Dallas Montgomery

by Page

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.

Jarrod sat down in a comfortable chair by the window. Puffing on a cigar, he glanced out the window then over at a man sitting next to him, reading a newspaper.

“Senator Shorecross.”

“Jarrod, how are you? It’s been awhile.”

“It certainly has… I hear Morgan Farrell’s son, Logan is running against you in the upcoming election.”

“Can you imagine? What a dirty campaign that will be.” Jarrod blew some smoke rings into the air, smiling.

“Ah, yes.” Jarrod paused, glancing down at the lit end of his cigar, watching the ash grow longer. “I have not been able to prove that he bullied that land away from those homesteaders. And I think he was responsible for Noah Eaton’s death,”

“Knowing it and proving it are two different things.” The senator was sober in his admonition

“How well I know it…I don’t approve of Logan’s crooked politics.”

“No one does and they think far less of his father.”

“That’s not surprising considering the malicious, underhanded way he built up his ranch and his businesses.” The senator nodded.

Glancing out the window, Jarrod noticed a figure on the roof of the building across the street. The figure lifted a shot gun, aiming it in the senator’s direction. “Look out.” Jarrod jumped out of his chair, leaping toward the senator, pulling him down to the floor. The bullet pierced the window while people dispersed, glass exploding all around them. Jarrod pulled the senator up from the floor, as a few people came to help them. Looking out the window, Jarrod noticed the figure had vanished. As a frenzy developed in the room, Jarrod remained preoccupied.

Three months later, it was dark when Dorothy left the dressmaker. Dorothy glanced down the street, noticing Jarrod’s light on in the office. Dorothy was never rattled but something about the night made her uneasy. She looked up at the flickering street lamp then relieved to see a full moon beyond, lighting up the black velvet sky. The town was silent except for the piano music coming from the saloon. Even the saloon was unusually quiet but then it was a week night and the weekend revelers had not come out yet. Dorothy looked over her shoulder at the dressmaker’s shop as the dressmaker doused the lights. Dorothy never felt more alone than at this moment.

Dorothy turned and began walking down the street. As she headed toward Jarrod’s office, she heard a clip-clop behind her. Turning, she noticed a horse and rider with a light rein, aimlessly wondering down the street. Her eyes followed him as he trotted by her, his spurs jangling. Out of the shadows appeared a cowhand. Dorothy stopped as they faced one another. Dorothy avoided eye contact as he leered at her, while twisting a toothpick between his teeth. Dorothy glared at him, walking past. She had the feeling he was watching her as she hurried her pace. Turning, Dorothy glanced over her shoulder. The cowhand took a step in her direction. Dorothy began walking backwards into someone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Mrs. Barkley, are you all right?” Dorothy looked up then back over her shoulder, but the cowhand had disappeared. “You’re shaking.”

“I’ll be fine, thank you Henri.”

“Where’s your husband?”

“He’s still at the office. I’m on my way over there now.”

“I’ll walk over with you.”

“There’s no need for that, I’ll be fine.” She patted his arm with her gloved hand.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Both turned and continued walking down the street.

“I was on my way to see Dallas before heading back to the cabin.”

“I think it’s wonderful how Fiona has helped you get back on your feet.”

“Johnny raised a great girl.”

“Now you go on, I’ll be fine.” Henri tipped his hat and rounded the corner.

Henri Passpatou was a French-Canadian fur trapper, trader and prospector who had joined up with Johnny Lundee, a big rugged Scotsman, in Canada. Both had traveled together through the northwest to California to seek their fortune. Johnny eventually did find a fortune in gold and what Henri found, he squandered.

Both men were scrappers, fighting everyone and everything from lumberjacks to Grizzly bears. Alike in many ways, including their strongly divergent opinions, both were unable to accept a vanishing frontier. Though it seemed, that Henri was far more hostile and fiercely independent than his friend. Henri was always brawling and no stranger to jails. He saw the inside of jails everywhere he went like a traveling salesman sees hotels.

When Johnny married his Shawnee wife, Henri never saw his friend until years later when Fiona was born. And the last time Henri saw Johnny was when Johnny’s wife was murdered by some townspeople and the cabin set on fire and burned to the ground. Henri stood beside Johnny, watching the smoldering cinders, the last sparks of fire crackle in an attempt to ignite while Johnny held a two year old Fiona in his arms. Henri recalled watching Johnny’s tears fade as his features hardened like granite and his body stiffened. As long as Henri had known his friend, he never knew whether Johnny had carried out his vengeance on the townspeople. He helped Johnny bury Fiona’s mother and rebuild his cabin. It was the last time Henri would ever see Johnny. He returned one more time to help Fiona bury her father.

