Valley of the Gun (9781101607480) (19 page)

Chapter 19

As Mattie, Frank Bannis and Morton Kerr drew nearer to the new Orwick compound in the long shadows of evening, a band of armed churchmen rode forward out of the rocks on either side of the valley trail and formed a circle surrounding them. At the center of the riders, Uncle Henry sat atop his horse with a rifle perched on his thigh, his peg leg sticking out to the side.

“Uh-oh,” Morton Kerr said under his breath, “Uncle Henry's got his peg out.” He glanced sidelong at Mattie.

Mattie sat in silence, staring, listening.
Learning as I go,
she told herself.

Kerr caught the blank expression on her face.

Looking all around at the circling riflemen men, Frank Bannis shook his head and gave a sarcastic chuff under his breath.

“Uncle Henry,” he called out, “has anybody ever explained the drawbacks of a circular firing squad to these
brethren
?”

“You're real funny, Bannis,” Jumpe said in a flat tone. “I believe what these men lack in experience they'll overcome in enthusiasm, especially if I tell them to shoot the tops of your heads off.”

“I share your belief in that, Uncle Henry,” said Bannis, his own rifle leveled at Henry Jumpe's belly. “At the same time, let me
share
with you that I never look forward to dying alone.” He cocked the rifle and gave a menacing smile.

“Well, then,” said Jumpe, seeming to settle down, “now that we've convinced one another we can both pass water the same distance, I'll inquire what you're doing, bringing one of Dad's wives here.” He looked Mattie up and down.

Offering only a flat stare, Mattie made it a noticeable point to look Jumpe up and down in return.

“I can speak for myself, Uncle Henry,” she said, using the name she'd heard Frank Bannis call him.

“I know you can, Isabelle,” Uncle Henry said stiffly, “but I'll suggest you do so sparingly. You've caused enough trouble, getting poor Brother Phillip beaten senseless—”

“She didn't cause that, Jumpe,” Bannis said, stopping the man short. “I gave him that beating. Guess why.” He stared coldly at Jumpe.

Uncle Henry caught the threat in Bannis' words. He proceeded on, yet now with a more amiable tone.

“I prefer to hear it from you, Isabelle,” he said, “Brother Phillip being your new husband.”

“Brother Phillip turned out to be a jealous man,” Mattie said. “He attacked Mr. Bannis for no reason at all. Mr. Bannis defended himself as any man must do. I stepped in to defend Brother Phillip, which was right for me to do as his wife, yet wrong to do under the circumstances.”

“Oh . . . ?” said Jumpe. “And yet I have never heard any suspicion of Brother Phillip being that sort of man.”

“With all respect, Uncle Henry, who would you hear it from?” Mattie said, playing it just right. “Wives do not reveal such things about their husbands. We are taught not to.” She stared at him knowingly.

Jumpe considered the matter for a moment.

“Well,” he said, “it's something Dad or Elder Barcinder will have to decide on.”

Mattie nodded slightly and said, “Any particulars needed, I'll be glad to express to Dad
in person
when I see him. No one else.”

Jumpe looked away from her and back at Bannis and Morton Kerr.

“I suppose you'll report what you saw on your pard's behalf?” he said to Kerr.

“Only as much as it's the truth,” Kerr said defensively, even though he was lying.

“The truth?” Jumpe looked skeptical.

“Damn right,
the truth
,” said Kerr. “I might not be one of the
saints.”
He swept a narrowed look of contempt across the armed churchmen. “But I'm not a damned liar either.”

“Disappointing, ain't it, Uncle Henry,” said Bannis, “if you were counting on getting bathed and dressed up to come to my hanging.”

Looking off along the trail behind them, Jumpe spotted a single rider racing toward them, leading a tall rise of dust in his wake.

“I'm not looking forward to seeing you hang, Bannis,” said Jumpe. “On the contrary, I was a little bit happy to see you riding in.”

“Yeah . . . ?” Bannis just stared at him, curious.

“Most of your pards have drawn their shares and cut out of here—the ones that haven't vanished or gotten themselves killed, that is.”

“If they had money coming and didn't show up for it, they're
dead,
” Bannis said with resolve.

He looked off with Jumpe and the others at the coming rider.

