by Layla
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program
"Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and
have been used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.
“The
only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” ~Edmund Burke
Chapter
1
Nettie Sample stopped and looked back. She thought of an illustration in the family
Bible that she had read long into the previous night. A sad woman in white robes looking back toward her deserted home
with longing eyes. Lot’s wife. Instead of the wicked Cities of the Plain,
Nettie’s eyes gazed lovingly on a simple farmhouse. It was not a remarkable house by any means to anyone other than
Nettie. Though it was no mansion, she
and Frank could not have been prouder of their little home. Frank and his father Henry had built it with
their own hands. In ten years, Frank
had never quite gotten around to giving it the paint job that he had promised
her. The house, the barns, the fence
and the fields out back were all a testament to the dream they had once shared.
It was all Frank had ever wanted: a farm of their
own. He had worked along side Henry as
a tenant farmer on a large Virginia plantation. They made enough sharecropping to get by, but Frank longed for a
house and land to call his own. They
had been too poor to buy a farm outright, just like so many others who shared
the same dream. The Homestead Act of
1862 promised to make the dreams of many settlers a reality.
By the 1850’s, huge land acquisitions had filled out the
continental United States. Congressman
Andrew Johnson had taken up the cause that the public domain rightfully
belonged to the American people.
Southerners opposed Johnson’s land giveaway as benefiting poor whites that
were unlikely to vote slavery into the new states. President Abraham Lincoln finally signed the bill in 1862 after
the Southern states had left the Union.
The Homestead Act declared that any citizen or intended
citizen could claim 160 acres – one-quarter square mile – of surveyed
government land. Claimants had to
“improve” the plot with a dwelling and grow crops. After five years, if the original filer was still on the land, it
was his property, free and clear.
Frank, Nettie, their young children and Frank’s father had
come west in 1863 in hopes of laying claim to 160 acres. The fertile San Joaquin Valley area around
Stockton was an ideal place to settle but available government land had already
been filed for.
Frank Sample and his family could have moved on to a more
remote government homestead, but the Valley’s climate and plenteous water
supply promised bountiful crops. The
only other option had been to secure a bank loan and purchase land from the
Coastal and Western Railroad Company at its’ upcoming land auction.
The various railroad companies were in possession of 200
million acres of grant land spanning across the entire country. When they had finished laying their tracks,
the railroad companies were eager to auction off the excess acreage to farmers
and immigrants as well as provide farm-to-market transportation – at a price.
The Samples and many other families had chosen to stay in
the Valley and to purchase farmland from Coastal and Western. The land had yielded its’ promise and the farms
had been profitable even in the face of loan repayments and transportation
fees.
It had all seemed too good to be true. And it was.
Four years after the farmers had been “sold” their land, Coastal and Western
had identified the ideal route for its’ southern rail line to Los Angeles. That ideal route was right through some of
the Valley farms.
The railroad company took the position that it had simply
“leased” its’ grant land to the farmers and had tried to drive them from their
land through sheer force and intimidation.
The farmers had felt helpless and hopeless until Tom Barkley had
convinced them that the farmers could unite and fight back. The state legislature and the courts had
sided with the railroad and that might have been the end of it back east… but
this was the West! Legal words and
phrases notwithstanding, men still defended their principles and property at
the point of a gun.
Tom Barkley and the other men had fought off the hired
guns that had come to drive the farmers off their land. Eleven farmers, including Frank’s father,
had died in that fight. Tom Barkley had
also paid the ultimate price for standing with the farmers. His money, influence and importance had not
saved him from an assassin’s bullet.
Nettie walked over to the little flowerbed she had planted
by the front porch. She stooped and
pulled a handful of purple and yellow pansies and scattered them on the ground
near the front steps where Frank had drawn his last breath. Where the dream had died.
Where would she be this time tomorrow? The irony was not lost on her. Nettie and the children would be riding in a
Pullman coach, Jacob Crown’s rails taking them back east to Virginia. “Is not he rightly named Jacob? For he hath supplanted me…” Esau’s lament
echoed in her mind. Supplanter… one who
uproots and replaces, especially through treachery. Nettie sighed, “You, too, were rightly named, Mr. Crown.”
Chapter
2
Nettie instantly recognized the horse coming up the road
at a canter: a handsome, bright copper chestnut with four knee-high white
stockings and a broad white blaze. It
seemed to Nettie that Jingo was perfectly suited for the dapper lawyer who rode
him. News travels fast, she
thought. Jarrod Barkley reined the
horse to a halt and swung to the ground.
“Nettie!” He reached out and took her hand. The blue eyes were at once concerned and
sympathetic. “I just heard the rumor in
town that you’re leaving.” Jarrod glanced over at the packed bags and the two
youngsters who sat solemnly aboard the wagon.
“It looks like it’s more than just rumor.”
“It’s true, Jarrod.
I’m taking the children back east to Virginia. I’ve still got family there.”
“Nettie, I can only imagine how hard it has been for you
to try to hold on to your farm without Frank.
I would never presume to tell you what you should do. I will only say that if you want to stay, my
brothers and I will fight for your right to remain here. I know Swenson, Worth and the rest of the
men feel the same way. We’ll see to it
that yours and the children’s interests are protected. I’ll help you find a tenant farmer to
replace Otis and in the mean time, Nick could send over one of the hands to
keep the chores caught up…”
“I don’t want to stay, Jarrod!” Nettie’s eyes filled with
tears and Jarrod could see the sadness and defeat in them as well. “I can’t stay.” Her voice softened. “Twenty-five men died in this yard six
months ago. How many more, Jarrod? Crown can easily replace the twenty hired
guns he lost. How does a family replace
a husband and father? The price is too
high, Jarrod. The price my family has
paid… The price your family and the other families have paid… As long as Crown
has money – and he has plenty – and there are guns for hire, the farms will
never be safe. Is it worth all that
we’ve lost?”
“Father believed it was.
Frank believed it, too, Nettie.” Jarrod hoped his eyes did not betray
the private doubts that sometimes intruded into his thoughts.
“Frank is dead.” Nettie’s reply tore him away from his
thoughts. “So is my father-in-law and
so is your father. No more blood will
be shed over this land, at least not on my account.” Her eyes moved to the bare
ground below the loft of the large red barn.
“I’ve no intention of hiring another tenant farmer to work the land for
me. I won’t put another life at
risk. Otis Carter’s death was no
accident, Jarrod. Crown can have this
land!”
“I know Otis’ death was a shock, Nettie, but Fred says Otis
appeared to have fallen out of the barn loft and broken his neck while you and
the children were in town. It was
apparently just a tragic accident.”
“An accident that happened two days after Crown came back
to Stockton, Jarrod. In the five months
that Otis worked here, I never saw him go up into the loft. And two months ago when the windmill broke,
Sieg Swenson had to come over and fix it.
Do you know why, Jarrod?”
“No, Nettie, I don’t.”
“Otis Carter was deathly afraid of heights!” Nettie stated
firmly.
Jarrod was momentarily taken aback. Had the unseen hand of Jacob Crown played a
role in the tenant farmer’s death? The
facts had seemed obvious. But Jarrod
had learned long ago that there is sometimes nothing more deceptive than an
obvious fact.
Nettie reached down and took his hand again. “You must be careful, Jarrod, both you and
your brothers.”
“We will, Nettie.
Is there anything at all we can do for you and the children?”
“No, but thank you just the same, Jarrod. Sieg and Marcy Swenson were here earlier and
helped me pack what I intend to take back to Virginia by train. I told them that they could have all the
furnishings I’m leaving behind. Sieg’s
got the house rebuilt after the fire and they could certainly use the
furniture.”
“That’s very kind of you, Nettie.” Jarrod said as he
helped her aboard the wagon. She took
one last longing look at the farmhouse and then her eyes shifted to the oak
tree that stood 150 yards beyond the house.
There were three small headstones beneath the shade of the oak: Frank
Jr.’s, who had died of pneumonia, Henry’s, and her beloved Frank’s.
“Do you think he’d understand, Jarrod? He knew I was never a brave woman…”
“You have more courage than you know, Nettie. And yes, I believe Frank would understand
and respect your decision. You and the
children were always what was most precious to him.”
“Thank you, Jarrod, for not thinking me a coward. Tell your mother that I’ll write once the
children and I are settled.” She took up the reins to start the wagon toward
Stockton. “God be with you all!”
“Goodbye, Nettie.”
Jarrod did not start for home immediately. He gazed out over the property that very
soon would no longer be known as Sample’s Farm: property that held such
bittersweet memories for Jarrod as well.
* * * * * * * *
Siegfried and Marcy Swenson headed home as dusk
approached. They had been away most of
the day. The morning had been spent in
Stockton buying supplies. After lunch
at the Café, the Swensons had gone over to help Nettie Sample pack her
belongings. Their wagon was now loaded
with some of the furniture Nettie had given them.
Marcy was the first to spot it. The thin wisp appeared to be no more than a column of dust in the
distance. As Marcy and Sieg grew
closer, the thin wisp became discernable as a column of smoke arising from the
location of their home. Sieg whipped up
the team to cover the last few miles to their farmhouse quickly. They pulled into the yard utterly stunned as
they watched the heavy black cloud filled with glowing embers roiling into the
sky.
Marcy began to weep as she gazed at the once again gutted
and charred remains of the farmhouse.
The house, the barn, and the outhouses were nothing more than burned-out
shells. Sieg got down and walked across
the yard on numbed legs toward the collapsed pile of blackened timbers that had
once been their new home.
“Skipper!” Sieg spun around at the sound of Marcy’s
anguished cry. Her little terrier was
lying still by the fence. The dog had
been shot. It was then Sieg noticed the
note nailed to the gate.
SWINSEN
YOU
BILD IT AGIN AND WE’LL BURN IT AGIN
Chapter
3
“Well, Jarrod, is there any doubt in your mind that Crown
is behind what is going on in the Valley?” The instincts that had served Nick
well through the years screamed that the return of Jacob Crown was inextricably
linked to the events of recent days. “I
told you, Pappy, Crown wouldn’t let twenty dead men stop him from pulling off a
billion dollar haul down here! This
valley is gold and Crown knows it. And
I’ll tell you something else. Los
Angeles has a world of natural potential that spells nothing but growth! You mark my words; it’ll be as big as
Stockton one day… maybe bigger. Crown
wants to be the man that runs the southern line down there. I don’t believe for one minute that Nettie
Sample’s hired man getting killed and the Swenson place burning down again were
coincidence.” Nick stood ramrod straight, arms crossed and jaw firmly
clenched. A tendril of dark brown hair
fell down over his forehead and his hazel eyes bored into Jarrod’s own. He had assumed his ‘I’m right and you know
it’ posture.
Jarrod swirled the Scotch around the sides of the glass he
held. He had to admit that while Nick
was often times hasty in forming his conclusions, in this instance, Jarrod was
inclined to agree. “It’s very possible
that Crown is indeed the culprit. I’ll
go as far as to say that it is highly probable. But it is also possible that Otis’ death was accidental and a
gang of outlaws is to blame for the Swenson place. It wouldn’t be the first time a roving band of marauders has
targeted the Valley.”
“And this gang just happens to show up the same time as
Crown?” Nick looked incredulous, his tone tinged with sarcasm.
“At this point it is all circumstantial evidence, Nick,
and circumstantial evidence is a tricky thing.”
“Men have been hanged on circumstantial evidence!”
“Yes, they have…and some men have been wrongfully
hanged! I would like nothing better
than to nail Jacob Crown. But it will
be done on the basis of evidence, Nick, not feelings. And it will be founded on the truth for the sake of justice, not
revenge!”
“Have you noticed any strangers around town?” Heath had been
staring pensively into the fire, his arm draped on the mantle.
“No, Heath, I haven’t.”
“But Nick could be right anyhow and Crown’s just keeping
his hired guns outta sight this time.”