Henri had suffered his own losses. After losing his money in bad real estate deals and his wife left him for another man Henri almost killed, Henri began drinking and stayed rock, solid drunk for years. With so many changes in Henri’s life, he was unable to adjust and mourned the loss of the only life he had ever known.

Fiona gave him another chance at living. Older now and more tired, the fire still smoldered but was less intense and Henri made a clean beginning for another life.

Dorothy watched as Henri mounted the back steps to Dallas’ room. A woman’s scream broke the night silence. A cold and awful sound. Henri ran up the rest of the way into the room. Terrified, Dorothy held her breath, watching for a moment. Too stunned to move, Dorothy stayed rooted to where she stood. It was only when she saw Morgan Farrell and his son Logan run down the stairs, Dorothy moved back around the corner, her back pressed against the wall. Remaining hidden around the corner, Dorothy’s heart hammered away in her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Farrells running down the street, disappearing into the blackness. They never noticed her. Dorothy then sprinted across the street toward Jarrod’s office.

Henri staggered out, leaning against the banister, rubbing the back of his head. Dorothy, still running, glanced over her shoulder as she ran right into Jarrod.

“Dorothy.” She stood trembling in his arms. “What’s wrong?” Dorothy said nothing, while staring at Jarrod. Jarrod pulled her close to him. Shutting herself off from him, unable to get the words out, to tell him what she saw. She gripped his waist, burying her face in his chest, trying to block out the sounds and images. “Did you scream…did something frighten you?” Dorothy shook her head.

Once in his office, Jarrod handed her a brandy. “Darling…did someone try to hurt you?” Dorothy hesitated for a moment before answering.

“No…not me.” Dorothy clasped the brandy glass between her hands, still shaking as she brought it to her lips.

“I heard a woman scream.”

“I did too…dreadful scream.”

“Did you see what happened?”

“I heard a scream…it frightened me and I ran over here.” Jarrod took her hand, squeezing it.

Dorothy was aware of how forceful and cruel Morgan Farrell could be and that he would do anything to see to it his son Logan got that senate seat. When Jarrod told her about the assassination attempt on Senator Shorecross’ life, Dorothy believed Morgan was behind it. Seeing them flee after Dallas screamed, without really knowing what happened, Dorothy was afraid of the most awful thing imaginable. Dorothy tried blocking it, hoping Dallas was still alive, telling herself over and over that Dallas would be all right. She would rather risk her silence than to embroil the Barkleys in another dispute with the Farrells. Jarrod sensed there was more Dorothy was not telling.

Fiona sat on the front steps, waiting outside Jarrod’s office. Mahican, lay beside her, panting. Fiona took off her hat and began fanning herself. Fiona knew something was wrong when Henri did not return to the cabin. With the back of her hand, she wiped the perspiration from her forehead. She then plucked at the tiny feather stuck in the hatband. In the distance she saw Jarrod coming toward her. Popping her hat back on her head, she stood up to greet him.

“Fiona, what brings you to town?”

“Henri.” Jarrod looked at her while pulling the keys from his coat pocket.

“Henri Passpatou? What about him?”

“He’s being accused of murder.”

“Murder? Who did he murder?”

“Dallas.” Jarrod inserted the key while still looking at Fiona. “he’s at the jail. Would you talk to him? He’s going to need a lawyer. I’ll pay you.” Jarrod took Fiona by the shoulders.

“Now, don’t you worry about paying me…it’s about time for me to do Pro Bono case anyway. Lets go talk with Henri.”

Henri sat in his cell, his head hung low. Henri knew this time it was more serious than spending a night in jail for being drunk and disorderly.

Henri remembered his old friend Jack Prescott, who hung for stabbing a man. Jack claimed he was innocent, but vigilante justice prevailed and town hung him without a trial and no one would speak up for Jack. Later, Jack was cleared of the murder but by then it was too late for Jack Prescott.

Henri and Dallas had their disagreements but nothing that would make him want to kill her, not for any reason, not even jealousy. But nothing he said convinced anyone he was innocent. He tried reconstructing the events in his mind but nothing was clear. Instead of lashing out at others, Henri turned on himself.

