glass and angry, but scared out of
his wits."

The deputy only nodded, sure that Sheriff Lucas Duncan, "Duncan" to all, was right. He usually was.

"Want me to stay the night?"

"No. I'm restless as it is, but stop and let Lora know
that I'm all right and ask her to bring breakfast for two."

"Right. I'm off."

An hour passed before Duncan moved again. He'd
been deep in thought and knew that his hunch had been
right: There would be little if any sleep for him tonight.
Had he gone home, he'd have tossed and turned for
hours, disturbing Lora.

Duncan pushed away from his desk then, the chair
creaking in protest. He had planned to question the boy
at daybreak, but if he was as restless as the sheriff, now
was as good a time as any.

Duncan was surprised to find his prisoner asleep. He
was stretched out on his back, one arm thrown over his
eyes. Duncan let his eyes run the length of him. He was
big. He covered the cot and then some. It was easy to see
why Hartley picked him; his size alone could be intimidating.

But Duncan wasn't fooled. He guessed him to be
somewhere around 20 and as wet behind the ears as they
came. And at 54, Duncan had seen more than a few
prisoners come and go.

He walked back to his desk, sat down, and propped
his feet on the flat surface. After laying his gun across his
stomach, he tipped his hat forward and his chair back.
He caught about an hour's sleep before his wife came in
with breakfast and a smile.

Lora Duncan set her tray on the desk and went immediately to kiss her husband. His arms came around her
plump figure as Lora looked anxiously into his eyes. He
was exhausted.

"Hartley?"

"He was behind it, but he's not in the cell."

Lora nodded and moved to unload her husband's
breakfast. She left the prisoner's food on the tray and
followed Duncan to the cell. She hung back slightly until
he signaled her forward, and then entered the cell and
put the tray on the floor. She didn't linger within, but
once outside took a moment to look at the man sitting
silently on the cot. He was watching her, and Lora was
immediately struck by his youth.

"I'll be coming back to talk to you as soon as I eat."

Lora barely heard her husband's words to the man
before she was gently ushered back to the desk.

"He's young and trying to hide it behind his anger,"
she whispered with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, he is young, and I think I'd better warn you, they
plan to make an example out of him."

Duncan's voice was equally soft, and he watched with
pain as a shudder ran over his wife's frame. He hated to see her upset, but it was better that she know now than
on the day the kid swung from a rope.

Lora had brought along a pot of coffee and joined
Duncan as he ate. They talked of nothing in particular,
and as soon as Duncan was finished he urged her to go
home.

"What if he didn't like the food? I could always fix him
something else."

Duncan looked at her with tender eyes, but the set of
his mouth told her that no one was going to baby this
prisoner. Lora realized he needed to be as stern with
himself as he was with her. She left without an argument.

Sean told himself that he wouldn't be able to eat a
thing, but one taste of the eggs and bacon on the plate,
and the food disappeared like magic. He was sitting back
on the cot, the tray still beside him, when Duncan came
back.

He unlocked the cell door and signaled Sean out with
his gun. Once by the desk Duncan handcuffed one of
Sean's wrists and closed the other cuff around a ring on
the wall.

"Have a seat." The older man directed him to the chair
that sat beneath the ring. It wasn't the most comfortable
position, but Sean took little notice.

He watched the sheriff take a seat behind the desk and
draw some papers out of a drawer.

"What's your name?"

It was the first of many questions, including everything Sean knew about the robbery and those involved.
It occurred to Sean that this man might be his ticket out
of here, so he didn't lie or try to protect his accomplices. He was quiet and somewhat respectful, but his anger at
Hartley made him feel like a kettle on the verge of a
boilover.

After an hour's worth of questioning about Hartley,
the cabin, and the robbery, Duncan asked where Sean
was from.

"Santa Rosa."

"North of San Francisco, right?"

"Yes, sir."

The men stared at each other for the space of a few
heartbeats.

"Where are your folks, son?"

Not even his anger could hide the pain in the younger
man's eyes as he answered. "My mother is dead and last I
knew, my father," Sean's jaw tightened on the word,
"was in Hawaii."

Duncan didn't reply to this right away. Sean was
unaware of how swiftly the other man's mind was moving. Angry or not, this kid knows he's done wrong, regrets it,
and knows he's going to have to be punished. The thought
startled Duncan.

"How'd you meet Hartley?"

"We met in Tulare. He sort of appeared out of nowhere
and offered me a job. I was tired and broke and he
bought me supper. Then we just sort of struck out together. How did you know it was Hartley?"

"His style never varies. Middle of the night, dynamite, young men as accomplices."

"He's robbed this bank before?" Sean was shocked.

"Three times," the sheriff replied dryly.

What a fool he'd been to think that Hartley had been
honest with him about anything. He'd certainly left him
fast enough when the bullets started to fly.

"This is a reasonable time to warn you that you probably don't have a chance."

"What do you mean?"

"Only that the owner of the bank is tired of the robberies and believes that if they make an example of you,
Hartley will never be back. You see, he waits long enough
between robberies to make everyone relax. Just about the
time Witt pulls his night guards off duty, or has just one,
Hartley hits again."

Sean assumed that Witt was the banker. He also figured
out that he had been the man who had not wanted to wait
last night. Wait for what? Sean had asked himself. Now he
knew they had been speaking of his hanging. Suddenly
Sean wished he hadn't eaten any breakfast.

Duncan had been correct in assuming that Sean had
resigned himself to spending some time in jail, but Sean
had never considered being hanged. His calmness
abruptly disappeared, and the faces of his sisters sprang
into his mind. What would Kate and Marcail say? Would
they ever even know?

Sean stood, his panicked heart hammering the walls
of his chest before he looked down at his cuffed wrist.
Duncan's heart turned over at the look of terror that
passed over his prisoner's eyes. He then watched in
fascination as the young man visibly worked at calming
himself. Sean sat back down and swallowed with difficulty, but when he spoke, his voice was even.

"I have a sister in Santa Rosa. If I give you her address
will you contact her after-"

"Let's not rush things," Duncan told him softly. "I just
wanted to warn you. If and when I need to contact your
family, I'll get the address then."

Sean nodded and realized he had an awful headache.
Duncan returned him to the cell, removed the breakfast
tray, and left him alone.

A dog barked outside the window, and an old woman
was screeching at some kids in the street. Sean heard none of it. He fell asleep trying to pray-something he
hadn't done for well over two years.

When Sean woke it was midmorning. He immediately
remembered Duncan's words and thought of his own
hanging. He realized that his head felt better, and his
anger was gone, but his heart still thundered within him
like that of a trapped bird. Trapped. A very fitting word
for a man in a cell, and even though he wanted to blame
Hartley, he couldn't. It was time to face the fact that he
had no one to blame but himself.

Suddenly Hartley's words from the cabin as they bent
over the plan of the bank came rushing back to Sean.
"Nothing to it, Sean, you'll see." Sean's throat emitted a
hoarse, humorless laugh.

"You've been a fool, Sean Donovan," he whispered.
'And you're going to pay for that foolishness with your
life."

Sean rolled over to his stomach on the narrow cot and
let the tears flow. At the same time he wept, Sean once
again began to pray. He surrendered his heart to God,
with all its anger and bitterness, for the first time since
his mother died.