“Could be. I plan
to meet with Crown tomorrow. The
meeting is ostensibly to discuss the appeal I’ve filed, but I hope to feel him
out as well. It will be interesting to
see exactly what business Crown says has brought him to Stockton.”
“I don’t care what he says! I know why he’s here!” Nick stated hotly. “If it’s another fight Crown wants, I’ll
give him a fight you won’t believe!”
“Nick, I’ve told you this is no barroom brawl. This is the State you’re swinging on,
Boy! Thanks to Hannibal Jordan’s
influence, the Governor vetoed the Bill to rescind and Judge Powell ruled
against my injunction. The authority of
the State and the Court is on the side of the railroad. Even if Crown’s men did burn the Swenson
place, as long as the courts say it is railroad land, there is nothing anyone
can do about it.”
“Like hell there’s not!
We did something about it six months ago.” Nick fumed. “Don’t tell me you’re waffling again,
Jarrod!”
“I’m just facing facts…”
“Facts don’t mean a thing!” Nick snorted. “It’s a fact that there isn’t a court around
here that the railroad doesn’t own.
It’s a fact that Crown is greasing the pockets of those sleazy
politicians in the legislature. You’re
wasting your time filing appeals and running back and forth to Sacramento,
Jarrod!” Nick glared at his older brother.
Jarrod met his stare and gave no quarter. “The rule of Law will ultimately prevail,
Nick…”
Heath’s soft drawl broke the steely silence. “The night before the fight at Sample’s
farm, I was riding back from town with Audra… making sure she got home
safe. We saw the Swenson place burning
and rode down there. I rode off when it
looked like nobody was going to stand with Frank Sample. I came back to the ranch to get the money
you offered me. I planned on riding out
of here and never looking back. I
wanted no part of being a Barkley if that was a name I couldn’t wear with
pride.” Heath took a deep breath.
“Before I got out of the house, your mother was standing inside the
door. She must have known what I was
thinking.”
Heath smiled slightly, in his heart he was sure that she
did. He glanced out toward the foyer
and in his mind’s eye he could see her image so clearly: proud, dignified and
regal. “She told me that Tom Barkley
had brought a changing way. A way that
said ‘you are your own man’ and no one, not Crown or the railroad could own
you. A way that is won through pride,
leadership and courage. She said that
if I hadn’t ridden away, I’d have seen that he instilled that in his sons.”
Heath looked squarely at Nick, then Jarrod. “She told me to be proud, because any son of
Tom Barkley had the right to be proud!” He paused. “I believe that a man who is his own man lives by his own code:
that Law of Right and Wrong written on his own conscience. Jarrod, I know we are subject to other laws,
made in the legislature and backed up by the courts… But there isn’t any
government or court on the face of the earth that’s made up of anything other
than people! Those people can be
wrong. They can make bad laws or hand
down bad decisions. When that happens
and it goes against your conscience, a man must decide which one to
disobey. The governor and the rest of
those politicians are wrong. Those
judges are, too. This is stealing, pure
and simple.”
Heath moved to stand beside Nick in a gesture that left no
doubts as to his convictions.
“Politicians and judges be hanged!
If it comes down to a fight again, I stand with Nick and the farmers.”
Live as he’d live, fight as he’d fight and no one, no one can deny you his
birthright! The words echoed again in
Heath’s mind, which were for him and him alone.
Jarrod smiled. He
was once again struck by the astute, thoughtful opinions his taciturn younger
brother could offer. As Heath had
shared their mother’s words of wisdom, the right path had become crystal
clear. Jarrod locked eyes with Nick and
with an almost imperceptible nod, conveyed his stance as well.
The Barkley brothers would stand shoulder to shoulder on
the side of right come what may.
Nick smiled broadly, his eyes beaming with pride. This boy is a Barkley to the core, he
thought. Then his brow furrowed and he
stared slack-jawed. “How do you get him
to do that, Jarrod? I can hardly get
him to string a half-dozen words together.
That boy hates to talk!”
“Oh no, Nick, I love to talk.” Heath winked at
Jarrod. “I’m just choosy about who I
talk to.”
Chapter
4
Jarrod rode through the front gates of Lacaise House. Only farther down the driveway could a
visitor appreciate its’ gracious outlines and stone facade. Like many of those Old World builders of
great houses, the Frenchman had known how to conceal his home from view. Tall, neatly manicured shrubs completely
lined the fence surrounding the property.
An abundance of trees had been left intact on the grounds.
Jarrod had always felt that the landscaping was an apt
reflection of how the Marquise de Lacaise viewed his neighbors in
Stockton. They were kept at arms length
from both himself and his daughter.
Jarrod doubted that the Marquise’s concern for Stockton extended any
further than his immediate business interests.
Lacaise and his daughter were once again back east, where they spent a
good deal of their time. It was typical
of the Marquise’s indifference to the feelings of the community-at-large that
he had no qualms about making his home available to Jacob Crown when railroad
business brought Crown to Stockton.
Jarrod tied his horse and walked up the flight of steps
beneath the gracious portico. The
curtains in every window were drawn shut.
Jarrod rapped the heavy brass knocker several times. Jonathan Hoak answered the door.
“Mr. Barkley.”
“Mr. Hoak.”
“Mr. Crown will see you in the study.” Hoak led the way
and opened the elegantly carved wooden doors.
Crown sat at a large walnut desk, papers scattered in front of him.
“Mr. Barkley.” Crown rose to greet his visitor. He did not offer a handshake, but gestured
toward an armchair. “Take a seat. May I offer you a drink, or a cigar?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m not a man who mixes business with my pleasures
either, Barkley. I don’t even allow
myself the luxury of eating lunch during the course of my workday.” Crown
answered, once again taking his seat behind the desk.
“Then let’s get right down to business, Crown. Shall we?”
“Please do, Barkley.” Crown replied, leaning back in his chair
and putting his fingertips together as was his custom. “I’d be very interested to know what we left
undiscussed on the train ride to Stockton six months ago.”
“Crown, you and I both know the disputed land was sold to
the farmers at public auction ten years ago…”
“Leased!”
“Sold, Crown! That
land was legally bought and paid for.”
“You’ve taken the farmer’s case before both the
legislature and Judge Powell. You have
lost in both the political and legal arenas, Barkley.”
“I didn’t lose on the substance of my case as you are well
aware, Crown. I have no doubts that
bribery and graft played the dominant role in those decisions.” Jarrod said
flatly.
Crown feigned a wounded look. “Ah, Barkley, what has given you such a low opinion of your
public servants and judiciary? Might it
not be that the greater public good that this rail line will bring to all the
citizens of California has outweighed the concerns of the few?”
“I’m sure the answer to that question lies buried deep
within the accounting records of Coastal and Western.” Jarrod countered. “Crown, I have filed a brief before the 9th
District Court of Appeals. I am
optimistic that Judge Powell’s decision will be overturned.”
“I admire your tenacity, Barkley, I really do… especially
since your family’s holdings won’t be affected one way or the other.”
“We care about our neighbors, Crown. It is distressing to us that the Swenson
family has lost their home for the second time in six months. It grieves us as well when a tenant farmer
meets an untimely death.” Jarrod watched Crown closely for some hint of
emotion.
“Tragic.” Crown’s eyes and demeanor betrayed nothing.
“Yes, tragic…” Jarrod affirmed. “And suspicious!
Suspicious in that these events happened after you returned to
Stockton.”
“Mere coincidence, I assure you. I am in Stockton on purely business purposes. I have decided to use the Stockton Bank as
the repository for the funds we will use for construction of the southern
line. It is simply more convenient for
this project than the San Francisco Bank.
I am simply here to make the arrangements for this account. As for the evictions, I am perfectly willing
to await the outcome of your appeal.
The Board of Directors would like to avoid the type of confrontation
that occurred at Sample’s farm as well.” Crown’s insincere smile did not thaw
his icy blue eyes.
Jarrod rode away from the meeting with suspicion still
churning in his mind. He decided to
have a talk with Sheriff Madden. Jarrod
could not help but think that when Jacob Crown had decided to pursue business
as his career, the stage had lost a fine actor.
Crown laughed softly to himself as he stretched out upon
the cushioned sofa. “Come on in,
Carlo!”
The doors to the adjoining parlor opened and Crown
motioned Carlo Lucci to sit in the armchair.
Lucci turned down the cigar offered him from the ornate wooden
case. Crown lit one for himself and his
eyes sparkled as he looked over at Lucci and sent up a large gray-white cloud
of smoke.
Happening upon this former street criminal in New York
City had been a stroke of luck! The
raven-haired, dark-eyed immigrant was a man on whom he could thoroughly
rely. Lucci was completely loyal. The man was not only proficient in any task
he was given, but also discreet and capable of preserving a secret.
Hired guns were too often loud-mouthed braggarts who had a
propensity to put their business in the street. Crown could not afford to be in direct contact with those
lowlifes. Lucci had proven himself to
be an indispensable go-between when there was dirty work to be done. Hoak was completely loyal as well but didn’t
have Lucci’s ‘killer instinct’.
“So sorry I could not formally introduce you to Mr.
Barkley, Carlo.” Crown sneered. Carlo
smiled at Crown’s insincere remark.
Lucci was well aware that he could have no public contact with Crown
while in Stockton. He would meet with
Hoak secretly for Crown’s instructions.
Lucci’s face was the only one the hired guns would ever see. He would in turn tell them what to do and
handle the pay-offs.
“Perhaps, I will meet him later.”
“Perhaps. I hope
the Barkleys will rethink their obstinate position. I once told Barkley that a man may beat the iron for a while, but
eventually he’ll die, and all he will leave is dust!”
“I can guarantee it if I put a stiletto in the right spot,
Mr. Crown.” Carlo hissed. His obsidian
eyes smoldered, but there was no warmth to be found in them. They were stone cold and predatory, almost
as if there was a cobra in his lineage.
“Or a bullet.” Crown mused. “The old man learned that lesson… his sons may have to as
well. But as to our more immediate
plans, they must be carried out with the utmost care. Jarrod Barkley is a smart fellow. He is, in my judgment, the second smartest man in Stockton at the
moment. Of course, it wouldn’t take
much intelligence to form certain suspicions.
Even the loudmouth brother can put two and two together and come up with
four! Remember this, gentlemen, the
larger crimes are apt to be the easiest to solve, as the motive is more likely
to be apparent. All one has to do is
ask the age-old question: ‘Cui bono?’ Who benefits?”
Crown took another drag off his cigar and savored the
taste in silence for a moment. “Yes,
gentlemen, suspicions are one thing, but proving a thing sufficiently in a
court of law is another matter entirely!
Take Tom Barkley’s murder, for example.
Had the killer been taken alive, then I suppose the world would have
known for certain who hired him. Never
trust a back-shooter for hire! I had my
own bounty hunters waiting patiently in the wings. They had been informed that the killer was to head for the
Mexican border. My men promptly
informed the rest of those hide-hunters and even started the rumor that the
Barkley family would pay an extra $1000.00 bonus if the killer was brought back
dead! Save Mrs. Barkley from the
anguish of a trial…” Crown laughed. “My
men had been ordered to shoot on sight, but that little rumor was all it took
to get the rest of those boys trigger-happy.
They would have shot the killer dead sleeping, taking a bath, or sitting
in the outhouse! Some old relic by the
name of Handy Random saved me from a murder conspiracy charge. I suppose it’s a good thing that men of that
ilk are so predictable and therefore so easily manipulated. It gave me a considerable amount of
amusement to hear the Barkley family embraced that old back-shooter like a
conquering hero!”
“I do not understand this, Mr. Crown…” Carlo shook his
head slowly. “These Barkley sons, they
believe that you are responsible for the death of their Papa, no? But yet they do not attempt to kill
you. In my country, I would revenge my
father’s death as a vendetta!”
“The Barkleys are a principled lot, Carlo.” Crown found
that fact not a thing to be admired, but a weakness to be exploited. “Jarrod Barkley is a prime example. He wants nothing more than to see a ruling
in favor of his appeal and yet he will stay fastidiously within the confines of
his code of ethics. To a man like Barkley,
bribery and graft are crimes to be prosecuted and would never be considered as
a means to an end.”