Henri was still a rugged, good looking man, with curly dark chocolate brown hair and beard, now peppered with gray and streaks of silver in his hair marked his maturity. Though he looked youthful for his sixty years despite hard living, Henri was now sullen and tired yet would have bulldozed the walls around him if he thought it would make a difference. Looking up for a moment he saw Fiona and Jarrod being led in by Fred. All the fury that sparked and churned up his nerves changed to a glimmer of hope.

“Fiona.” Henri clutched the bars to his cell.

“Henri, Jarrod wants to help you but you must tell him everything you know.” Henri turned away, slipping his hands into his coat pockets.

“I don’t remember.” Jarrod looked at Fiona. “The Sheriff says I killed Dallas…I hit her with a poker…I don’t remember any of it.”

“Tell us what you do remember,” said Fiona.

“I had a beer and left the saloon… I bumped into your wife.”

“Dorothy?”

“Yes, something frightened her.”

“Do you know what it was?” asked Jarrod.

“No, she seemed all right and I left her to go see Dallas.”

“Then what?”

“I heard her scream and ran upstairs…that’s all I remember.”

“Someone hit you?”

“Something hit me on the back of the head when I came in.”

“Did you see anything?” Henri shut his eyes for a moment, clenching his fists, he shook his head.

“I don’t remember…nothing…nothing.” Jarrod and Fiona traded glances. “I remember waking up on the floor…next to Dallas…she was dead.” Henri stopped and thought for a moment. “I saw Mrs. Barkley running across the street.” Jarrod thought for a moment.

“Jarrod, what is it?” Jarrod ignored Fiona’s question.

“Then what happened?”

“The sheriff came followed by some townspeople. I guess they heard Dallas scream. It happened so fast…”

“Think Henri.” All Henri could recall was bits and pieces of that evening, nothing more. Jarrod sighed. “Well, if you do remember anything let Fiona or the sheriff know right away.” Fiona knew something weighed on Jarrod’s mind.

“Something is bothering you, what is it?”

“Dorothy may be the key to this whole thing.” Jarrod trusted his instincts that Dorothy was holding something back. He dismissed it thinking Dorothy was simply rattled. Yet, Jarrod knew one thing that the time between Henri recovering consciousness and Dorothy running across the street was more than enough time for her to have seen something. Perhaps who the killer was.

Dorothy had been summoned by Jarrod into the library. Dorothy tried excusing herself with household duties that needed her attention. Jarrod was persistent and like a train derailing, Dorothy knew there was no way out of her dilemma. Dorothy thought about lying but knowing Jarrod was an expert and suspicious of liars, she was unable to pacify him.

Jarrod leaned against the desk, arms folded, staring at Dorothy. Dorothy gazed at the floor. Usually forthright and a tower of strength, Jarrod saw this as out of character for his wife to be so still and placid.

“You heard Dallas scream, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Then what?”

“Am I being cross examined?” Jarrod ignored her remark.

“Go on.”

“Henri ran upstairs to her room.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Where were you while all this is going on?”

“I hid around the corner.”

“You saw nothing?”

“That’s correct.”

“Dorothy, I saw that area. With your back against the wall, you would have had to see the killer run down the street or run into you. Now, which is it?”

“Neither one.”

“How is that?”

“He must have run down the alley between the buildings.”

“Next time you lie at least check your story for holes.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The alley you’re talking about is a dead end, there is no way out the back of it. Now who ran down the stairs and down the street?”

“It was dark I didn’t notice.”

“There ware two street lamps.”

“It was all shadows, I couldn’t tell who it was.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not, that’s all I saw.”

“What are you afraid of?” Jarrod stood above Dorothy. “Do you want Henri to be accused of murder he didn’t commit”

“No, of course not but I can’t help him.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Dorothy rose to her feet, walking past Jarrod. Looking out the French doors, she watched the shadow branches dance along the sunlit windowpanes. Dorothy closed her eyes for a moment.

“Morgan and Logan Farrell.” Jarrod’s eyes widened. “I heard angry, loud voices as Henri mounted the stairs. Dallas screamed and Henri ran inside. Logan ran out, followed by Morgan.”

“Will you testify to that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t tell the truth.”

“I wanted to avoid any further conflict with the Farrells.”

“And you’d let a man hang for that? Dorothy, our feud with the Farrells has nothing to do with Henri and Dallas.”

