The Outlaw Takes a Bride (23 page)

The next Sunday, Johnny and Sally again made the drive into Beaumont for church. The cattle were moved and had settled down; Sally seemed to be happy tending to her housework and cooking. Johnny was content.

After the service, they walked over to the parsonage for dinner with the Lewises. Johnny hoped no touchy topics came up in the table talk. He was a bit surprised when Sheriff Jackson joined them for the meal. The sheriff took off his gun belt and hung it near the door with his hat before sitting down with them.

“Didn’t realize you were a regular parishioner, Sheriff,” Johnny said after the minister asked the blessing.

“Try to be,” the lawman replied. “I don’t always make it.”

“You’ve been busy lately.” Pastor Lewis passed the platter of fried chicken. “Have you learned any more about that outlaw gang?”

Jackson frowned as he picked out a plump chicken leg and speared it with his fork. “Nothing this week. They made some trouble in Victoria a while back.”

“The same gang?” the pastor asked.

“Pretty sure. The leader’s a big man they call Flynn. He fits the description Frank Simon gave me of the man who shot him.”

“We visited with the Simons yesterday,” Mrs. Lewis put in. “Frank’s starting to feel a little more pert.”

The pastor scooped some green beans onto his plate. “I’m afraid it will be a long time before he’s fully recovered, if ever.”

“I’d sure like to run those fellas in.” The sheriff accepted the bowl of green beans and took a helping.

“Nobody feels safe with them on the loose,” Mrs. Lewis said.

“Mark mentioned outlaws to me, but I didn’t realize the trouble was so bad,” Sally said.

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Lewis shivered. “You want to lock your doors if your man’s not at home with you.”

The minister smiled at Sally. “I’m sure you’re safe at your ranch, Mrs. Paynter, but a bit of caution is never misplaced.” He turned the talk deftly to his sermon of the morning, and Johnny was glad. Whenever the topic of the outlaw gang surfaced, he thought of Mark, murdered in his own home.

Mrs. Lewis brought up the subject of the upcoming church picnic, and Sally happily agreed to help organize the event. A few minutes later without revealing too much of his own ignorance, Johnny was able to glean some information from the sheriff about the way the local ranchers shipped their beef to Fort Worth and how they cooperated in spring and fall roundups.

Jackson didn’t linger when the meal was finished. He excused himself and put on his hat and gun belt. “Unfortunately, the saloons don’t close on Sunday, and I have to make my rounds.” He smiled at Mrs. Lewis. “Thank you kindly for the dinner, ma’am. That was mighty good chicken.”

Myra Lewis beamed at him. “You’re very welcome. Come by anytime, Fred.”

Jackson nodded to the pastor, Johnny, and Sally. “Nice talking to you folks. I imagine I’ll see y’all soon.”

Johnny breathed a little easier when he was out the door.

On the way home, Sally caught him totally off guard with one of her innocent remarks.

“That’s a nice graveyard beside the church. They keep it looking pretty. Sometime I’d like to go in there and read some of the tombstones.”

“Why?” Johnny asked.

She laughed and gave a little shrug. “Just curious. This is my town now. I’d like to know about the people who started it and the families who have put their roots down here.”

Her words only reminded Johnny of the lonely grave on the knoll behind the barn. Would Mark be forgotten? That seemed silly, since he was living as Mark. More likely Johnny would be forgotten. Either way, it didn’t sit right with him. Not telling Sally—not letting her grieve Mark—wasn’t right. The way things were now, he couldn’t grieve his brother, either. Someone needed to remember Mark—the real Mark.

When they reached home, he helped Sally down.

“It’s so hot,” she remarked, brushing a strand of golden hair off her damp forehead. “I hope it’s cooler inside.”

“Why don’t you take a nap?” Johnny asked. “We had a big dinner, and there must be something left from last night. You don’t need to cook supper and heat up the cabin.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Sally said. “But Cam—”

“Cam will survive. He went for days on end eating nothing but canned beans and jerky on his way here. He’s used to living spare.”