Crown took another long draw from his cigar and smiled
with satisfaction. “And that,
gentlemen, is why Barkley has no chance of winning this fight via political or
legal avenues. He actually expects
those politicians and judges to do the ‘right’ thing!”
Crown leaned forward and crushed out his cigar in an
ashtray. “Now, down to business. Carlo, I believe you and Mr. Hoak have
already discussed your next task. Hoak
will rendezvous with you at the appointed time to relay further
instructions. Otherwise, you will
remain at the gang’s hide-a-way. You
are not to show your face in Stockton for any reason. Understood?”
Carlo Lucci nodded his understanding and quickly slipped
out of the room through the French doors that opened to the backyard gardens.
Crown turned his attention to Hoak. “Wire our attorney regarding the upcoming
appeal. Abner Kirkland knows I am a man
who doesn’t tolerate surprises! He is
well aware of what I expect of him. And
you, Mr. Hoak, I expect you to be my eyes and ears in Stockton. Keep me abreast of all the local
gossip. The saloon would be an
excellent place to see what information you might glean – particularly from the
Barkley hands. You never know, you may
happen upon a disgruntled cowboy that we could put to good use!”
Chapter
5
Eliza Worth stood on the front porch of the farmhouse and
looked out toward the gate. She wished
Abe were home. He had been gone for
over a week and Eliza didn’t expect him back for three more days.
Abe had been so excited when he’d left Stockton by train
for Denver. He had finally saved enough
money to buy a blooded Angus bull. A
friend of Abe’s in Colorado had imported some of the beef from Aberdeen,
Scotland. The rancher had been so
impressed with the stocky black cattle that he had convinced Abe to introduce
the bloodline into their own small herd.
Eliza thought about the Swenson place being burned for the
second time two days before. She was
glad that at least Clem, their hired hand, was on the farm with young Abe
Jr. and herself. Eliza’s body suddenly shivered. The chilly evening air seemed to carry a
strange sense of foreboding.
“A.J.! Clem! Supper will be ready soon! Come on in and wash up, A.J.”
Abe Jr. jumped
down off the corral fence where he’d been watching Clem brush down a large
dapple-gray mare. “Coming, Ma! See you in a bit, Clem.” A.J. ran off toward the house and the smell of
his mother’s fried chicken that wafted through the air. Clem closed the corral gate and walked into
the big red barn to replace the brush.
Behind the barn, six riders had made their way through Abe’s peach grove
unnoticed.
Clem walked over to the pump and water trough on the far
side of the barn. He slid his thumbs
beneath his suspenders and eased them off his shoulders. He took off his shirt and draped it over the
fence. Clem worked the pump handle up
and down several times. He cupped his
hands to catch the water and immersed his face in it. The cold water felt so invigorating as he rinsed off his face and
neck that he pumped the handle a couple more times and dunked his entire head
beneath the flowing water.
The strong hands that accosted Clem and pushed his head
beneath the water in the trough did it so quickly that he had no time to cry
out. He struggled and flailed with all
the might that sheer terror can summons, but there were too many strong and determined
hands holding his body for Clem to overcome.
His intense struggling only hastened the depleting of the oxygen supply
in his lungs. What seemed like an
eternity were only minutes, and Clem’s struggles had ceased.
The others backed off from their victim, but Butch held
tight to a handful of hair and kept Clem’s head beneath the water for several
minutes longer.
“Just makin sure he ain’t playin possum, boys.” Butch
Keller lifted the limp head out of the water trough and grinned. “Nope, don’t believe he is. Come on boys, let’s go have some fun with
that old sod buster!”
The gang approached the farmhouse carefully with guns
drawn. Carlo had told them one old
farmer, his wife, young son and a hired hand inhabited this farm. Butch led the way. He had emerged as leader of the gang. Butch had enough experience in his past to know even an old sod
buster can get off a lucky shot.
When Eliza heard the doorknob turn and the door swing
open, she turned with a smile.
“Supper’s on the table, Clem…”
The smile died on her lips as panic rose within her chest.
* * * * * * * *
Fred Madden urged his mount forward toward the Worth
farm. Fred had not come away from
yesterday’s conversation with Jarrod Barkley convinced that the farmers were
being targeted for violence. One death
in which there was no evidence of foul play and one mysterious fire didn’t
exactly establish a pattern. Still, he
could not get Jarrod’s suspicions out of his mind. Jarrod had a shrewd, incisive intellect that he had learned never
to discount. Fred knew that Abe Worth
was away on a cattle-buying trip. It
wouldn’t hurt to go look in on Eliza and Abe Jr.
Fred rode into the yard and reined his horse to a
stop. The front door of the farmhouse
stood ominously open. “ELIZA?” Fred
called as he dismounted. The eerie
silence that greeted him filled him with dread.
Fred unholstered his gun and walked into the house. He swallowed hard against the sour taste of
bile rising into his mouth.
Eliza lay where she had died of her gunshot wound – her
dead eyes now opaque, but still wide with terror. Abe Jr. lay huddled on
his side a few feet away. His skull had
been smashed in. The stench of blood
hung heavy in the still, stagnant air.
Fred backed out of the house, away from this scene of
horror. His horse whinnied nervously at
the smell of death. Fred took several
deep breaths to steady his nerves. As a
sheriff, he had witnessed death on many occasions – usually violent men who had
come to violent ends. But this had been
a slaughter of innocents!
Fred walked around the farmhouse toward the barn and
corrals. He stopped short when he saw a
cloud of gnats droning erratically above the corpse lying by the water
trough. Clem was now accounted for, as
well.
* * * * * * * *
As the scores of buggies and buckboards made their way
back to their respective farms, Abe Worth continued to stare at the two freshly
dug graves. Over two hundred of his
Valley neighbors had gathered to pay their respects at Eliza and Abe Jr.’s
funerals.
The Barkley family stayed behind while the other neighbors
made their way home. Victoria was
particularly worried about her old friend.
She had never seen a man look so crushed. Abe had hardly raised his head throughout the entire service or
as the mourners filed past to offer their condolences and continued prayers and
support. Victoria wanted a private word
with her dear friend when he had finished saying his goodbyes.
When Abe dropped to his knees beside the graves, his body
wracked with sobs, she could bear it no longer. “Stay here.” Victoria said softly to her sons and made her way
over to Abe’s side. She knelt beside
him there and grasped his hand. The air
around them hung heavy with the aroma of the many floral arrangements that
blanketed the graves.
Victoria knew that mere words were inadequate. She would simply sit here with Abe, silently
lending her strength. Her very presence
would speak more eloquently than words: you are not alone.
When his tears were spent, Abe pulled his handkerchief from
his pocket with his left hand and wiped his tear-stained face. His right hand never loosened its’ grip of
Victoria’s. Abe’s head remained bowed;
his silver hair had fallen haphazard across his forehead. He took a long shuddering breath and finally
spoke.
“I came west about the time you and Tom did. About the only thing I had that I could call
my own was a sluice box and a tin miner’s pan.
It took me over twenty years of panning for gold to find enough color to
afford a place of my own. It was getting
so late in life that I had all but given up on having a family.”
Victoria reached over and gently brushed the wayward
strands away from Abe’s face. He looked
at her with anguished eyes. This
crushing blow dulled, but had not completely extinguished the fierce pride that
had always shone from those eyes. This
stubborn man was in many ways so like another dear friend, Jubal Tanner, who
still toiled in the mining camps hoping to fulfill his own dream. As if all Abe’s years had suddenly caught up
to him, Victoria couldn’t help but think how suddenly old and frail Abe
appeared.
“I met Eliza in a saloon back in Nevada City. I knew from our many talks that she wanted a
different life than the one she was living.
Eliza wanted a home and a family.
When I finally had enough money to buy a farm, I asked her to come with
me, to marry me. I figured she would
tell me I was too old, but she didn’t… She married me and I couldn’t have asked
for a better wife. She was all she ever
promised to be. I promised Eliza a good
life, a good life for her and our son.
I left them unprotected and now they’re dead! I promised her…” Abe could no longer continue as sobs again
wracked his bent frame.
Chapter
6
Tom Barkley continued to gaze down from his formal
portrait in the gunroom. The clock on
the mantle chimed the hour, but otherwise the room was uncharacteristically
quiet. Usually, the evenings after
dinner were filled with lively banter and challenges to cards, checkers or
billiards. The somber mood that accompanied
the recent tragedies remained in the Barkley household.
“More bad news for the farmers, I’m afraid.” Jarrod
sighed.
Victoria laid her needlework in her lap. “What now, Jarrod?”
Nick and Heath regarded their older brother silently.
“Luther informed me today that the Stockton Bank will no
longer advance any loans to the farmers.” Jarrod said.
“Why that low-down, sorry excuse for a …”
“Just a minute, Nick.
Did Luther tell you why, Jarrod?” Victoria asked.
“I’ll tell you why!
He’s been bought off by Crown!” Nick fumed.
“In a way that is true, Nick.” Jarrod continued. “The construction of the southern line to
Los Angeles will be a huge operation.
Coastal and Western will first send ahead an advance guard of surveyors
and locaters. Following them will be
the second line of graders; building bridges, cutting through gorges and
grading the road. Then comes a virtual
army of workers, placing the cross ties, laying the track and spiking down the
rails. All the while, construction
trains will be pushing along the line of completed railroad loaded with
supplies and food for the men. The
budget will be enormous! Crown has
promised Luther that the payroll and construction funds will be deposited in
the Stockton Bank. That would make
Coastal and Western the bank’s largest depositor. Crown made a calculated decision based on more than simply
convenience. The unspoken quid pro quo
was that the bank would no longer financially back the farmers.”
“But haven’t the farmers always repaid their loans?” Heath
asked.
“They have.” Jarrod said.
“Luther said the farmer’s credit history is not at issue. In the past, the bank was willing to advance
the farmers large sums because the farmers in return put up unimpeachable
security: their land. Now that the
ownership of the land is in question, the bank no longer will do business with
them. Luther refused the Swensons a
loan to rebuild their house and barns.”
“I can send word up to our timber operation and have all
the lumber Sieg will need brought right to his farm.” Nick stated firmly.
“What else can we do, Jarrod?”
“Sieg will need a cash loan to replace the tools and farm
equipment that he lost in the fire, Mother.
I thought that we might offer him an interest-free loan, but of course I
intended to put it before the family first.”
“Do it, Jarrod!” Nick spoke up immediately. “Any other building supplies that we have on
hand Sieg can have as well.”
“We’ll help him with the construction, too.” Heath added.
“Mother?” Jarrod awaited the final approval.
Victoria gazed at her three sons. “Your father gave his life to help those
families hold on to their farms. My
sons risked their lives against a small army of hired guns…” her voice cracked
with emotion. “Why would I withhold
mere money?”
Jarrod smiled.
“Thank you, Mother. I’ll speak
with Sieg tomorrow. I will also be
riding over to talk with George Mills and William Lewis. I heard a rumor in town today that they are
planning to voluntarily vacate their farms.”
“WHAT?”
“The Worth murders really have the farmers shaken,
Nick. It is one thing to face off in a
fight man-to-man, but it is quite another if Crown is willing to drag women and
children into this war.”
Nick’s eyes grew hard with resolve. “Heath and I have been talking about how to
protect the families, and we have a plan.
With the help of the rest of the ranchers, we can all spare enough men
to place at least two guards on the farms at highest risk. The farmers will stay put with their
families. Fred’s posse will be made up
of men from town and some of our other hands.
Heath and I will spread the word to the farmers tomorrow. Then we will be joining up with the posse. We’ll turn over every rock in this entire
valley until we find that nest of rattlesnakes!”
Chapter
7
They sat in the spacious study, with its’ walls of paneled
wood and its’ polished hardwood floor.
