The Gallows' Bounty (West of Second Chances) (16 page)

Willow began to recoil the rope when the cow decided to charge Boden.  She called a warning and rode between the mother and her calf-carrying husband. She kept Kitty facing the enraged mother.  The heifer darted first one way, then the other, but Kitty moved with her, cutting off her attack routes.

The mother soon became frustrated and opted for a more direct approach.  She charged, ramming her head into Kitty’s breast.  Willow held on and patted the mare on the neck when she held her ground.  It always amazed
Willow that a graceful horse could withstand being charged by a brutish cow.

The heifer gave up her assault, and Willow took the opportunity to finish recoiling the rope.  As she lowered her gaze to straighten the last of the rope, thundering hooves caught her attention.

Mother cow had regained her determination.  She raced by before Willow could offer any challenge.  The enraged animal headed straight to where Boden worked with her calf.

“Damn!”
Willow muttered as she kicked Kitty’s sides.  She guided the mare with one hand as she formed a loop with the other.  She twirled it over her head as Kitty dogged the cow.  The mare dogged the cow's heels, fainting when the cow fainted, speeding up when the cow sped up.  Willow would have to throw the loop soon, for there was no time to cut the cow off without risking a collision.

She focused on a point just in front of the cow’s head and let the loop go.  It whistled as it snaked out over the animal’s head and made a satisfying slapping sound.

She dallied the rope, set her feet deep in the stirrups, and pulled back on the reins.  Horse, rider, and cow came to a dancing, dusty stop. The cow was none too happy to be hindered a few feet from her goal.  She danced and kicked up her heels.

Willow
kept Kitty turning with the cow so all three didn’t end up a tangled mess.  She’d seen that happen and had no desire to try it out.

Boden took what seemed like forever to get the calf standing again.  In reality, it only took him a few moments, but her arm burned from the strain of gripping the rope in one hand and the reins in the other.

She waited until her husband mounted up before removing the slackened rope from the saddle horn and riding forward.  She kept pace with the cow as it ran up to her calf and sniffed it.

When the cow came to a halt,
Willow snapped the rope through the air, loosening it.  The mother was so distracted that it paid little attention to Willow.  The rope finally slackened enough to allow Willow to whip it off of the cow’s neck.

Once the rope was loose, she turned Kitty toward Beast and Boden. He had pushed his hat back, crossed his arms over the saddle horn, and leaned on them.  He was grinning.

She smiled and handed him his recoiled rope.  “What?”

“You.”  He took the rope from her hands as he spoke, their fingers brushing.  “You’re nearly as good a rider and roper as I am.  And you are better than most of my ranch hands.”

Willow looked away, unaccustomed to the praise.  “Thanks.”

They rode home then, Willow feeling worth more to anyone than she had in a while.

ON THE RIDE HOME
, Boden found it difficult to hold his questions back.  He wanted to know this woman more.  Although he wanted her to open up to him of her own accord, he couldn’t help asking, “Where’d you learn to rope like that?”

“My pa taught me,”
Willow answered simply.

“My pa taught me a lot of what I know, too,” Boden reflected.  And it was the truth, as much as he hated to admit it.  His father hadn’t been around much.  He’d been on the trail a lot, peaceful times for Ezra and his mother.   When Carter had been home, he’d either been drunk or dragging Ezra around and showing him how to be a man.  “I reckon your father was much better than mine, however.”

“Why do you say that?”

“My pa also showed me how not to act.  He did a lot of bad things.  I figured if I acted the opposite of him, I’d turn out all right.”

“I see,” Willow commented.  “My ma said I picked up too many bad habits from my pa.”

“Like what?”

“He spit, so I spit.”

Boden laughed.

Willow continued, “She’d holler at pa, saying how she’d never make a lady of me if he kept trying to turn me into a boy.”

“Didn’t you have any brothers?”

“No, I was their only child.  Pa insisted ma share me.” Willow smiled at the recollection.  “He taught me how to shoot, rope, and ride.  Ma taught me how to cook, clean, and sew.”