“Damn! Wonder what's he feeding that horse to make it run so fast.” Kerr chuckled. “I'm lucky I can get a horse to walk a straight line.”

“The thing is,” said Jumpe, looking back at Bannis, “I could use you and Morton. I've got some lawman to hunt down—”

“Uncle Henry,” said one of the churchmen, cutting him off. “This looks important.” He gestured toward the speeding rider.

“Brother Stubbens,” Uncle Henry said with sarcasm, “feel free to cut right in anytime you think you have something more important to say than I do.”

“Forgive me, Uncle Henry,” the man said, “but this is one of the brothers from the cliff guard. He must be riding relay.”

All eyes turned to the approaching rider until the horse slid down to a walk the last few yards.

Jumpe turned back to Bannis, Mattie and Kerr.

“The three of yas ride on in. Whether or not you can see Dad will be up to Elder Barcinder.” He looked at Bannis directly. “We'll talk later about you riding with me, if you get everything settled and cleared up with the powers-that-be.”

“I'll get it cleared up,” Bannis said confidently.

He touched his hat brim to Uncle Henry. The three collected their horses beneath them. The churchmen opened their circled ranks to allow them forward as the single rider stopped in front of Uncle Henry.

“Jones,” Uncle Henry said, recognizing the rider, “I hope you're worth all the dust you've moved around out here.”

“Uncle Henry,” the rider said, out of breath, “I just had a relay rider come to my lookout cliff a while ago. He said some of our brethren have captured the Ranger.”

“My, my,” said Jumpe. “That certainly is some good news. Was he riding with a posse?”

“No, he was riding alone,” said the relay rider. “They've got him and they're headed this way. They should be arriving here sometime in the night.”

Uncle Henry looked off along the far trail, rubbing his chin.

“Sometime tonight . . . ,” he said in contemplation.

“Midnight or later, I'd put it,” the rider said, taking off his hat and slapping dust from the front of his shirt.

Uncle Henry drew his face back from the stirred cloud of dust. He gave the man a harsh sour look.

“I hope there's not a posse following him, lying back, waiting for a chance to slip in on us,” he said, fanning a hand in front of his face.

“I hadn't thought of that,” the relay rider said, putting his hat back on. He took an uncapped canteen one of the churchmen held out to him.

“I'm sure you haven't,” said Jumpe, eyeing him up and down with the same sour expression. “When you finish watering yourself and throwing dirt in our faces, ride on to the compound, tell Elder Barcinder these men and I are riding out to escort the wagon just in case.”

“I'm sorry about the dust, Uncle Henry,” said Jones, “but isn't this joyous news?” His dusty face suddenly beamed with a smile; his eyes took on a glazed and blissful shine. “Don't we all just thank God for such a blessing?”

“Amen,” said some of the churchmen in unison.

“Amen!” said Jones, uplifting his eyes and his right palm toward heaven.

“Yeah, right.
Amen
,” said Uncle Henry dismissingly. “Now get out of here—save it for church.”

—

On their way to the compound, Mattie, Bannis and Kerr examined their surroundings at the sound of galloping hooves. After a moment the relay rider raced toward them in the evening gloom. They moved to the side of the trail and watched him streak past them, his horse kicking up fresh dust.

“Son of a . . . ,” Bannis growled. He stopped and let his words trail out of courtesy to the woman. Untying a wide bandanna from around his neck, he held it over to Mattie and said, “Ma'am, hold this to your face. It's dusty itself, but it beats nothing.”

“And what about you, Frank?” Mattie asked.

“Don't worry about me, ma'am,” he said. “Dust never bothers me much.”

Mattie smiled at him through the rising dust. Taking the wadded-up bandanna, she held it her face.

“I insist you call me Isabelle,” she said.

“Obliged, ma'am,” said Bannis, “but it just isn't fitting, you being a married woman.”

“I admire your manners, Frank,” she said, breathing through the bandanna.

“Wonder what all that's about,” Kerr said, nodding toward the rider who was already fading out of sight into the darkness and the dust.

“Could be most anything, Morton,” Bannis commented. “The least thing seems to work these churchmen into a frenzy.”

Kerr chuckled and spit, turning forward in his saddle.

“They're worse than a bunch of nervous womenfolk,” he said.