It was another of Crown’s idiosyncrasies along with his refusal to eat
lunch that he would only discuss business in this designated room. Jonathan Hoak was settled on the sofa. Jacob Crown had taken a seat at the large
desk. He was dressed in an immaculate
blue suit, black hair slicked back and a triumphant look in his blue eyes.
“What did I tell you, Mr. Hoak? The Sample widow has already left town and now Mills and Lewis
are leaving as well.” Crown studied the land map spread out before him on the
ample desktop. “Excellent! I believe these farmers will fall like dominos. I expect Swenson will be next as he won’t
have the means to rebuild. The bank
will not be issuing loans to any of the farmers for any purpose. I have also instructed Mr. Minter at the
freight office to double the current transportation fees.”
“Squeeze them financially from both sides, eh, Mr. Crown?”
Hoak smiled. He often wondered if Jacob
Crown wasn’t up at night scheming while everyone else was sleeping.
“What I have learned from the fight of six years ago as
well as the one six months ago, is that these are courageous men. In both fights, I felt I had them at a considerable
disadvantage. Twice, they were
out-manned and out-gunned and came away victorious. The Board of Directors was extremely displeased with the
outcomes.” Crown shook his head.
“Coastal and Western can not afford that kind of negative
publicity. There is something that
captures the public’s imagination about these David versus Goliath
confrontations. They see something
noble and heroic about simple little farmers standing against the hired guns of
the big, evil railroad! Public opinion
could turn on us very easily.”
“But we have never cared about public opinion in the past,
Mr. Crown.”
“No. But
politicians do. While we may line the
political coffers, it is the rank and file that cast the ballots. Our money won’t buy much political influence
if the prevailing winds of public opinion are blowing strongly against us.”
Crown believed in keeping his finger on the political pulse. He always seemed to know who and how far he
could push for political favors.
“That’s the beauty of this plan, Mr. Hoak! There is no overt involvement on my
part. This battle can be won by
recognizing those men’s needs and fears.
I am confident we can bring them to the point of submission. We simply let monetary concerns and fear
chip away at the farmers’ resolve. Between
the financial hardship and visits from Carlo’s friends, the farmers will find
themselves between the proverbial rock and a hard place!”
Hoak squirmed in his seat and cleared his throat. “There is other talk in town that I think
you ought to be aware of, Mr. Crown.
Rumor has it the Barkley family is making a personal loan to Siegfried
Swenson. The Barkley timber enterprise
has eight loads of finished lumber headed for the Swenson farm on the direct
orders of Nick Barkley as we speak.”
Hoak could see Crown’s face redden as the rage grew within
him. Crown’s jaw clenched and his eyes
hardened to an icy blue. “It seems
there is no end to the Barkley family’s meddlesome interference!”
“There’s more, Mr. Crown.” Hoak shifted uncomfortably once
again. “Nick Barkley has convinced all
the valley ranchers to lend enough of their cowhands to place armed guards at
each of the disputed farms. Meanwhile,
Sheriff Madden, the Barkleys and the rest of the posse will be scouring the
valley in search of the gang.”
Crown slammed his fist down on the desk. “So the Barkleys still want in on this
fight? So be it! The die is cast. It seems their father’s example taught them nothing… Although, I
am not surprised. They are, after all,
their father’s sons. They have his
horns.”
Crown fingered the map absently. “At least I am well acquainted with the enemy. I loathe surprises.” The blue eyes became
pensive as he sized up his adversaries.
“I have always found Jarrod to be a formidable opponent. He is a very intelligent man, capable of
playing a deep game. But as I said
before, Jarrod is also a very principled man… and that can be a liability in a
game where there are no rules. Nick does
not possess his brother’s intellect, but he has one positive virtue: he is as
brave and tenacious as a Pit Bull. He
knows much about force and very little about strategy. A man with an excitable, impulsive nature is
often the most predictable adversary.” Crown smiled slyly. “Let me think on my next move a while, Mr.
Hoak. Remember that old Persian saying,
‘There is danger for him that taketh the tiger cub’. Instruct Carlo to have the gang to lay low until I give further
orders!”
“One other thing, Mr. Crown. There is another Barkley brother to contend with. Tom Barkley’s bastard son Heath rode into
the valley the same day we arrived six months ago. The local gossip is that Nick Barkley threw him off the
ranch. The next morning, he showed up
at the Sample farm and was right in the middle of the action, fighting against
our men along side his half-brothers!”
Crown sat in silence for a long moment. “So we now have a complete unknown thrown
into the equation…” he said more to himself than to Hoak.
“Well, not a complete unknown, Mr. Crown.” Hoak again
fidgeted uncomfortably. “He’s the man
who beat our locomotive in the race to the crossing. You remember, the man you and Jarrod Barkley were laying bets on. I believe you were up to fifteen hundred
dollars when…”
Hoak was cut off short by the abruptness of the
reply. “I REMEMBER!” Crown barked out
through clenched teeth as he saw the vision of a wild, daring young rider on a
fleet-footed black horse once again in his mind’s eye.
Chapter
8
With the family gathered around the table for dinner,
Victoria gave thanks for the food as well as the added blessing that her
youngest sons had once again returned home safely.
For the past five days, they had combed the rugged
mountainous regions surrounding the valley with the rest of Fred’s posse.
“Still no luck, boys?” Jarrod asked as he passed a heaping
platter of roast beef to Nick.
“Nope.” Nick answered dejectedly, unable to keep the
weariness out of his voice. “You know
how hard it is to pick up a trail up there among those rocks. We’ve tried to cover as much ground as we
can, but the men are getting pretty worn out.”
“Can you get more men?” Victoria queried.
“That’s not gonna be easy, Mother.” Heath replied. “The ranchers have given up every man they
could spare to post guards at the farms.
Many of the men from town believe the attacks on the Swenson and Worth
farms were completely random.”
“Yeah.” Nick added.
“They think that since we haven’t found any sign of the gang and there
have been no more attacks, that the gang has already moved on out of the area. They’ve been complaining pretty loudly the
last two days about needing to get back to their businesses.”
“By tomorrow, I expect it’s going to be down to Fred,
Billy, Nick and me.” Heath sighed.
“We’re short on our crew like everyone else, but we plan on taking a
couple of our hands out with us every day.”
“Adkins and Barrett have volunteered to ride with the
posse. Barrett claims he’s a pretty
fair tracker.” Nick said.
“I wish I could join you, boys.” Jarrod’s blue eyes were
sincere. “I’ll be leaving for San
Francisco on the morning train. Judge
Matheson has moved up the preliminary hearing for the appeal on the court
calendar. Several important documents
are at my office in San Francisco.”
“Well, I hope you’ll have more luck than we’re having
right now.” Heath flashed Jarrod one of his crooked smiles.
“I still think you’re wasting your time, Pappy.” Nick
grumbled. “Unless you’re taking a
suitcase full of money with you so you can level the playing field.”
“Nick!”
“I’m just stating the obvious, Mother.”
“Surely, you’re not suggesting that Jarrod offer a bribe!”
Jarrod tilted his head and awaited Nick’s reply with a
hint of amusement dancing in his eyes at Nick’s predicament. Heath was pretending to concentrate on his
dinner, hoping Nick wouldn’t come back with an ‘Ain’t that right, Heath?’. Big Brother, you are on your own, he
thought.
“Of course not, Mother!” Nick protested with wide-eyed
innocence and a gesture toward Jarrod.
“It’s the lawyer here who is always saying he only wants to deal with
facts. I just gave him one.”
Heath tried to stifle a smile. He wondered how many times over the years his brother’s
straightforward bluntness had gotten him into hot water. But every time Heath had seen Victoria chide
Nick, he had noted something else in her eyes.
It was one of his big brother’s most endearing qualities to their mother
as well.
* * * * * * * *
Jacob Crown and Jonathan Hoak retired to the Study for an
after-dinner brandy. Crown took a seat
in an armchair while Hoak poured the two drinks. Hoak handed Crown his glass and then settled down on the settee.
“So you’ve found two men who may be of use to us to carry
out the gang’s next task, Mr. Hoak?”
“I have, Mr. Crown.” Jonathan Hoak’s excitement was
evident in his voice.
“So what was the impetus for switching to our side? Is it another case of the truism ‘every man
has his price’?” Crown’s curiosity was piqued.
“Partially.” Hoak replied. “But there is more to it than that! Jed Kyles is the type man who has no side other than his
own. He’s the totally shiftless
sort. I get the distinct impression
from our few conversations in the saloon that he thoroughly resents all the
other families in the valley that have prospered – particularly the
Barkleys! He’s not the sharpest knife
in the drawer, Mr. Crown, but then we won’t be requiring that much of him.”
“I agree.” Crown nodded in affirmation. “Even the village idiot ought to be able to
deliver one message! And the other pawn?”
“His name is Barrett.” Hoak paused for a moment with a
smile. “What makes him a particularly
valuable catch is that he works for the Barkleys!”
“And why is this Barrett willing to betray his employers?”
“There is talk in town that Barrett was one of the ring
leaders when the Barkley hands decided to jump ship and follow General Wallent
down to Mexico.”
“Our General Wallent?” Crown laughed out loud. “I heard rumors that lunatic had some wild
plan in the works after he parted company with our hired guns to get up a small
army and go fight for Diaz.”
“Wallent had Nick Barkley shot while out on a cattle drive
and convinced practically all the men to abandon the herd.” Hoak chuckled.
“It proves the old lunatic was right about one thing. Wasn’t he fond of saying ‘men are
sheep’? This is an amusing story, Mr.
Hoak. You’ve saved me from an evening
of boredom!”
“Heath Barkley killed Wallent in a showdown over the men.”
“That further confirms my suspicions that this new son
could do us harm.” Crown’s tone turned serious. “But you believe this Barrett can be counted on?”
“I do. Barrett
realizes that to a man like Nick Barkley, disloyalty to the brand is no small
thing. Barrett believes he’ll be let go
when the Barkleys cut back to their winter crew. He knows he won’t be re-hired in the spring, either. Seems Barrett and Heath Barkley have butted
heads a few times. Barrett still has no
use for Heath, but he follows his orders and calls him ‘Mr. Barkley’ since Nick
won’t tolerate anything less. Barrett
doesn’t want any blood on his own hands, but he would very much like to see the
bastard get his comeuppance!”
Crown’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Then Barrett sounds perfect for the role of
Judas goat!”
Chapter
9
By the first gray light of dawn, Nick, Heath, Adkins and
Barrett were heading down the North Road to rendezvous with Sheriff Madden and
Billy. The small posse planned to
explore the area around Big Rock Canyons again today. The name given the region was well deserved. The terrain was rough and rocky. The numerous huge boulders around which they
had to weave could easily serve as a point of ambush. Yesterday’s search had been slow going.
Fred Madden had made the decision yesterday that the men
could cover more territory if they split up.
While the other five men had been diligently searching for signs of the
outlaw gang, Barrett had slipped away to meet his contact. He had not even been missed.
The posse followed a trail through the timbered foothills
toward higher elevations. Sheriff
Madden and Billy were in the lead.
Barrett wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, but from Fred’s
gestures, it appeared he was trying to school his green, young deputy in some
of the finer points of tracking.
Nick and Heath Barkley were next, riding side by
side. It was a sight Barrett had seen
daily for months. He couldn’t make out
the soft banter that the two men were exchanging, nor was he in a position to
see Nick Barkley’s hazel eyes. But
Barrett knew well what resided in them every time Nick looked at the
blond. Barrett had seen the growing
affection on a daily basis as well, and yet it still had the power to ignite a
revulsion somewhere deep inside him.
Once, he had respected Nick Barkley.
Barrett couldn’t figure it. Why
would a fine family like the Barkleys take in a nothing?
Adkins rode directly behind the Barkley brothers and
Barrett had dropped back to ride behind Adkins. He didn’t want to have to concentrate on having to respond to
Adkins’ ongoing chatter this morning.
Barrett had other things on his mind.
Today was an important day!
The six horsemen picked their way through the rocky
terrain until they were back at the point where they had left off their search
the previous day.