“I know but things had been calm between us and the Farrells and I thought if I said anything that it would stir it all up again and I didn’t want that.”

“That is a risk we all will have to take.”

Based on Dorothy’s eyewitness testimony, the District Attorney released Henri and swore out a warrant for Logan and Morgan Farrell.

“Where is Logan?”

“Fred, tell me what it is you’re doing here.” Morgan Farrell was a tall, rugged lean man with a full head of white fluffy hair and gray sideburns. His eyes were a piercing dark blue.

“You’re both under arrest for the murder of Dallas Montgomery.”

“Surly, you’re joking,” said Morgan Farrell.

“No joke.”

“Do you really believe that Logan or I would have any reason for killing that common trollop?”

“That’s not up to me, you’ll have your day in court.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

“We weren’t anywhere near town last night.”

“An eyewitness saw you.”

“Who?”

“Never mind that, where’s Logan?”

“This is ridiculous, everyone knows Henri Passpatou killed Dallas.” Fred glanced at Morgan who was unaware of his slip of the tongue.

“If you didn’t know about the murder or when it occurred then how did you know that Henri was arrested for the murder?”

“Well…I heard some of the hands talking this morning…they were in town last night and must have heard all about it.”

“Then why did you just ask me when the murder occurred?”

“I did not kill her.”

“Did Logan kill her?”

“Of course not, I told you neither one of us were there last night.”

“Where’s Logan’s wife Anne? Maybe she can tell me where you were last night.”

“Anne is very ill, has been for some time.”

“Oh, that was sudden wasn’t it?”

“Not really. She is bedridden and cannot be disturbed.”

“I’ll ask you one more time, where is Logan?”

“He left town on business.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“None,” said Farrell, biting off the but end of the cigar and spitting it out the side of his mouth.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Morgan struck a match on the edge of the desk.

“Without a lawyer present?” Morgan lit his cigar, puffing on it while blowing smoke into Fred’s face. Fred avoiding flinching while glaring at Morgan Farrell.

“I guess I could ask Jarrod Barkley.”

“You know damn well he wouldn’t come within spitting distance of me.”

“Homer Madison specializes in land and deeds…he’s well into his eighties and I doubt he’d take on a criminal case…and Matt…”

“Never mind.”

“Quit stalling, the eyewitness said you followed your son down the street after leaving Dallas’ place.”

“He or she must be mistaken.”

“Are you covering for Logan? Did he kill her?”

“What about Henri?”

“Henri was released. The witness said he entered after Dallas screamed then you two ran out.” Morgan stared at Fred. “I can only assume that if you didn’t kill her Logan must have.” Morgan remained silent. “You leave me no choice then, I’ll have to swear out a warrant for Logan’s arrest.”

Jarrod undid his tie, leaned with his elbows on the desk while rubbing his eyes. Jarrod wished for the weariness to go away so he could finish the work he knew had to be done before court in the morning. The room suddenly felt cold. “It is a warm summer night, why was it so cold?” Jarrod thought. Jarrod shuddered then pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. The door to the terrace flew open. Jarrod went to shut it, realizing there was no breeze outside, the night was silent and heavy. Sitting back down, he still felt the cold, a frigid, invasive cold. Looking up, he saw something like gossamer, an unknown shape. As the apparition formed, Jarrod saw that it was a woman, decked out in a dark blue satin dress trimmed with jet beads. Her red hair was whipped up into pin curls, looking like a flame. Jarrod thought it was a figment of his tired mind. She sat, swinging her leg and playing with her black crystal beads as Jarrod rose to his feet. Hesitating for a moment, half interested, half afraid, Jarrod approached cautiously. Gazing at the woman, he saw that she was definitely transparent as if she were glass. The apparition looked straight at him, still playing with her beads.

“Who are you…what are you?”

“Dallas is the name, Dallas Montgomery.” Jarrod’s eyes widened.

“But you’re dead,” said Jarrod, pointing a finger at her.

“Don’t you think I know that.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m going to see to it that you get the scum who did me in.” Jarrod turned away, rubbing his forehead.

“Maybe it’s a dream…I fell asleep…that must be it.”

“Ain’t no dream, handsome.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“You better believe it, handsome.”

“I’ve been working too hard…that’s it, I’ve been working too hard…I should take some time off…go somewhere.”

“Never mind that.” Jarrod stared at her as Nick walked in, grabbing a pool stick.