“Oh my.”

Be careful
, Johnny told himself. He’d almost said, “Cam and I went for days on end.…” Was it the guilt that made him so careless? He supposed it was a combination of that and the heat and his fatigue, along with a pinch of strain from trying all afternoon not to blurt out the wrong thing at the Lewises’ house or on the way home.

He glanced at the corral. Cam’s paint horse was gone. He hoped his friend was out riding the range, not in town at one of the saloons.

“I’ll be out in the barn if you need me,” he said.

Sally nodded and headed for the cabin.

He’d meant to be gentler, more courteous. Sally gave him nothing but kindness. Why couldn’t he do the same?

He went into the barn and poked around in the pile of wood scraps left from the recent building efforts. He found two pieces of pine left from the bedstead that might be shaped into a cross. He could fit them together and carve the crosspiece. It wouldn’t be as nice as an engraved stone, but at least there would be something to mark his brother’s passing.

He found that he could hold the knife without too much pain. He was pretty good at carving, at least he was before he’d broken his arm. It was healing, and he ought to be able to do some close work without damaging the bones.

Bracing the flat board with his left hand, he carved very slowly, wanting to make something beautiful. His right arm began to ache, but he kept at it, one small cut at a time.

An hour later, Cam rode in. When he brought his saddle into the barn, he saw Johnny and pulled up short.

“Whatcha makin’?”

Johnny kept on shaving the extra wood from the vine he was carving. “A cross.”

Cam stepped closer and stood for a moment watching him. “You can’t do that, you know.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Put it on Mark’s grave.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a foolish question.”

Johnny’s jaw clenched. “I’m not going to put his name on it.”

“Even so, when she sees it, she’ll ask questions. Are you ready to deal with that?”

He was right. It would mean more lies.

“Don’t do it.” Cam’s voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Johnny stopped working and closed his eyes. “I’ve already decided. I’m going to do this.”

“You can’t.”

“Yes, I can.” Johnny met his stare then. “We’ve already dishonored him enough. I
will
mark his grave.”

Cam scowled. “Come on, chum. Take your lumps. Act like a man.”

“It’s too late. A real man would have told the truth and faced the consequences.”

Cam pulled in a slow, deep breath. His chest puffed out, and his shoulders squared. “Are you ready to go back to Colorado and turn yourself in, then?”

Johnny sat still, the knife in his hand. What would happen if he did that now? “I’m innocent.” At once the guilt swamped him. “Of that crime, at least,” he added quickly.

“So, you’d just volunteer to be hanged for something you didn’t do.” Cam shook his head. “Fine. Go ahead and put it up. Just don’t look at me when Sally starts nagging you with questions.”

Cam plunked his saddle on its rack and marched out of the barn.

Johnny sat for a long time, looking down at the cross and the half of an ivy vine he’d carved. He wanted to pray and ask God what to do, but he couldn’t. His hands began to shake, and the knife fell into the hay on the floor.

He lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

A
week later, Johnny rode in at noon, tired to the bone. He’d cast aside the sling completely, and his arm ached. He wasn’t sleeping enough, but he couldn’t help it. At night, he lay awake, staring up at the ceiling while Sally slept. Sometimes he thought she was awake, too, but they never broke the silence at night.

He and Cam hadn’t spent a lot of time together this week. They each managed to find chores that took them to different parts of the ranch, which suited Johnny just fine. He’d spent a lot of time riding Mark’s fences and studying the deed to figure out exactly where the boundaries lay. Cam had fixed the gate between the pastures. Today he’d taken the wagon into the hills to try to find some firewood.

When he turned Reckless out in the corral, Johnny noted a strange red roan there, still saddled, but no sign of Cam’s paint or the wagon. A rifle stuck up from a scabbard on the off side of the saddle. The back of Johnny’s neck prickled, and he drew his revolver as he looked toward the house.

At that moment, the door opened, and Sally waved to him.