Fred raised his hand and gave the signal to halt. He turned his horse so he could look
squarely at his small posse. “Let’s
split up again like we did yesterday, boys.
Just remember to stay alert up here… you never know what could be
waiting for you behind one of those boulders.
I don’t want any of you men taking any chances! If you pick up any tracks, don’t follow
‘em! Double back here and fire off a
shot so we can all meet up and check them out together. Got that?”
All five riders nodded an affirmative.
“Good! Alright
boys, let’s fan out!”
The riders turned and started off in different
directions. Barrett reined his horse to
a stop and looked back over his shoulder.
He took note of the direction each of the Barkley brothers traveled and
then headed up into the rocks.
Barrett slid off his horse and settled down against a
large boulder. He reached into the
pocket of his coat and pulled out his tobacco pouch and rolling papers. No telling just how long he would have to
wait here before he got the signal to move.
He rolled himself a cigarette and smoked it leisurely, all the while
keeping an eye out on the distant mountain peak.
Four cigarette butts lay at his feet before he saw the
flash of a mirror on the distant peak signaling him to action.
Barrett rode back to where the posse had separated. He had no trouble following Heath’s
trail. Barrett knew he could catch up
to the blond cowboy pretty quickly.
Heath was moving slowly and carefully amid the boulders, wary of
unforeseen danger. Barrett, on the
other hand, knew exactly where the outlaw gang was at this very moment.
Barrett spied the blond cowboy leaning forward in his
saddle intently studying the ground.
“Mr. Barkley!”
Heath swiveled around in the saddle, perplexed to see Barrett
riding up behind him.
“Yeah, Barrett!”
“Sheriff Madden doubled back and found me. He’s picked up the gang’s trail heading
through Breaker Pass!”
“But Breaker Pass leads into a box canyon! We use that canyon for trapping wild
mustangs. Why would the gang be holed
up where there’s only one way in or out?” Heath was thinking out loud as much
as he was questioning Barrett.
Barrett shrugged.
“I can’t say, Mr. Barkley. All I
know is Sheriff Madden said the tracks look real fresh! He thinks the gang is still in there. The sheriff wants you to ride to Stockton
for more ammunition and men. I’m
supposed to find Nick and Adkins. The
sheriff doesn’t want any shots fired off.
He’s gonna track down Billy.
Then we’re all gonna just sit tight at the mouth of Breaker Pass till
you get back with help.”
“Okay, Barrett.
Tell the sheriff I’ll be back as quick as I can!” Heath reined his horse
down the rocky slope in the direction heading back toward town.
“I’ll do that… MR. BARKLEY!” Barrett called to Heath’s
retreating back.
Barrett smiled and galloped back to his original
post. He squatted behind the same large
boulder and took up his vigil. This
time, he was too nervous to smoke.
The black-haired man with the strange accent was supposed
to relay a signal to him again when the deed was done. Then Barrett would go find Nick Barkley.
It seemed as if it was an eternity before the mirror
flashed once more.
Chapter
10
What Barrett had witnessed in Nick Barkley’s eyes, he
could have scarcely understood. To
understand the devastation reflected back in those hazel eyes, Barrett would
have had to understand love itself.
That mystical power of a spiritual gravitational force that holds two
souls so close they become intermingled.
But what little Barrett could appreciate gave him no small
measure of satisfaction. He knew of the
old expression ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve’ and Barrett had never seen
it done more openly than Nick Barkley did in that moment. The deep pain and anguish had been clearly
evident to Barrett. That he could play
a role in ushering in Death to rip the two brothers’ souls apart gave Barrett a
feeling he could hardly have imagined.
He felt elated with power! For
one shining moment, Barrett’s hand had steered the rudder of the ship of Fate
that would bring these high and mighty Barkleys low!
Following the mirror flash from the distant peak, Barrett
had ridden off in search of Nick Barkley.
He had galloped up to his boss almost breathless with excitement.
“Mr. Barkley! Mr.
Barkley! It’s your brother!”
“What?” Nick locked Barrett with a fierce stare. “Heath?”
“Yeah, Mr. Barkley.
I was up near that finger rock formation and I spotted Heath… ah, Mr.
Barkley off in the distance. It looked
to me like he was on to that gang’s trail.
He was following it by himself!
I don’t know why he didn’t do like the sheriff ordered…” Barrett
lied. “The trail was headed toward
Stockton. But, I don’t figure the gang
was headed there. I figure maybe they
were gonna hit the Knowles place. I
took off after him, Mr. Barkley, to stop him from trailing that gang by
himself. But I was too late… they shot
him.”
Nick’s eyes flamed with a fearsome rage as well as that
awesome devastation. Then he had turned
his big Appaloosa and bolted off at breakneck speed without a thought to
caution.
Barrett wanted to be on hand to witness the final scene of
this melodrama. But it was no mean feat
to keep up with Nick Barkley! Nick’s
spurs raked the Appaloosa’s flanks and he lashed the ends of his reins against
the stallion’s shoulders. The powerful
Appaloosa’s hooves thundered furiously up ahead as Barrett whipped his own
mount to try to keep pace.
Yes, Barrett wanted to be there to see the final act play
out. His anticipation only heightened
as he tried to imagine the scene. Nick
Barkley would cradle his dead brother in his arms with unfathomable grief. Barrett would feign remorse and regret. He would profess his sorrow and swear to his
boss that he had done everything he could to save the blond. Nick Barkley would never know the truth.
Who knows, Barrett thought, maybe Nick would decide to
keep him on after all. The Barkley
Ranch wouldn’t be such a bad place to work again once he no longer had to take
orders from a dead man’s dirt!
The crack of rifle fire shattered the image in Barrett’s
head. Barrett’s eyes widened in shock
and he reflexively reined back his horse as the scene in front of him unfolded.
The bullet ripped through the neck of the racing
Appaloosa, severing its’ spinal cord.
Barrett was stunned by the sight of the magnificent stallion crumbling
in a heap as his legs collapsed under him.
Nick was thrown clear as the big horse crashed to the ground and tumbled
to a halt. Nick hit the ground hard and
his body lay still where he rolled to a stop.
Barrett yanked his horse to a standstill and just sat
there for a long moment in utter disbelief.
His mind barely registered the sound of approaching hoof beats.
Carlo Lucci and the six outlaws crossed the distance from
their point of ambush very quickly.
Carlo surveyed the scene and eyed the shaken cowhand and smiled. Barrett involuntarily shuddered. Lucci’s smile and demeanor did little to
hide the malevolence that smoldered within him.
“You…you said you’d get Heath!” Barrett stammered, his
voice strained.
“No, Mr. Barrett.
You assumed we’d get Heath.” Carlo sneered.
“But, Heath…”
“Is probably buying ammunition and rounding up a posse in
Stockton.” Carlo ended Barrett’s speculation.
“Isn’t that what you asked him to do, Mr. Barrett? You’d better come with us. I don’t think you want to cross paths with
the bastard right now.”
There was something about the tone of Lucci’s voice that
convinced Barrett this was more than a suggestion. The six outlaws laughed and snickered among themselves at
Barrett’s obvious discomfort.
“Our bait, Keller.” Carlo addressed Butch.
“Boyd!
Streeter! Get Barkley and tie
him across a horse. You two boys will
be riding double back to the cabin.
Hurry up!” Butch Keller barked orders to his men.
As Lucci and the outlaw gang made their way to the cabin,
Barrett’s trepidation grew. He had been
misled and played for a fool and he knew it.
There were more facets to this game than Barrett had been aware of, and
now there was no going back. Lucci was
right in that Barrett couldn’t risk running into Heath Barkley. The betrayal Barrett had hoped would never
be revealed could not help but come to light.
And yet, he did not want to throw in his lot with this bunch. For this one crime, they would be hunted
relentlessly. Barkley influence and
money would see to that! Barrett
thought it best to part company with these outlaws before he ended up
stretching ropes with them.
Barrett mustered his courage. “Ah… Mr. Lucci!” Barrett rode up beside Carlo and reined his
horse to a stop, as did the other riders.
“I figure I’ve done my part.
There’s no way I can ever show my face in Stockton again. I thought I’d head up north from here.”
Barrett could only hope that Lucci and the outlaws would allow him to leave.
“You are ready to part company so soon?” Carlo gave
Barrett another disconcerting smile.
Carlo shrugged. “As you wish.”
Barrett breathed a sigh of relief and turned his eyes
northward, as he was about to ride away.
“Wait, Mr. Barrett!” Carlo hissed. “You are forgetting your pay!”
Barrett had no time to react as the knife blade was
plunged into his heart with lethal accuracy.
* * * * * * * *
Crown’s eyes shone with a triumphant gleam! Hoak had seen this look many times before –
from the most mundane business meeting to the corridors of power in Washington
D.C. – Crown was accustomed to
winning. A smug little smile graced
Crown’s lips as Hoak recounted the scene he had witnessed less than an hour earlier.
Clint Sellers had burst through the batwing doors of the
saloon at a run. “Boys, you’ll never
believe what I just heard!”
Clint had the full attention of Harry the bartender, four men
that stood at the bar drinking and the scattered men sitting around the card
tables. “I just heard that outlaw gang
got Nick Barkley somewhere between here and Big Rock!”
There was a moment of shocked silence. Harry clenched his fists in rage. Though Nick had busted up his furniture on
more than a few occasions, Harry had always considered Nick more a friend than
a customer.
“You sure about that, Clint?” Harry asked, hoping that
somehow the boy had heard wrong.
“I weren’t more than six feet away from Heath Barkley when
Jed Kyles rode up and told him the news!
Heath went into the Gunsmith Shop for just a few minutes and then lit
out of town like a bat out of hell!”
“Well, I’ll be…”
A frenzy of excited conversation erupted in the saloon as
the patrons recovered from their initial shock.
Jonathan Hoak had listened with keen interest. He decided to make small talk for a while
before taking the news of their success back to Crown. Hoak motioned Harry to pour him another
shot. “You think Heath Barkley has gone
after that gang?”
“I know it.” Harry stated flatly.
“By himself? What
can he do on his own?”
“What can he do?
He can track like an Indian.
That boy told me he once scouted Apaches for a wagon train. He’s as quick as greased lightning on the
draw… I’ve seen it with my own eyes!
Ask some of your boys who high-tailed it away from that fracas at
Sample’s farm what he can do with a rifle.
Nick Barkley told me himself that boy won the Medal of Honor as a
sharpshooter during the war!”
Crown easily picked up on the sense of unease that clouded
Hoak’s brown eyes.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Mr. Hoak! It is a fait accompli. Events are unfolding just as I planned. Barkley will no doubt attempt to rescue his
brother from that cabin and will step right into his own coffin! Even Heath Barkley’s considerable talents
are not enough to balance the scales.” Crown chuckled as he thought of the
formidable gang of outlaws that Lucci had assembled.
“A war hero, is he?
Well, our young war hero has just let emotion cloud his better
judgment. Heath Barkley has just
violated the first dictum of military strategy – an attacking force should
always outnumber an entrenched defending force! He is outnumbered seven, or should I say eight to one.” Crown corrected
himself as he reflected for a moment on Barrett’s predicament. Yes, men of that ilk were easily
manipulated.
“Heath Barkley is riding into a trap.” Crown
continued. “He cannot save his brother
or himself! The impulsiveness in his
nature that was evident in that reckless race against the train will be his
undoing. I judge him to be more like
Nick Barkley in that regard. You see,
Mr. Hoak, I have used their love for the other to lead them both into a
deathtrap. Is it not ironic? I have used the bond of brotherhood that
they share to divide and conquer! I
predict that the loss of two of its’ scions will take the fight right out of
the Barkley clan.” A self-satisfied smile slowly spread over Jacob Crown’s
face.
The doubt that had earlier clouded Hoak’s mind evaporated
as he stared into a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating blue eyes. Behind those eyes worked a keen,
contemplative and precise mind. Yes,
even in the cold-blooded, cutthroat world of big business, Hoak’s boss rarely
lost.