“Pool?”

“What?” Nick noticed Jarrod standing stone still, staring at an empty chair. Nick sidled up to Jarrod.

“Pool?”

“Well?” asked Dallas.

“Well what?”

“What?” asked Nick.

“Nothing,” Jarrod said, waving a hand at Nick. Nick laid his fists on his hips, glaring at Jarrod.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What?”

“Never mind him, listen…” said Dallas.

“You don’t exist,” said Jarrod, talking to the empty chair.

“I don’t what?” bellowed Nick.

“Not you.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Jarrod was bewildered, feeling as if he was being pulled in all directions, trying to placate Nick while talking to a dead woman. Nick became concerned when he noticed Jarrod talking to the empty chair. Nick glanced at the chair then back at Jarrod, who was engaged in an animated conversation with it. Then it occurred to Nick that it could be one of Jarrod’s court room dramas being played out. “Oh, I get it, this is one of those court room things,” Nick said, smiling.

“Huh?”

“That talking to the chair, it’s a witness, right?”

“What witness? You see her?”

“See who?” Nick approached Jarrod. “Are you alright?” Dallas laughed.

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Nick. “Look maybe you’ve been working too hard. Why don’t you take some time off, take Dorothy and go somewhere.”

“I’ve thought of that.”

“Don’t even think about that,” said Dallas, wagging a finger at him. “You have work to do.”

“You stay out of this,” said Jarrod.

“I was just trying to help,” said Nick, now almost as bewildered as Jarrod.

“Not you.” Nick looks around the room.

“Then who? I don’t see anyone else.”

“You wouldn’t believe it even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Never mind.” Dallas snickered again. “This is not funny,” Jarrod said in a low voice out of the side of his mouth.

“That’s it, last time I come in here and ask you to play a game of pool.” Nick slammed the door so hard, the walls reverberated.

“Bit of a complainer, isn’t he?”

“Never mind, Nick, what do you want from me?”

“I want the Farrells to swing for what they did to me.”

“And how am I suppose to prove they killed you?”

“Your wife knows.”

“She didn’t witness the actual murder.” Dallas looked away, still fingering her necklace. “Did you see who struck you?”

“No…they hit me when I wasn’t looking.”

“That’s consistent with what Doc Merrar said. He stated you were struck in the back of the skull with an andiron.”

“I can help.”

“How? You’re dead.”

“Now, hold on handsome, I know things you don’t know.’

“And that’s why you’re dead.”

“Now who is being funny.”

“What am I supposed to do, prove my case with information gathered from the victim herself. That would go over like a lead balloon not to mention they would throw me in the loony bin and my career would be finished. Nick already thinks I’m nuts.”

“What if I tell where to find the information.” Dallas had a wide, crooked smile. Jarrod looked at her sideways.

“What kind of information?”

“That’s more like it.” Dallas rearranged herself in the chair. “Morgan Farrell used my girls to entertain business clients, cattle buyers, you name it.” Dallas began admiring her emerald ring.

“Go on.”

“Anyway, Logan had a fling with one of the girls named Rose Cooper and Rose had a child by him.” Jarrod smiled.

“Where is Rose now?”

“Morgan paid her off and the last I knew she was still in San Francisco.” Jarrod grabbed a scrap of paper and began writing. “Senator Shorecross got wind of Logan’s blunder.” Jarrod looked over his shoulder at Dallas.

“What?”

“Why do you think Morgan hired someone to kill the senator.” Jarrod remembered the day that a bullet sailed through the window, meant for the senator.

“Senator Shorecross would never play dirty politics to expose Logan Farrell.”

“Let me remind you that the Farells are perhaps the lowest and most hated people in the state of California and even decent people like Senator Shorecross might think of using such tactics but it was his campaign manager who threatened to expose Logan Farrell. He saw an opportunity and thought he would use it. Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“And right now, you have the power to do that.” This was a lot for Jarrod to absorb. Yet, anything the Farrells dreamed up would never surprise Jarrod. Jarrod looked at the floor for a moment, thinking. Looking up, he noticed Dallas had vanished. Glancing around the room, Jarrod approached the chair where Dallas had been sitting. Suddenly the room felt warm again. Had he imagined it all? He wondered.

“Jarrod.” Heath walked in as Jarrod was looking all around the room.

“Heath, come here, I need you to do something.”

“Nick was saying you were acting strange.”

