Chapter 18

© Copyright 2008 by Elizabeth Delayne



The moon was full and bright when Shatler called for the wagon to stop. It was getting harder and harder for Rachel to force her eyes open. She wasn’t just tired. Her arms screamed for relief, the binds cut into her skin–the chaffing no longer just itched. The repeated bumps of the ride created bruises.

She hurt.

And the terrible heat of day and been replaced by the chill of night.

Shatler wrapped his reins around the end of the side board.

“Head on toward the meeting point,” he told his men as he slid from his horse.

Rachel watch the men ride away and disappear into the darkness.

Then she felt the wagon jerk. She looked back, watched as Shatler climbed aboard, his form towering over her

The wagon shook under her as he stepped over, peered down at her—his eyes shadowed. “You know the first thing you noticed about me?” he asked and reached his gloved hand up to run a finger over the deep scar that ran down his cheek to his chin. “Everyone notices it about me. Its what people see first. What they remember most. The man with the scar.”

He studied her in the darkness.

Rachel kept her eyes on him. It wasn’t a show of strength She couldn’t look away. She knew in that moment he could do anything. Saw through the shadows to his eyes and knew he had it in him to do anything.

She prayed. It was all she could do.

Please.

“You’re wondering what kind of man I am. What I’m going to do now. I could do a lot of things ... and have. I could tell you, just to see the fear come into your eyes—so much more than it is now. But I think ... not today. I want you to tell them. They made me like this. They chose this path for me.”

* * *

James hadn’t slept. He’d stared up at the night sky, his mind in constant prayer. The fear was still a ball of agony in his stomach. There were words from her letters that he’d memorized—he’d read them so often, the words simply remained.

He repeated them over and over in his mind, even as he prayed.

Please...

He knew what it was like to lose. He’d only started to believe in more again.

But when the call came, James was up. In the distance he watched as Lone Wolf appeared. He rode toward the camp, swung down when he reached the Judge.

James went to Belle, saddled her quickly. She was tired, he could tell. He ran a hand over her back. “Sorry girl,” he murmured. “I know you want your rest. But you’re doing fine. You’re going to do fine for a bit more.”

As a posse, they mounted and were off again, this time with Lone Wolf in the lead.

The land was dark, but they moved quickly by the light of the full moon. The night was rivited with the sound of hoofs beating the ground. A constant cadance that was becoming familiar.

His rifle war near his hand. He knew he might have to withdraw it.

He hadn’t. Hadn’t turned on another human being sine the war. He hadn’t been of age to fight, but the battle had come close. He knew what it was to kill a man. He remembered the horror of pulling the trigger, remembered the screen of smoke and how it had slowly disappeared to show the man lying bleeding on the ground.

Just as Rachel ...

He blinked back the thoughts as the posse slowed and stopped along a creek bank. The water rippled under the moonlight, the sound a gentle and slow flow that would have normally soothed.

James watched as the Judge swung down with Lone Wolf and knelt to study the ground. He brushed at the dirt with his fingertips, then looked around, studying the land.

He pointed one way, then the other. Lone Wolf said a few words, climbed on his horse and crossed the creek.

And for a moment, the Judge looked back at James. James rode forward, dismounted.

“They stopped here,” the Judge said, pointing at the ground with his gloved hand. “There are footprints everywhere. They went in and out of the water.”

He started walking down the creek, leaving James to follow. After while, he knelt down, ran his hand through the dirt.

“But the weight of the wagons haven’t changed.” He stood, brushed off his hands on his pants and watched as Lone Wolf crossed back over the creek and rode to meet them.

The native swung down off his horse. “New wagon tracks. Wagons stopped for long time. Then go—with gold.”

“Same over here. Just as you said.”

“Some go south here. Others go west to mountains,” Lone Wolf pointed.

“And Rachel?” James asked. His voice came out rusty.

The Judge only looked at him and shook his head. He didn’t know.

They’d come this far and he didn’t know?

The Judge took off his Stetson and turned to walk away. James started to follow. There were a dozen questions, maybe without answers.

Lone Wolf held out a hand, stopped him. “He seek answer. He seek your woman. He seek from God of his heart.”

James frowned after the Judge who nearly disappeared into the night.

“And we just wait?”

“He says to wait make strong. The One of heart promise strength. The One of heart give direction.” Lone Wolf pointed east. “Judge woman killed in war with distant tribe. Lone Wolf found him. Now Judge want find woman for you. You must go with Judge. Lone Wolf go with men.”

* * *

Rachel watched the shadows cross Shatler’s face, bringing the scar into the light given off from the moon. She was so cold. It seemed she was floating through skin prickling cold. It couldn’t be so cold. Even she could register that fact. It was August.

It was August and she was cold.

She was barely able to stop the hysterical giggle from rising up. Maybe it was just that she didn’t have the strength for hysterics.

“I joined the United States army at seventeen. People in town pointed fingers. Pa wouldn’t join. He stayed home. He wouldn’t leave the children. My brother David turned Chaplin—but that’s as good as not raising a weapon. I joined up to make my pa proud. I went off to fight. They said we’d win the war,” he stared off into the distance and slowly took off his glove. “My first battle, I was struck with a bayonet.”

He reached up with his finger and traced the scar.

“They left me for dead on the battlefield. I reached for a Corporal’s arm to help me up and he pushed me down in his attempt to escape. He was running, you see. But I wasn’t dead and I got up, went to find them. You know what they said?”

When Rachel just sat there, staring at him, he prodded her with his heavy toed boot. “They said I was a coward. That I had run away in battle. They said a scar would not have kept me down. And the Corporal? He said he saw me run.”

His spoke between his teeth, bitterness melting from his words.

“They were going to brand me a coward. You know what that means? That means they heat up a branding stick and hold it to your skin. It means you go through life with a C on your forehead. I already had this!” He pointed at his scar.

“Mark of a coward—“ he seethed. “I hadn’t run. I had faced the enemy. And I found the enemy was all around me.”

He stood, paced the wagon. It shook beneath Rachel. He stopped at the end, looked out over the land again. Rachel watched him stretch out his hand, loosening the tension. Slowly he put back on his glove.

“I killed the Corporal that night. I took him out into the wilderness, branded him with the C they had planned to use on me. I hadn’t even killed in battle. Now I was a murderer. They called me a murderer—when he was the one who left me to die. Is that not murder? Is that not sin?”

He turned back around, faced Rachel.

“You will tell them. I want you to tell them I’m just taking back what they stole from me. My girl wouldn’t marry me. My pa—took the family and moved out west, away from me, without telling me. When it was my brother David, who wouldn’t fight—he said it was me who brought him shame. David said he forgave me. Me. He acted as if I was the murderer. For killing the Corporal.

You’ll tell them.”

When Rachel just stared at him, he stomped back toward her so that the wagon shook beneath them. He knelt down beside her, withdrew his knife. “You’ll tell them.”

She nodded, her lips trembling under the rough bandana.

“But just in case you forget,” he knelt down and tugged out his knife. “I’ll give you something to help you remember.”



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