Chapter
11
Butch Keller broke into a gap-toothed grin. “Hey, Boyd!
Looks like you don’t hafta ride double no more!”
Kent Boyd slid off the horse from behind Lyle Streeter and
walked over to where Barrett lay on his side.
He kicked the dead cowboy onto his back. “Might as well take his leg-iron too, Butch!”
The outlaws left the open range and continued on up into
the rocky ridges where the trail would be much tougher to follow. It was among these rocks that Carlo Lucci
planned to leave the added insurance that Heath Barkley would trail the gang no
farther.
“Can you handle this on your own, Brandt?” Lucci asked.
Brandt nodded.
“Sure thing, Mr. Lucci. You saw
the shot I made on that running Appaloosa!
I’ll find myself just the right spot to take the shot and then I’ll meet
you back at the hide-out.”
The outlaws left Andrew Brandt to his task and hurried on,
traveling as fast as they could over the rough terrain. Lucci intended to have a couple of armed
guards at the ready in the cabin until Brandt returned. Just in case…
* * * * * * * *
Heath had rode hard into Stockton and reined his Modoc
mare to a stop in front of the Gunsmith Shop.
He intended to tell Ellery to get up an order of ammunition for the
posse while he rounded up some men.
It was just then that Jed Kyles galloped up and relayed an
urgent message about Nick. Heath ran
into the Gunsmith Shop for one quick purchase before he again had the Modoc
mare stretched to her limit in the direction from which he had come.
Heath swung down from his mare and carefully scoured the
ground around the dead Appaloosa. Nick
and this big Ap had always been a sight to behold. Ish was almost seventeen hands high, larger than average for the
breed, but his markings were classic Appaloosa. His coat bore a perfect white blanket with numerous dark gray
spots that started midway his back and covered his hips. The stallion had been a handful from the
start. Jarrod once said that when Nick
had tried to break the fiery Ap, the horse had bucked and spun like a ‘whirling
dervish’. He’d been dubbed Dervish, but
Nick just called him ‘Ish’. Nick still
preferred dependable old Coco to the spirited and unpredictable Appaloosa. Coco had seemed a bit tired and worn from
the long days on the trail, so Nick had chosen to ride the Appaloosa this
day. The pair always seemed to Heath to
be naturally suited. Heath had thought
the stallion to be an apt choice for Coco’s heir apparent. “Good-bye, big fella.” Heath whispered.
Heath’s heart hammered in his chest as he studied the site
surrounding the fallen Appaloosa. The
skids and scuffs that scarred the ground bore silent witness to the violent
tumble both horse and rider had taken.
Heath fought back the desperate feeling of urgency that threatened to
overwhelm all reason. He must keep his
wits about him. His brother’s very life
was at stake, as well as his own.
Heath knelt on one knee and touched the horseshoe prints
with his finger. There were eight
men. One horse was obviously carrying
two riders. Another wore shoes with a
distinctive marking that Heath had seen many times before. “Barrett…” he growled. “I’ll follow you to hell!”
Heath swung back into the saddle. The tracks led east. Heath could find solace in only one thought:
if Nick had been killed outright, the gang would have never gone to the trouble
of carrying him off!
Heath found Barrett’s body just as the outlaws had left
it. He felt no sympathy at the twist of
fate that had overtaken the unfortunate cowhand. Fate can be a cruel mistress.
She can take you to the mountaintop only to throw you off a cliff. Heath addressed the traitor who could no
longer hear his words. “The buzzards
probably won’t even want you, Barrett!”
Heath followed the fresh tracks across open range and up
onto the rock-strewn ridges. He moved
slower as it became tougher to pick up the trail on the hard-packed
ground. The tracks were not so faint
that Heath failed to pick up that a lone rider had split off from the gang.
No wonder the outlaws hadn’t seemed overly concerned he
would be on their trail, Heath thought.
They had left a bushwhacker behind.
The sniper would expect Heath to follow the trail right into his gun
sights.
Heath had no intention of making himself an easy
target. Perhaps this was a fortuitous
turn of events. The tracks were getting
fainter and Heath feared he might lose them altogether. If he could turn the tables on the would-be
ambusher, Heath could find out exactly where his brother was being taken.
Heath decided to double back a few hundred yards and then
carefully work his way back along the higher elevations. “We’ll see just how good you really are,
Mister!” Heath muttered.
Heath knew how good he was. He had proved it time and again as an Army sniper during the
war. Even as a boy among men, Heath
excelled above his peers. He had been
assigned one dangerous mission after the other because as his commanding
officer once said: “Boy, you’re cursed with being a natural.”
Heath left the mare behind the cover of a large
boulder. It was just like being back in
the war when he commenced his silent stalk.
Adrenaline surged throughout his entire being as if to push every one of
his five senses to the breaking point.
Every color, shape, sound, feel, and smell heightened in intensity. The crisp air brought the faintest sound to
his ears and even his peripheral vision seemed to pick up nearly imperceptible
movement. When he caught a flash of
unnatural color amid the earth tones, Heath knew just like so many times in the
past, the prey was his.
The way the two rocks kissed each other made for the
perfect rifle rest. Brandt, armed only
with his rifle, looked down the weapon’s barrel and waited for Heath Barkley to
follow the trail into clear view. He
had not bothered to look around and check behind him…
“Don’t move!” A voice from behind called.
Brandt spun around and tried to fire. The rifle dropped from his hands when the
.45 bullet ripped into his right upper chest.
“Damn!” Brandt groaned as he sank down against the rocks
at his back.
Heath walked over and picked up the rifle with his left
hand. There’s big money backing this
outfit, he thought, as he tossed the expensive rifle down the side of the
ridge.
Heath aimed his pistol at the wounded man’s head. “Where’s my brother?”
“Help me… get me to… to a doctor… and… and I’ll tell ya.”
“Tell me now!” The barrel pointed at Brandt’s head never
moved.
“A… doctor…” Brandt’s eyes pleaded as his left hand clutched
at his bloodstained white shirt.
“Alright. I’d have
to go back to Stockton to get more men anyway.
But you’ve got to tell me now!
You might be unconscious by the time we get back to town.”
“Okay.” Brandt took a painful breath. “Go east… another… 500 yards to… cone rock
formation… then north to timbers… follow old game trail through woods… old
cabin right near the bend of Drownin Creek.”
Heath turned and walked away. Sometimes, a good bluff wins the pot.
“Wait!” Brandt wheezed.
Heath threw him an icy, steel blue stare. “You’re on your own, Mister!”
“Please…” Andrew Brandt managed to whisper at the
retreating back before he closed his eyes and never opened them again.
Chapter
12
The chilly afternoon air combined with the fast ride still
stung his cheeks. He had covered the
last mile weaving amidst the trees under the cover of the timber. Heath breathed a sigh of relief. Andrew Brandt had not lied. The cabin was exactly where Brandt said it
would be. It’s outline blended in well
against the curtain of brown and green trees it was nestled among.
Heath ground tied his Modoc mare in the trees still some
distance from the cabin. He would make
his approach on foot as he had done countless times in the war. Heath untied the leather thongs behind his
saddle that securely held the sack that he had purchased from the Gunsmith
Shop. His rope and the sack in hand,
Heath moved ever closer to the cabin.
The curtains at the windows were wide apart and the light
from a kerosene lamp could be seen burning warmly. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney. The two windows on either side of the front door were opened just
enough to fit the rifle barrels that protruded from them.
Heath eased amidst the cover of trees and underbrush and silently
circled the cabin unseen. Even if the
outlaws had left a guard standing on the front steps, it would have made little
difference to this experienced stalker.
The rear of the cabin was windowless, with a single backdoor. The log cabin had a little built-on room off
to one side that appeared to be somewhat run-down as it now had a noticeable
lean.
Heath eased to the side of its wall and found an area
where the clay had flaked out between two of the logs. He peered through the slit and amid the old
broken furniture lying on the dirt floor was his brother. Heath took out his knife and quietly worked
a little more clay away to get a better look.
Nick was bound and gagged. Heath’s anger boiled at the sight of his brother’s unconscious
form. The deep gash on Nick’s forehead
up near the hairline and the pallor beneath the bloodstains on his face were
worrisome.
“I’ll get you out of here, Big Brother!” Heath whispered.
He moved silently behind the cover of an oak that stood
near the rear corner of the cabin. In a
small corral out behind the cabin, one of the horse’s ears went up and she eyed
him nervously. Heath decided to take a
minute and let the range-bred mare get accustomed to his presence. The other six horses hadn’t shown any
interest in him at all. Stable-bred and
ranch-raised, he reasoned.
That was another reason Heath preferred his little Modoc
mare. The Indian ponies had a
well-deserved reputation for speed and stamina. As he had told Nick one day, ‘She may not be as big as that long-legged,
grain-fed dandy of yours, but Walela will carry me a lot farther and faster!’
Heath sometimes called her by the Indian name she had been given. It meant ‘hummingbird’ for she was also a
creature that was small, beautiful and fast!
But the tough little mountain-bred Modoc mare would also raise quite a
ruckus at the approach of any man or beast.
The Indians left their ponies to run wild until it was time to gentle
them. The times spent on their own,
with no protection from predators except their own watchful care, honed the
herd’s survival instincts razor sharp.
The range-bred eyed him warily as he had moved around the
tree where she could get a better look at him.
A strange man, but not a mountain lion or a wolf. She began to lose interest as well but kept
an ear tilted in his direction.
If Heath read her body language right, the mare was no
longer inclined to whinny or raise a fuss.
He climbed his way deftly up through the limbs of the oak tree that
stood near the rear corner of the cabin.
Heath eased himself out on the bough of a sturdy limb and stepped
silently onto the roof. He made his way
over to the chimney with cat-like lightness of foot. Plumes of dark gray smoke filtered through it from the fire that
crackled in the hearth.
Heath tied one end of the long rope securely around the
mouth of the sack. He lowered the sack
down through the chimney, gently giving the rope a little more slack. Heath crouched down behind the chimney and
let go of the rope. He’d know when the
sack had reached its’ destination.
Another lesson Heath had learned in the war: superior numbers can be
overcome with superior firepower!
When the sack of gunpowder dropped into the flames, it’s
contents exploded violently in the hearth.
The room was suddenly filled with a spray of fiery wood, coals, ashes
and billowing black smoke.
A glowing chunk of fiery log was blown from the hearth and
struck Carlo Lucci on the left side of his face. He lay dazed on the floor.
The other five men in the small cabin, overcome by the
deafening explosion, fiery cinders and thick ashen smoke fumbled blindly for
the door. They stumbled out the door
dazed, coughing and wheezing from smoke inhalation, their stinging eyes red and
watery.
“The roof!” Butch Keller, wanted for murder in three
different states, wheezed out just as a bullet hit the center of his face and
ripped through his brain. Keller
crumpled to the ground, his body twitching its death throes.
Two members of the gang were frantically trying to put out
the flames that had ignited their shirts, but all four drew their guns and
fired wildly. The four outlaws were no
match for the steady hand and lethal aim of the clear-eyed man who had taken
cover behind the chimney.
Carlo had been crawling toward the front door. The left side of his face was in
excruciating pain! He reached up to
touch it instinctively and nearly screamed when a layer of his facial skin
clung to his fingertips. Carlo heard
the rapid fire of the Colt revolver.
The shots were coming so fast that they seemed to blend together. Carlo got to his feet painfully and
staggered out the back door of the cabin.
He had no interest in being part of this shoot-out!
These men of the American West were lethal with guns. Carlo was much more adept at wringing a neck
or slipping a stiletto silently between ribs.
He retrieved his mount from the small corral and galloped off, his face
burning like fire!
Heath slid down the slanted porch roof and leapt to the
ground. There was no time to
waste! Already, fires were breaking out
all over the interior of the cabin. The
curtains curled and disintegrated in flames as fire raced up toward the
ceiling.