“Never mind Nick, he’s never really understood me.” Heath cocked an eyebrow.

“I need you to go to San Francisco and find Rose Cooper. She used to work for Dallas Montgomery and may be the key to her murder.” Heath scratched his ear.

“Gee, Jarrod, do you have any idea where she might be?” Jarrod shook his head. “I guess I…” Heath cleared his throat, “…try the brothels.”

“I would.”

“What do I tell Nick?”

“Tell him I sent you on a very urgent errand.” Jarrod spun Heath around by the shoulders, shoving him out the door.

Fiona had been tailing and watching Morgan Farrell, hoping he would lead her to Logan. Though it seemed Henri was in the clear, Henri wanted Fiona to find Dallas’ killer and help Jarrod get the proof he needed.

Fiona learned long ago from her mother, a Shawnee Indian, to be quiet, walk softly, therefore being unobtrusive to the point of invisibility. Keeping ones enemies unaware of her presence was just the way Fiona liked it. Morgan Farrell entered the general store to purchase cigars. Fiona followed, glancing around, fingering a bolt of red and white gingham while watching him from under her wide brimmed hat. Farrell tossed some coins on the counter, scooped up the cigars and left the store. Fiona leaned in the doorway, watching. Slipping her hands into the pockets of her buckskin jacket, she watched as Farrell entered the telegraph office. Fiona could not hide her pleasure, knowing this had to be the break she needed to find Logan. Once Morgan Farrell left the telegraph office, Fiona watched as he mounted his horse and trotted off toward home. Fiona wandered across the street, entering the telegraph office. Harry looked up as the bells jingled on the door.

“Hey! Harry.”

“Fiona, what brings you to town?”

“Bounty hunting, what else?” Harry peered over his spectacles, leaning forward on the counter.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Logan Farrell.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right Harry. Now, who did Morgan Farrell send that wire to and where did it go?” Harry adjusted his spectacles. Fiona pulled out a couple of dollars, dropping them on the counter. “I’m waiting Harry.”

“Logan Farrell…Denver”

“Where in Denver?”

“The Palace Hotel…but you didn’t hear if from me.”

“You’re a gem Harry.”

Knowing Logan Farrell was a ladies man, it would require Fiona to execute a plan she knew would lure him into a trap and bring him back to Stockton. There were some advantages to being a female bounty hunter.

Jarrod dreaded confronting Morgan Farrell since Farrell talked out of three sides of his mouth and all in circles, wearing down anyone who dared to challenge him on any subject. Even an astute lawyer like Jarrod, who won many arguments in court, swayed juries and was clever at legal wrangling could not withstand Morgan Farrell.

“What do you want Barkley?” Morgan asked, lighting a cigar clenched between his teeth.

“To talk with you about Dallas Montgomery.”

“What about her?”

“You and Logan knew her from San Francisco.”

“What are insinuating?”

“You know perfectly well what I’m saying.”

“You think we had something to do with her killing? Did your wife say that?”

“No, but you practically admitted to the sheriff you were both there and one of you is responsible for her death.”

“I don’t have to speak to you.”

“As Henri Passpatou’s lawyer you do.” Farrell’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not enough to discredit Logan in the senate race but now you’re trying to dig a grave for him. Everyone knows Senator Shorecross has you in his hip pocket.” Jarrod’s eyes narrowed as his mouth tightened.

“I’ll overlook that remark and don’t change the subject, this has nothing to with…” Jarrod stopped for a moment as a thought occurred to him. “Unless you had something to do with the attempt on the senator’s life.”

“You’re right, lets not change the subject.”

“Does Rose Cooper ring any bells?” Morgan Farrell’s raised his eyebrows.

“Should it?” Jarrod sighed.

“Yes.” Jarrod knew he hit a wall interference and that Morgan Farrell would go to any lengths to protect himself and his son. Jarrod now knew that everything Dallas told him was gospel or Morgan Farrell would not be as jittery as he appeared. For a man who was expert at hiding jitters, Jarrod could see through him. Jarrod also knew that though he could not trust what was unreal or fleeting, whatever Dallas was, her information was solid.

“I think you better go, I have nothing more to say to you.” Jarrod glared at him before leaving.

“This isn’t over Farrell.”

Rose Cooper stepped off the stage, looking around. Two proper looking ladies passed by, eyeing Rose with loathsome contempt. This gesture was not lost on Rose who smiled at them and shrugged her shoulders. The stage driver handed her bag down to her.