“You preferred being outside with your father, didn’t you?” Boden prompted, seeing his wife struggling to please both her parents.

“I did,” Willow said on a smirk.  “My ma wouldn’t have appreciated the knowledge, so I kept it to myself.”

Boden laughed then, marveling at her interesting childhood.  It sounded peaceful and loving, so unlike his own.  He’d learned at his father’s side because he’d been forced and because he’d hoped to one day get good enough to beat the man at something, show he could protect himself.

He wondered what it would be like to be assured of a father’s love.  He promised himself that he’d show his children unconditional love.  He’d take time out for his daughters as well as his sons.

Children?

Would Willow want to have his children?

He hoped so. More and more he wanted a real marriage with this woman, and he wanted a family.

Boden just hoped he would be a good husband and father.  He sent a silent prayer heavenward.  He’d take all the help he could get.

T
HE SMOKE IN THE
Devil’s Lair Saloon thickened as the moon climbed higher in the night sky.  Upstanding citizens, of whom there were few in Devils Lake, avoided trespassing into town after sunset.

Sheriff French sat belly up to the bar, a rapidly warming beer in his hand and his hat pushed back on his brow.  He paid no attention to the reflection in the mirror behind the bar nor did he turn when new customers entered the saloon.  He had nothing to fear from the seedy citizens–he led them, was one of them.

No, French did not live in fear of being gunned down in the streets or in a shadowed alley.  He was more likely to be doing the lurking and gunning.  So, tonight when a new voice entered the hum and inquired who the sheriff was, no one thought twice about pointing French out to the stranger.

“You Sheriff French?”  a smooth, unfamiliar voice asked from behind him.

Not even bothering to turn around, French looked up and met the stranger’s eyes in the mirror behind the bar.

“That’s me,” he answered, swallowing back a gulp of the cool liquid after speaking.

The man claimed a seat next to him and ordered a shot of whiskey.

“Well, what do you want?” French asked, never having been a patient man.

The stranger looked his way then, none too pleased to be dragged away from his libation.  He didn’t answer French, only returned to his drink.

The sheriff also hated to be ignored.  He tried again.  “What’s your name again?”

“Didn’t give it,” the man answered.  “But it’s Henry James.”

French returned to his drink, deciding the man wasn’t even worth his impatience.  He might have the boys take care of him later.

“I’m lookin’ for a woman by the name of Willow.”

The sheriff’s interest was engaged.  It seemed the Boss had decided to hire reinforcements.

“What’s she to you?” he asked, knowing the answer already.  French tried to keep up a show of indifference.

The other man, James, took a large swig before expounding.  “She’s nothing to me, but the Boss wants to find her.”

French wanted to know why the Boss wanted Willow Boden so badly.  It irked him that he hadn’t been confided in, and he figured a man like the Boss shouldn’t have anything to fear from a weak woman, French’s own experiences with her aside.  “So, he's given you the job?”

“You botched the job.”

“He didn't state he wanted her dead, exactly.” French ducked back into his drink.  “If either of you want more information out of me, you'd better produce some greenbacks.”

“What, they don’t pay you enough to keep order in this town?”  James cast a glance about the bar, his face mocking the order.

“Not nearly.”

“Here then,” James said, handing French a folded bill.

The sheriff’s tongue responded to the greasing.  “Her husband’s ranch is up north.”

“I thought her husband was a gambler of sorts?” the man ventured.

“He was,” French said.  He turned the glass of whiskey in his hands, weighing his words.  “She shot that one.”

“You let women get away with that around here?” James questioned, surprise lighting his face.

“Nope,” French said.  “Married her off to another man.  Women are few and far between around these parts. Didn't the Boss fill you in?”

“No, just got a telegram instructing me to kill her and instructions to contact you for details.”

“Suppose he wanted to rub it in that he's replacing me.” 

“You got it,” James stated then continued, waving another bill in front of his face. “Remember her new husband’s name?”

French snatched the greenback up.  “Sure can’t.”  Hell if he was going to warn this man about Butcher Boden being Willow’s new husband.