Chapter
13
The door to the small built-on room offered minimal
resistance as Heath kicked it open.
“NICK!” He rushed to his unresponsive brother’s side. The flames behind them threw flickering
light into the room. Heath could feel
the heat rising at his back. “Come on,
Big Brother, we’ve got to hurry!”
Heath grabbed the larger man under his arms and dragged
him toward the front door. Flames were
engulfing the old cabin with amazing rapidity.
Curtains, bedding and furniture were aflame and fire was racing up the
walls to the ceiling. The structure
crackled and popped, as it became fuel for the devouring flames. Heath pulled Nick to the safety of the yard
just as a burning timber fell and blocked the doorway.
“Nick?” Heath called as he dug his knife out of his
pocket. He carefully cut away the mouth
gag and the ropes that bound Nick’s hands.
“Nick!” he called with more urgency and slapped his brother’s cheek
several times.
Nick’s breathing was steady and even, but he did not
stir. Heath examined the head
wound. The gash started high on Nick’s
forehead above his right eye just below the hairline. The jagged laceration extended back into the hair another good
three inches. Nick’s face was streaked
with rivulets of dried blood. The
bleeding had slowed to not much more than ooze.
Heath unfastened Nick’s bandana and tied it around his
brother’s head. The makeshift bandage
would put a little pressure on the wound as well as cover it during the journey
home. Heath hurried to retrieve his
mare and construct a travois to transport his brother home.
Heath found two long and sturdy poles lying near the corral. He took the ropes and blankets from the
outlaw’s saddles. A Plains Indian-style
horse travois could be constructed quickly and easily.
Heath laid the two poles in an inverted ‘V’ and tied them
securely. He used the ropes to make
webbing that would serve as a litter in the middle. The open end would drag the ground, kind of like a wheel-less
chariot. Heath lined the webbing with
blankets and carefully moved Nick onto the litter. Heath covered his brother with a couple of blankets and tied him
snugly to the travois. Nick had still
shown no signs of regaining consciousness and Heath knew there was little he
could do but get him to the ranch.
“Whoa, gal!” Heath calmed the mare as he lifted and fitted
the closed end of the travois over her shoulders. He tied it securely and swung into the saddle, his legs hanging
down on either side of the poles. Heath
threw a worried glance over his shoulder at his brother and started on his way.
Heath recognized the three riders galloping in his
direction across the open range. When
the Barkley brothers and Barrett had not been there to meet up with the
remainder of the posse, Sheriff Madden, Billy and Adkins set off in search of
them. The men rode up to the lone
rider.
“Adkins! Get to town
and tell Doc Merar that he’s needed at the ranch. While you’re there, send a telegram to Jarrod in San Francisco
and tell him he’s needed at home. Hurry
Adkins!” Heath shouted to the cowhand.
Adkins spun around and galloped off toward Stockton. Fred and Billy reined in beside the travois
and were shocked by it’s cargo.
“How bad, Heath?” Fred asked.
“Bad.” Heath looked over his shoulder for a moment and
then turned his emotive eyes homeward.
Fred and Billy exchanged a quick glance. They had both seen the profound pain and
worry in that brief glimpse.
Fred rode up beside the blond. “Heath,” he said gently, “what happened? Where’s Barrett?”
“Dead.” Heath never slowed his pace.
Fred knew Heath was in no mood for an inquisition, but the
sheriff still had a job to do. “I need
to know exactly what happened, Heath.”
Heath sighed.
“Barrett was in on it. He
tricked me into going to town and then led Nick into an ambush. The gang double-crossed Barrett and killed
him. His body is lying near the ridge. I shot one outlaw up in the rocks. He’s probably dead by now. The rest were hiding out in an old cabin
near Drownin Creek. I burned it down.”
Heath cast a sideways glance at Fred.
“You’ll find five of them dead in the yard. There was one more… I figured he’d been injured and didn’t make
it out of the fire. But then when I
stripped their saddles of ropes and blankets, I noticed a horse was missing.”
Billy’s eyes had grown wide during the monotone,
matter-of–fact rendition. Heath told
his story like he was talking about the weather. Billy stared in awe at Heath.
Fred was taken aback for a moment as well.
“That… ah… that was a fine job, Heath. You get Nick home. Billy and I will see to the bodies and maybe pick up the last
outlaw’s trail.”
Heath didn’t respond.
Fred placed a supportive hand on the preoccupied young man’s
shoulder. “I hope he’ll pull through,
son.” Fred nodded to Billy and they galloped off.
* * * * * * * *
With the help of several of the hands, Nick had been settled
into his own bed. Heath and Victoria
removed his boots and shirt and covered him with a warm blanket. Victoria replaced the bloodied bandana with
a clean muslin bandage. It was her
first look at the head injury, and the sight of underlying bone peeking through
the long gash filled her with trepidation.
She gently cleaned the blood from Nick’s face and spoke to him in
soothing tones.
Despite the flow of reassurances that flowed across her
lips, Victoria knew this head injury was severe. One look into Heath’s agonized eyes told her that he knew as
well.
Silas showed Dr. Merar up to the bedroom. “Victoria.
Heath.” Howard nodded briefly to mother and son. “What happened?”
“Nick’s horse was shot out from under him at a dead run…”
Heath tried to force visions of the violent tumble that must have occurred from
his mind. “He was thrown… real hard,
Doc.”
“Have there been any signs of consciousness?”
“No, Howard.” Victoria sighed. “Heath said Nick was unconscious when he found him at the gang’s
hide-out and he has been that way ever since.”
“Alright.” Howard’s tone was coolly professional. “Silas, please take these instruments down
to the kitchen and place them in boiling water. Leave them in a good five minutes!”
“I got some boiled water cooling right now, Doctor, and
lots more on the stove about ready to boil!”
“Excellent, Silas.
Bring up several basins along with soap and plenty of clean towels.”
Nick lay semi-recumbent propped up by several
pillows. Dr. Merar popped open his gold
watch, took Nick’s wrist and timed his pulse.
It was rapid, but strong and regular.
Howard listened to Nick’s chest with his stethoscope and found no cause
for alarm.
The doctor studied his patient’s color. Nick was pale but this was not surprising,
as Howard knew scalp wounds could bleed profusely. He lifted Nick’s eyelids.
The doctor’s trained eye noted with concern that the right pupil was
nonreactive. Howard quickly checked
Nick’s ears and was relieved to find no bloody drainage. The doctor removed the head bandage and then
turned to wash his hands thoroughly before further examining the deep
laceration.
Howard finished his examination of Nick’s head wound and
turned to the basin to wash his hands again.
He slowly wiped his hands dry deep in thought.
“Howard?” Victoria’s voice cracked. It concerned her that the doctor, and her
good friend as well, had not lifted his eyes to meet her searching gaze.
Howard looked into the eyes of his patient’s mother and
brother: eyes that pleaded for hope and reassurance. Howard cleared his throat.
He wished he had better news.
Yet, all his years as a physician had taught him that the unvarnished
truth was always the best path.
“Nick’s skull is fractured.” Howard paused to let the
words sink in. Victoria’s eyes closed
momentarily as her knees seemed to grow weak.
Heath instinctively wrapped an arm around her small shoulders and drew
her close against his side. Mother and
son would draw strength from each other for whatever was to follow.
“Victoria, were this a simple fracture, an undisplaced
crack, I would be inclined to watch and wait.
But this is a depressed fracture.
I am quite sure it is causing underlying pressure on the brain and
possibly further damage from a growing hematoma. The surgery to attempt to correct this injury is delicate and
dangerous.” Howard paused again to let Victoria and Heath assimilate the grim
news. “But there is simply no other
choice. I must operate and as soon as
possible!”
Chapter
14
Dr. Merar washed Nick’s scalp thoroughly with a diluted
iodine and soap mixture. He then shaved
the hair around the long laceration.
“Heath, you be prepared to give him a whiff of ether
should he need it. Just pour a little
on that gauze and hold it lightly over his nose and mouth.” Howard
instructed. Heath nodded his readiness
to the doctor.
“Victoria, you will assist me with the instruments and by
dabbing away any blood that pools and obstructs my view.” More gently the
doctor added. “Will you be alright?”
“Yes, Howard!” Victoria lifted her chin bravely. “I’ll do whatever I must to help my son.”
Howard nodded to her.
He had seen this remarkable woman in action on enough occasions to know
that was exactly what she would do.
“Then let’s proceed!”
Dr. Merar picked up his scalpel and crossed the
laceration’s midpoint with an incision of his own. He pulled the scalp incision flaps back away from the fracture
site and secured them with sutures. His
view of the skull fracture was now unobstructed. Howard removed a few small bony splinters easily with his
forceps. He sighed as he realized there
was no room to pry up the depressed piece of bony plate.
“Hand me that T-shaped instrument, Victoria. I am going to have to bore a small hole in
the fracture line to gain some leverage to elevate the depressed piece of skull
back to its proper position.”
Victoria handed Howard the trephine. It was an odd looking instrument. The business end of the trephine was a
conical cutting head that ended in a circle of teeth. There was a perforator pin inside its shaft that was lowered to
just slightly below the circle of teeth and locked in place with a side screw.
Howard centered the perforator pin over the fracture
line. Holding the trephine carefully
perpendicular to Nick’s skull, the doctor turned the handles, which rotated the
cutting head. Once a circular groove of
even depth was made, he retracted the perforator pin and locked it well up in
the shaft. Howard continued to twist
the trephine until its truncated cone shape acted as a brake against the
cranial walls. Thus, the trephining was
stopped short of reaching the brain membrane with the bone disc not quite
detached.
Howard handed the trephine back to Victoria. “I’ll need the elevator now.” He pointed out
another instrument. Howard used the
elevator to lever the small bony disc free.
He then used the elevator to pry up the depressed fracture piece by
levering the instrument against firm bone.
When the offending piece was back to its normal position,
Howard peered at the brain’s protective membrane through the small hole. Instead of lying slack against the brain,
the dura mater bulged into the borehole.
“Just as I suspected…” Howard said. “There is evidence of subdural
bleeding. I will need to incise the
dura and let it drain. Scalpel again,
Victoria.” Howard made a small cut and the hematoma quickly decompressed. “Good!” he breathed. “It appears to be old blood and I don’t see
any fresh bleeding. I am ready for that
curved needle and silk suture.”
“What about the hole, Doc?” Heath asked.
“In the war, we covered large skull defects with a lead
plate. Nature gradually seals these
little trephine holes over with a tough fibroid tissue.”
Howard sewed the flaps of the skin incision closed. Once the hair grows back this won’t even be
noticeable, he thought, if Nick makes it that far… He covered the wound with a
piece of linen with perforations followed by a lint compress and muslin bandaging.
Howard placed the used instruments in a basin to
soak. He rinsed off his hands and
toweled them dry.
For all his learning, there was still much that the doctor
–any doctor- did not know and could not predict. Only a fool would presume to speak good or ill with absolute
certainty…
“Victoria. Heath.”
Howard eyed the two compassionately. “I
sincerely wish I could say for sure that the worst has passed for Nick. In the best-case scenario, the surgery has
relieved the pressure on Nick’s brain, any swelling will subside and he will
recover without any permanent effects.
But…” Howard paused. “It is also
possible that his brain was traumatized with such force that it will continue
to swell unabated. If that happens,
there is nothing I can do. This is one
of the all too frequent circumstances where I must say only time will tell.”
“How much time, Howard?
How long before we know?”
“I can’t tell you that for certain either, Victoria. Nor have I touched on all the gradations
between the two extremes. Let’s just
focus on the short term.”
“I’ve sent a wire to Jarrod. I expect he’ll be coming in on the morning train. Audra is in Boston. Should we wire her?”
“I’d be inclined to wait, Heath. This situation will have declared itself one way or another
before she could get home. With any luck,
we may be able to spare her from a lot of unnecessary worry. I’ll meet Jarrod’s train in the morning and
give him a ride to the ranch. We’ll
have the cross-examination out of the way before I arrive to check on my
patient.”