“Much obliged,” she said smiling and winking at him. As Rose walked down the street, all heads turned to watch the petite brunette with the hour glass figure, her bustle and train fishtailing behind her.

Later that evening, Rose heard a knock on the door. Before answering, Rose stopped in front of the mirror, fixing her hair, licking the tip of her pinky, she evened out an eyebrow then rubbed her lips together, smoothing her lip rouge. The knock was more impatient and persistent. Rose then adjusted her bodice as the knocking became louder and more frantic.

“Keep your pants on, I’m coming.” Opening the door, Rose proceeded to lean on it.

“Expecting someone else?”

“No, I was expecting you, why?”

“Keep your pants on, is that for a …client?” Rose narrowed her eyes.

“It’s so good to see you again…Mr. Farrell.” Morgan Farrell shoved her inside the room, slamming the door behind him. “Hey, take it easy.”

“What are you doing here?” Rose thrust her chest forward, relaxing her shoulders, and laid her hands on her hips.

“It’s expensive to live in San Francisco.”

“So? Live somewhere else, it’s not my problem.”

“Now, don’t be so hasty.”

“More money?”

“Why else would I come here? To see the beloved father of my child, hardly.” Morgan smiled.

“I agree, you never struck me as the domestic type.” Rose threw her head back, looking at him defiantly.

“It don’t matter much what you think of me but what people will think and say about your son, that something else. And lets not forget his ailing wife.” Morgan’s lips tightened into a grimace.

“You leave her out of this.”

“Give me what I came here for and she won’t know a thing.”

“How much this time?”

“How about a permanent arrangement?”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s the least you can do for the mother of your grandchild.” Morgan cringed at the thought. “It’s not for me , you understand, but for little Hannah.” Glaring at her, wanting to mock her false maternal pride, he refrained from doing so. His anger was so intense he felt like a hot branding iron. He almost reached out for Rose, to strike her, to grab her by the throat, to silence her by squeezing until he could no longer hear her cheap talk and vile laughter. Instead, Morgan turned his back on her, thinking. “So? What’s it gonna’ be?”

“$10,000.”

“Uh…no…I’m thinking you will give me…or should I say Hannah, a permanent monthly allowance and a nice place to live.” Morgan stiffened. Morgan’s sullen silence annoyed Rose. A chill traveled through Rose, she trembled as the hairs prickled on the back of her neck.

“You just sealed the lid on your coffin.” Pointing a finger in Rose’s face.

“Don’t threaten me. Dallas shared plenty of secrets with me. The Barkleys are not fond of you or is Senator Shorecross. Maybe that handsome lawyer would like to know what you’ve been up to.”

“You keep away from Jarrod Barkley…besides you have no proof of anything.”

“You can never be too sure.”

“So, Dallas talked, that’s all it is…talk and who would believe a cheap tramp like you anyway.” Rose burst out laughing. “What’s so amusing?”

“You…do you believe that anyone, including the senator or Jarrod Barkley would believe anything you said. Everyone knows both you and Logan lie in your teeth. I can be very convincing as the abandoned woman and her child.”

“Now that’s amusing, a vulgar slut trying to gain sympathy.”

“Logan promised me he would take care of me and Hannah.”

“Does every man you sleep with promise you that?” Rose slapped Morgan across the face so hard, Morgan’s head snapped back. Recovering his self-control, his stare was icy and hard as he rubbed the sting from his cheek.

“You’ll regret that.”

“You have far more to lose.”

“I’m not too sure about that.”

“A murder charge dangling over your head, Logan, a married man, his wife sickly, fathering an illegitimate child by a prostitute who used to entertain men who did business with you. The good folks of this town will rally around the courthouse then the gallows. There’ll be no fancy balls and rubbing elbows with the big wigs in Washington. I’ll guarantee that.” Rose got closer, almost nose to nose. “You have your lawyer draw up a trust fund for Hannah with a generous allowance for me and you’ll never hear from me again unless the checks stop coming.” Morgan was about to say something and stopped himself. Rose stood, glowing with satisfaction. Morgan left but not with his tail between his legs.

Days later, the hotel clerk gave Rose a note.

“Meet me at he edge of town at midnight tonight and you will get what you want.” Rose crumpled the paper in her hand, smiling triumphantly. The clerk noticed her smiling.

“Good news?”

“Oh, yes.”