Bannis cut his eyes to Mattie.

“He meant no offense to you, ma'am,” he said.

“No offense taken,” Mattie replied, managing a smile. Nudging her horse along between Bannis and Kerr, Mattie let out a tight breath in relief.
So far, so good,
she told herself.

When they reached the upturning trail onto a steep hillside, they stopped as two churchmen stepped their horses out from among the rocks.

“We're here to see Elder Barcinder,” Bannis said to the two horsemen, recognizing them both. The two horsemen recognized the three of them in return, brought their horses in on either side of them and gestured them forward up the hillside.

At the top of the hill where the land leveled onto a clearing, the two horsemen drew back and waited until the three had hitched their horses at a rail and stepped down from their saddles. They waited as three riflemen walked down from the porch of a large house built into the hillsides.

“Your guns,” one of the men said. “Hang your gun belts over your saddle horns. We'll show you to the house.”

Mattie stood silent, watching as Bannis and Kerr unbuckled their gun belts and draped them over their saddle horns. Mattie took note of the fact that they hadn't even looked at her, or bothered to ask if she might have a gun.

Real good. . . .

Following one rifleman up toward the large house, the other two walking behind them, the three stopped outside the front door and waited until another man opened the door from inside and motioned them in. Inside, they followed the man across the floor of the large room and into an office. As the office door shut, Elder Barcinder stood up behind a wide desk and motioned for the three to be seated.

“Frank Bannis,” Barcinder said, right to the point, “explain to me why I should not have you hanged for what you did to Brother Phillip Kendrick.”

Bannis looked at Mattie, then at Morton Kerr. Turning back to Barcinder, he told him everything the same way Mattie had explained it all to Uncle Henry Jumpe. When he'd finished, the three sat in silence while Barcinder lit a thick cigar, blew out a thin stream of gray smoke in contemplation, and sat down in his large leather chair. As he took another deep draw on the cigar, he stared at Mattie.

“Is all this true, Isabelle?” he asked her.

“Every word of it,” Mattie replied.

“There will be those here who will still want to see you hanged for laying a hand on one of our brethren,” he said to Bannis. To Mattie he said, “When will Dad and I expect to see Brother Phillip and hear what he says about this?”

“Any day now,” Mattie said quietly.

“Very well, then,” said Barcinder. “We'll wait until he shows up and settle this matter completely. If he tells us the same story as I've heard it here tonight, we'll dismiss the entire matter.” He smiled behind his cigar.

Seeing Barcinder was ready to send the three of them away, Mattie spoke up quickly as he rose to his feet.

“I need to see Dad,” she said. “I have some personal matters that need discussing.”

“Now, Isabelle,” said Barcinder, “you know the rules. Once a wife is unbound, there's to be no more contact.”

“I understand,” Mattie said, “but this is something too important to dismiss.”

“Too important to dismiss?” questioned Barcinder. “It would have to be a matter of life and death in order for Dad to bend the rules.”

“It is a matter of life and death,” Mattie said.

“In that case, you need to first tell me,” Barcinder said. “I'll be the judge of whether or not you'll be permitted to present the matter to Dad.”

“No,” Mattie said, “I won't talk to anyone but Dad himself. All the years we were together, surely he can talk to me.”

Barcinder let out a sigh.

“I'll ask him, Isabelle,” he said. “That's all I can do.” He looked away from her when a quiet knock drew his attention to the office door. “Yes, please come in,” he called out.

Two plainly dressed women near Mattie's age walked into the office and stood on either side of her chair.

“You know my wives Anna and Stowie,” he said to Mattie. “They'd like you to spend the night at their home down the hill. Tomorrow, after you've rested, I'll have an answer for you from Dad.”

Mattie looked back and forth. The two women smiled at her. One laid a hand on her shoulder. Realizing she had little choice in the matter, she stood up and resolved herself.

“All right, then,” she said. “A night's sleep sounds like just what I need.”

When the three women turned to leave, Bannis and Kerr started to rise also. But Barcinder motioned for them to remain seated. The two looked at each other and relaxed. Bannis caught himself looking toward the door when it shut. Knowing how it would seem if he appeared too attentive to one of the saints' wives, he looked quickly back at Elder Barcinder.