The man made a move to retrieve his bill, but French kept it just out of reach. It’d serve James right to get his head blown off.  Confident bastard.  “I answered your question.”

“Thanks for the information,” James said sarcastically as he rose from his barstool.

“No problem,” French responded just as sincerely.

“I’ll be seein’ you around.”  James tipped his hat.  “I’ll be expectin’ help from you from time to time.  Boss says he’s paid you plenty for it.”

“Not nearly enough.”

The man ignored him again and left.  French wished he hadn’t drank so much.  It made it hard to think.  But he knew one thing, keeping Boden’s name to himself had been the thing to do. If the Boss hadn't seen fit to tell that confident bastard who Willow had married, neither would he.

Henry James was looking for trouble, and French was more than willing to let it arrive at Boden’s door.  Heck, if he’d told the stranger who
Willow had married, he’d stop searching for her.  He’d let the man try his luck with Boden, but French knew he’d be the one to kill the bounty hunter, seeing as he was sure to be a much better shot than that James character.  Anyway, he had that lucky feeling.  No, he wasn’t at all worried James would get to Boden or Willow first.  James would just be there to wear Boden down.

Then French would step in, because when he killed Boden, he’d have the man’s reputation.  And he was kind of missing
Willow in his bed.  He’d enjoy her before he killed her. What was the Boss so interested in her for anyway?  The woman had nothing, was nothing.

The buzz in his head grew stronger, leaving French confused and sitting in a thicker haze of smoke.

THE GROUP OF RIDERS
tried to keep quiet, but they weren’t exactly a docile bunch.  They were used to shooting first and guffawing later.  The strict command of their leader was all that kept their horseplay at bay.  The man known to them as James had instilled in them a great fear.  No one doubted any one of them would be shot down if they drew attention to their activities.

“Peters, Hartnett, Sims! Get your hides over here,” James instructed.

The three men hastened to do as James asked.  Each gave their mounts savage kicks, galloping over to the gunslinger.  The sheriff’s buddy, Jenkins, already stood at James’ side, looking mighty cozy with the man.  He was on loan to James from Sheriff French, who’d been too busy with town problems to ride out with the others.  The others figured the sheriff was just too chicken to face a real man in a gunfight.  No one would admit that James had paid them handsomely to show their faces here today. None had been eager to take on a man like the Butcher.

Except for James and Jenkins, the three other men were not known for their prowess with a gun.  No, the three spares, as James called them, rode with the group for their sheer willingness to take a shot at killing Butcher Boden and his woman.  Lyle Peters and Harry Hartnett were drinking pals.  If one was drunk, the other was too.  Neither had ever amounted to much, and it was unlikely that either ever would.  Sims, now no one knew what his first name was, not even Lacy, his regular girl at Loretta’s, but everyone considered him evil to the core. Funny thing was no one knew why they did.  In recent memory, the man hadn’t gotten in any notable brawls or gunfights.  He’d earned the reputation for being one mean son of a bitch on looks alone.

“What you want us to do, James?” Peters asked once his horse came alongside James.  He tended to talk when he was nervous, and now was no exception.

James tipped his hat back and looked up at Peters.  The look he sent Peters told the other man he didn’t expect him to live out the day.  If Peters had sobered up before leaving Devils Lake, he probably would have broken into tears by now.  “Ride out and find Boden and his woman.  Me ‘n Jenkins scouted them leaving the ranch at daybreak, heading north.”

“The pair couldn’t have made it any easier for us to take them out.” Jenkins smiled and rocked on his heels, his thumbs strung through his belt loops. James gave the bartender a look that said for him to shut up.

The men supposed James and Jenkins weren’t on such friendly terms after all.

“I want you boys to fan out, check for Butcher’s location, and signal us when you spot him,” James swung up into his saddle, and Jenkins quickly followed suit.

“How you want us to signal you?” Peters asked.

“Fire your gun into the air,” James snapped.

“You mind if’n Harry and I ride together?” Peters asked when it was apparent James felt the conversation was over.

All observing gazes swung to James.  He looked ready to kill, but seeing as he was short on gunslingers, he was in a bind.  “Fine, just find the pair and fire your gun in the air when you find them.  Whatever you do, don’t let them get away.”