“Glad you’re back. The sheriff’s here.”

The relief left Johnny a little wobbly. He holstered his gun and walked toward the house. He wanted to ask Sally what Jackson wanted, but she’d already ducked back inside, leaving the door open.

He took his hat off and used it to beat his clothes a little, getting out some of the dust. When he climbed the steps, he could see Jackson inside, sitting at the table with the one china cup in front of him. He really needed to get Sally to pick out some dishes.

“Howdy, Sheriff.” He stepped inside and hung his hat on its peg near the door. “Been waitin’ long?”

“No, just a few minutes,” Jackson said. “Mrs. Paynter told me you were likely to be in soon for your dinner.”

“I’ve invited the sheriff to join us,” Sally said, and Johnny noted she had set the table for three. Cam had said that morning he wouldn’t be back until dark. She moved to the stove and shuffled a couple of pots around.

By the time Johnny sat down, she had a cup of water ready for him. He took a swallow. It was cooler than the inside of the cabin, so she must have drawn it from the well recently.

“What can I do for you?” he asked Jackson.

“Well, I got some circulars in. They come once a month or so, from the U.S. Marshal’s office.”

Johnny nodded and sipped his water.

“There’s one that I thought you might know something about. It came out of Colorado.”

Johnny thumped his cup down on the table, louder than he’d intended. “Colorado?”

Jackson nodded. “You been up there lately?”

Johnny shook his head. This was it. His chest felt like a bear was squeezing it.

The sheriff took a folded paper from beside his plate and handed it across the table to Johnny. “Is this man a relative of yours?”

Johnny stared down at the paper, unable to focus for a moment. Sally came and stood behind his chair, looking over his shoulder. He made himself read the words.
Wanted for murder in the state of Colorado—John Paynter, age 28, brown hair, brown eyes, medium height. Reward $500
. At least there wasn’t a picture.

Sally sucked in a breath and clapped her hand down on his shoulder. “Oh, Mark!”

Johnny looked up at the sheriff, his heart racing. “That’s my brother’s name.”

Jackson nodded. “I thought maybe. I’m sorry.”

Johnny laid the flyer down. “He didn’t murder that man, no matter what they say at the ranch.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “What man is that, Mark?”

Johnny made himself breathe slowly, but he couldn’t meet Jackson’s gaze.

After a moment, the sheriff leaned toward him a little. “Look, Mark, I realize this is unpleasant, but your brother has a price on his head. Have you seen him since this murder took place?”

“No.”

“Got a letter, maybe?”

Johnny shook his head. He had to be careful, but his thoughts swirled in his mind, crashing into each other. Sally’s hand on his shoulder tightened. He made himself look Jackson square in the eyes.

“I haven’t seen or spoken to my brother in more than two years, and the last letter I got was—” The image of Cam burning his letter to Mark flickered at the edge of his mind. “It must have been more than a year ago.”

“Then how do you know he’s innocent?”

Johnny picked up his cup and drained it. He swallowed, still trying to frame an answer. “I just know.”

Jackson cocked his head to one side. “Because he’s your brother?”

“I know him. He didn’t do it.”

“What did he say in his letter last year?”

“Told me he was working on an outfit in Colorado. The Lone Pine, I think it was called.”

“Did he mention the foreman?”

“No. He said he liked it fine. A lot of trees, he said, more than he was used to.”

“Why did you say he didn’t kill that man? The poster doesn’t say it was a man that was murdered.”

“I don’t know. I just… My brother’s a good man. If someone has accused him, they’ve got it wrong.”

“All right. Look, Mark, I’m sorry I upset you with this news. If you hear from your brother, it would be in your best interest to tell me.”

Johnny nodded slowly.

“And if you think of anything else, or if you ever want to tell me anything, just come to my office.” Jackson stood.

“Oh, Sheriff, aren’t you going to eat with us?” Sally asked.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am, but I think I’d better get back to town and give you folks some time to talk things over.”