Chapter
15
Victoria and Heath kept a vigil by Nick’s bedside through
the long night. He remained
unconscious. There was no change in his
condition.
Heath kept a watchful eye on his new mother as well. She sat in a chair by Nick’s bed, her small
hands folded in her lap. Heath marveled
at his new mother’s strength and serenity.
A woman who chose the life of a western pioneer needed
this inner strength of character. It
was a rugged life, fraught with hardships, danger and unpredictability. They did not fight fate, but were at peace
with the inevitability that good times as well as bad must one day come to all
in their turn. Faith, forged in the
fires of adversity over a lifetime, made the acceptance of even death a ritual
of calm and dignity.
The silence of the vigil was deafening. Heath longed for some profound or comforting
words to say, but none came. Tell me
about Nick, he wanted to say. Tell me
about what he was like as a boy. Was
his personality always so forceful; bringing life and laughter to wherever he
happened to be? Heath longed to know
more of his brother – all there was to know.
How else could he appreciate all that was this special man?
Heath thought of his greatest loss to date: the loss of
Leah – his beloved mother. Only seven
months past, his heart was still raw and weeping. He cherished the memory of her eyes, her smile, her hair, her
smell, her honeyed drawl, her likes and dislikes, and her idiosyncrasies. For to love her was to remember every
detail, to remember private and long-past moments together, to remember the
nuances that made Leah unique and impossible to replace.
Heath had some old pictures, several letters and personal
belongings she had saved in a trunk.
But what he didn’t have anymore was Leah. There were no new memories to be made. Perhaps that’s why every memory was priceless to Heath; why he
held each in his heart with such tenacity.
But he and Nick had only shared six short months – a mere
pittance of time in the course of a lifetime.
Heath hoped and prayed there would be more but there was no promise of a
tomorrow. That is why Heath wanted to
plumb the depths of Victoria’s memories.
Somehow, it felt terribly out of place to speak and interrupt her
personal musings. Minutes passed. Then hours.
They passed the night this way.
Perhaps, this quietness was an unspoken rule of the ritual as well.
Jarrod arrived with Dr. Merar in the morning. He gave his mother a comforting hug and
gently kissed her cheek. Both she and
Heath looked exhausted. The three stood
silently by as the doctor finished his examination.
“He is still in a coma.” The doctor’s tone was
matter-of-fact. “Although at this stage
things are still uncertain, I am encouraged that Nick’s pupil is now
reactive. There is still nothing to be
done other than supportive care and watchful waiting.” Howard closed his bag
and started to leave. “One other thing,
since we don’t know how long Nick will be unconscious, you all must try to get
sufficient rest – beginning with you two!” He motioned to Victoria and
Heath. “I suggest you take this in
shifts. Actually, it’s more than a
suggestion… consider it doctor’s orders!
I’ll be back tomorrow.” Howard nodded to the family. “I’ll see myself out.”
Jarrod squeezed his mother’s small shoulders. “Howard is right, Mother. We could be in for the long haul. I’m going to take the next shift while you
two get some rest.”
“But Jarrod…”
“No buts, Mother.
Pappy’s orders!” More gently he added, “I’ll let you know immediately if
there is the slightest change.”
“Alright, Jarrod.” She patted his arm and made her way to
her bedroom.
Before Heath left for his own bedroom, there were details
Jarrod had to know. “Exactly what
happened, Heath?”
Heath recounted the previous day’s events for his brother.
“I believe that Crown’s plan was to force the farmers to
capitulate through a combination of extreme financial hardship and violence and
intimidation. Fear is a powerful
motivator. When we interfered with his
scheme, I believe his plan changed to one designed to remove you and Nick from
the picture. Barrett was obviously paid
to betray us. But now that Crown’s gang
is dead, his only option is to do what he did six months ago. Go off and ‘lick his wounds’ I believe is
the way Nick would put it. That would
explain the gossip I heard at the depot this morning. Crown’s private railcar is to be hitched to tomorrow morning’s
train to San Francisco!”
* * * * * * * *
The light of dawn found Heath finishing up his shift at
Nick’s side. His heart began to
race. Had wishful thinking and his
tired eyes deceived him or had Nick’s eyelids fluttered momentarily?
“NICK!”
A voice was calling his name. Nick could hear it just audible above the terrible pounding that
surged through his head with every beat of his heart. He wanted to descend back into the depths of the inky darkness
and escape the throbbing pain.
“Come on, Nick… please!”
The voice again...
Heath? Getting to Heath was the
last thing he remembered before hearing the shot and feeling the white-hot pain
in his head that thrust him into blackness.
Yes, he had to get to Heath.
Heath needed him!
Nick groaned and his eyelids finally fluttered. It seemed to take tremendous effort on his
part just to open his eyes. He managed
to open them halfway. He blinked. The room was a shifting blur. Nick closed his eyes against the stabbing
light and a wave of nausea as the room moved all around him.
“No! Come back,
Big Brother!”
Nick opened his eyes slowly. The room was starting to settle down. His mouth was cotton-dry.
“Heath?” he managed to whisper.
Thank goodness he recognizes who I am, Heath thought. “Boy howdy, Nick. You sure know how to put a scare in somebody. How do you feel?”
“Awful… my head…”
“Yeah, you took quite a lick. You’ve been out cold for two days.”
“Two?”
“Here’s some water.
I bet you’re bone dry.” Heath held the glass for Nick to take a
sip. The cool water cleared his head a
little.
The days of anxiety had begun to wear on Heath. There was a bit of edge to his voice. “Nick, what were you thinking heading off
alone like that? Dang fool!”
“Barrett said… gang got you… thinking… had to get to you,
Heath.”
Heath reached out and stroked the stubbly cheek. His eyes brimmed with tears as he thought
back on his own reckless single-minded mission. “I know…” Heath wiped a tear that trickled down his cheek. He took his brother’s hand. Nick reached over with his other hand and
squeezed his little brother’s hand with both of his with a firmness that lifted
Heath’s spirits.
“You rest now, Big Brother. I gotta go let Mother and Jarrod know you’re back with us!”
“Where else would I be, Boy?” Nick mumbled as he lost the
battle to keep his eyes open.
* * * * * * * *
The platform was uncharacteristically quiet. The passengers waiting to board the train
spoke in hushed tones and tried not to overtly stare at the two well-dressed
men. It was a wonder to the small crowd
that the two adversaries could maintain the thinly veiled facade of civility
and decorum.
“I heard your private car was to be coupled to the train
today, Crown.”
“And you’ve come to bid me fare-thee-well, Barkley?”
“Not exactly.” Jarrod’s eyes were an icy blue. “I take it your business is finished in
Stockton. Was it not as successful as
you’d planned?”
“Actually, more so.” Crown bluffed. “I came to Stockton to transact my banking
business and happened to acquire several farms as well. I think the Board of Directors will consider
that progress.”
Jarrod’s eyes grew steely. “Would your Board also approve of the gang of killers you hired
and the murder of a woman and child?”
“You’re referring to the Worth murders? Tragic.
I suppose now any roving band of outlaws that come through the valley
will be presumed to be courtesy of Coastal and Western.” Crown sneered. “Contempt before investigation is a very
inadmirable trait in anyone, Barkley, particularly a lawyer. Unless you have irrefutable proof, you’d do
well to keep your wild theories to your self.
I would consider any such public statements as slander.”
“It is too bad that just one member of that gang didn’t
survive long enough to give Sheriff Madden a statement. There was nothing random in how they chose their
victims, including the attempted murder of my brother!”
“That is something you’ll have to take up with that
bastard half-brother of yours, Barkley.” Crown countered through clenched teeth
as the train conductor sounded the departure whistle.
“Hopefully, you acquired something more than those farms,
Crown.”
“And what would that be, Barkley?”
“Experience, Crown!
Show your face in this valley again and the Barkley family will fight
you with everything we’ve got!”
“I’ll keep that in mind when I return, because I will be
back. Coastal and Western Railroad will
complete its southern line to Los Angeles on schedule!” Crown stated
emphatically. “As I’ve said before, the
day of the Spike and Iron is inevitable, Barkley, no man can beat it.”
The locomotive sounded its’ final call and Crown climbed
the steps of his private car, which was coupled at the end of the long
train. He paused as he turned the door
handle to enter the elegant coach.
“Until we meet again, Barkley…”
The train lumbered its way slowly out of Stockton. There was a turn several miles beyond the
outskirts of town, just about a mile beyond where the tracks crossed the
road. The conductor wouldn’t attempt to
get up to full speed until he had rounded this curve.
Once the train had cleared Stockton, Crown allowed Hoak to
pull back the velvet curtains of the plush railcar. Carlo Lucci sat at a window, silently staring out at the
countryside.
Poor Carlo! Crown
thought. The man had to be in
tremendous pain. Hoak had done his best
to care for Carlo’s injury. There was
no way Crown could allow the Stockton doctor to treat Lucci. Hoak had applied more salve and re-bandaged
Carlo’s burns this morning. The process
had been excruciatingly painful for Carlo.
More shreds of damaged skin had torn away as the old bandage was
removed.
It was apparent to Crown that the once handsome Sicilian’s
face was going to be disfigured by a horrible scar. Already, its’ contraction had begun to pull at the corner of
Lucci’s eye and turn up the left outer edge of his upper lip into a permanent
sneer. Carlo Lucci would bear the mark
of his encounter with Heath Barkley for the rest of his life!
Crown felt a twinge of pity for Carlo. Crown would not go so far as to call Lucci a
friend, but he was without a doubt a valuable asset. Yet, even a valued asset is ultimately expendable. And Crown had at the very least one more job
in mind for Carlo. He’d see to it that
a very discreet physician he knew in San Francisco cared for Carlo Lucci.
Crown poured himself a stiff drink and walked out to the
rear platform of the railcar, closing the door behind him softly. He needed a breath of fresh air, and a
little solitude with his thoughts.
Heath watched the long train approach the crossing where
he sat astride his Modoc mare. He had
raced a train approaching from the opposite direction to this very same
crossing six months before. Heath
wasn’t here to race the locomotive this day.
Jarrod had told him of Crown’s plan to leave Stockton. Heath had left Nick’s side only long enough
to savor the satisfaction of witnessing Jacob Crown’s retreat.
The locomotive, coal car, freight cars and passenger
coaches passed before him until at last came the spacious private car with the
Coastal and Western insignia emblazoned on its’ sides.
Heath’s eyes momentarily met those of a young brown-haired
man staring back at him through the window.
Must be Hoak, he thought instantly.
Then his gaze was drawn to another set of eyes. The man’s face was completely covered with white
bandages. Eyes, as black as obsidian,
stared back at him through a slit in the bandages. Heath felt a sudden chill as if a freezing gust of winter wind
had hit him, making his blood freeze.
Cold, implacable hatred, as pure as anything he’d ever seen, looked
right back at him.
Heath squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and opened them
to find himself staring right into the eyes of Jacob Crown.
Crown recognized the black horse and the young blond
cowboy who he had bet against in a race to this same crossing. The sky blue eyes bore the same confident
challenge Crown had seen there when the daring young man had turned his head to
watch the reaction of the train’s passengers during that fateful race. Jacob Crown had made the rare mistake of
underestimating the young man on two separate occasions. That first misjudgment, though it irked
Crown, had cost him only fifteen hundred dollars: pocket change to the railroad
baron. The second miscalculation had
seen six months of carefully thought out planning and preparation laid to
waste. Jacob Crown trembled with barely
suppressed rage as he locked eyes with the young blond cowboy who had ridden in
from nowhere. No man beats the
Iron! For though a man might beat the
Iron for a while…
“I promise you, Heath Barkley, the next time you cross
paths with the Iron, you will be crushed in its wake!” Crown vowed barely above
a whisper as the train rolled away.
“But until then…” Crown raised his whiskey glass and saluted his young
adversary. “Palmam qui meruit ferat –
let him who has won it bear the palm.”