Harry spit out a long stream of tobacco and spoke, “I reckon a dumb ol' pair like us can manage.”

“Harry,” Peters hissed.  “Don’t go and piss him off.”

“I’ll do more than piss him off, Lyle, if he don’t stop talkin’ to you like you was stupid.”

James turned his horse with a harsh hand.  “Just get out there and find them before I put a hole in one of you.”

Harry spit once more before heading out.  A frightened Lyle Peters followed close behind his friend.

James watched the idiotic pair take off.  He’d have the last laugh.

“Don’t worry yourself, Peters.  Everything will be all right,” James muttered under his breath.  “We’ll kill Boden and his bride and their bodies will stink before they’re found.”

James kicked his horse savagely, drawing blood with his spurs.

The group spanned out over the pasture.  Most envisioned dying at the end of the Butcher’s rifle.  Hell, everyone knew the man was unforgiving and as heartless as a rattler.  He’d killed more men than the whole group’s kills added together.  That’s what they said anyway.

James wasn’t afraid; no, he was eager.  He feared no woman and few men.  Boden was not one he feared.  The man fought criminals when he could be the richest gunslinger of them all; he had morals and that made the Butcher weak.  He cared about others, and James would kill his own mother if it suited him.

AS LUCK WOULD HAVE
it, James ran across Boden first.  The man was alone, and James wondered where Willow had gotten off to. It didn’t really matter where Willow was.  He’d take Boden out, and then worry about the woman.  He’d never seen a woman who could take care of herself without her man.  Besides, this way he and the men could have a little fun with her before killing her.

He fired his gun in the air.

He hoped they hadn’t ridden that far away.  He’d take his help as quickly as he could get it.

Gunfire sounded from Boden’s location, and James set about keeping the man busy while he waited for his backup to arrive.  One by one his men rode in, hunkering down and taking aim.

His backup at his side, James’ confidence grew.  He steadied his rifle and shot.  The report of the gun sounded beautiful to his ears.  He tensed in anticipation of the bullet finding its mark, the blood spattering.

He’d be famous for killing Butcher Boden.

It hadn’t been so hard to kill the man after all.

BODEN BENT TO PICK
up his rope, having just removed it from around a sickly calf’s neck. The sound of metal striking wood and the splinters that sprayed his cheek propelled Boden to the ground.  The sound of the rifle shot reached his ears a hairsbreadth later.

Hell, he’d let his guard down and now he was in the middle of his pasture, belly down on the damp ground.  His gut clenched.  Willow had ridden off a few minutes earlier in search of a heifer they’d spotted.  The heifer had been in labor, and Willow had wanted to make sure the animal wasn’t experiencing complications.

Did the gunmen already have her?  He hoped not.  Would they use her to get to him?  If they had her, they sure as hell would.  What would happen to her if he got himself shot down?  She’d be killed or worse.

Well, one thing was for sure he wasn’t going to do her any good staying out in the open like this mulling over possibilities.  He crawled to the fallen log he’d passed a few yards back.  Bullets struck the ground around him, sending dirt flying.

Whoever fired at him was not a good shot, actually he was downright awful.  Thank God.

He made it to the safety of the fallen trunk and hunkered down.  He was surrounded to his back and on two sides by a bend in the creek, and to his front were trees with gunmen lurking behind them.  They had him hemmed in and he had only a pistol to use in his defense.  His rifle uselessly rested in its scabbard on Beast’s saddle.

He couldn’t try to escape on foot without these men shooting him down. Boden doubted his luck would hold out that long, even bad shots hit the target once in a while.  Besides, Beast had been startled by the gunfire and stood about fifty feet away.

The shots tapered off, and Boden decided it was time to return fire, pistol or no pistol.  There were several gunmen, and he’d have to shoot his way out of this mess.  He’d faced worse odds before and come out none the worse for wear.

His next shot hit the gunman closest to him and he muttered, “One down, several to go.”

SIMS WAS SCREAMING LIKE
a baby.