Heath removed his hat, brushing the dust off his pants with it. Jarrod shut his law book, looking at Heath. Jarrod could tell from Heath’s expression the trip was a waste of time.

“You didn’t find her.” Heath shook his head. “Damn.”

“I looked everywhere, it wasn’t easy but I could not find a trace of her.”

“Well, maybe she’s not in San Francisco anymore.” Jarrod thought for a moment and thanked Heath for his efforts.

Logan Farrell had no clue that the woman he had been with all evening was a professional bounty hunter. No one would have mistaken Fiona for anything but a lady, dressed in clouds of puffy blue silk and lace. Fiona sat, sipping her brandy while Logan began kissing her on the neck. Fiona grimaced as he touched her, his fingers caressing her arm, his lips pressed against her neck. He could feel her shudder beneath his touch.

“Something wrong?”

“No…no…what makes you say that?”

“You seem nervous.”

“Me? whatever gave you that idea?” She continued sipping while he pawed her. Logan did not sense Fiona’s detachment as revulsion. Sliding his hand around her tightly cinched bodice, his hand crawled up toward her chest. Feeling his cold, clammy hand on her chest, she leapt up from the couch. “Get me another brandy,” Fiona shoved the glass in his face.

“Sure, honey.” Fiona softened, batting her eyes at him. While Logan’s back was turned, Fiona pulled a gun out from her garter belt.

“Shall we get back to business?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Fiona, pointing the gun at Logan who was unprepared.

“What’s that?”

“Just what you think it is, lover.”

“You’re not serious…what is this? a robbery?”

“No, but you will be returning with me on the midnight train to Stockton.”

“Who are you?”

“Fiona Lundee.”

“You’re a bounty hunter.”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“So have most. You’re a legend you know. What is it I’m wanted for?” Fiona thought before opening her mouth.

“Your wife.”

“What about her?”

“She’s dying…she wants you to return.”

“Why send you?”

“I’m good at finding people.”

“My father didn’t mention anything in the telegram about Anne.” Fiona was stuck.

“He didn’t know. Dr. Merrar sent me to find you. Your father wouldn’t say where you were.” Fiona had the feeling Logan did not believe her. While keeping the gun aimed at Logan, Fiona reached for her shawl and bag as Logan stepped forward. “Stay where you are and don’t move.” Fiona approached. “Shall we go?”

“Ladies first.”

“Forget it, move,” Fiona said, waving the gun at him. As Logan began to walk forward, he swung his arm back, knocking the gun from Fiona’s hand. Both scrambled for the gun. Fiona got a hold of it as Logan tried to wrestle it from her. Fiona rammed her elbow into his chest as Logan fell backwards, air billowing from him. Fiona, still holding the gun watched as he struggled to his feet, stunned.

“Do you want to do this the hard way or the easy way?” Logan tried to catch his breath.

“You only have two shots in that gun,” Logan said, pointing to the Derringer.

“True…but I only need one,” she said, winking at him.

Jarrod noticed a commotion outside the sheriff’s office.

“Fred, what’s going on?”

“Oh, Chester Rigby says he found a body in the woods near the edge of town.”

“Never saw her before, stranger most likely. Saw this foot sticking out of the underbrush, went to investigate and found her. Dead as a doorknob she was.”

“Alright, Chester, lets go take a look.”

“Mind if I come along?” asked Jarrod.

“No, not at all.” For some reason, and it was not morbid curiosity but Jarrod had a feeling about Chester’s discovery.

Fred squatted down beside the body, scanning the young woman from head to toe. Fred turned her over.

“Gunshot square in the chest.” Chester and Jarrod moved in for a closer look. Jarrod looked over his shoulder at the road.

“Looks as if she might have been killed in the road and her body dragged into the woods.”

“That would explain the wound and her lying face down instead of face up.” Jarrod’s eyes darted back and forth, seeing if there were any clues left by the killer. “Chester, ride back to town and get Dr. Merrar and Homer Willis, the undertaker.” Chester scurried off as Jarrod squatted beside Fred.

“You know her Fred?”

“No, do you?” Jarrod shook his head. Jarrod noticed something glistening in the filtered sunlight. Leaning closer, Jarrod gingerly lifted a thin gold chain as a locket popped out of the folds of lace on her low cut bodice. “What is it, Jarrod?”

“Pictures of a woman…this woman and a child, a girl maybe about a year old.” Jarrod handed the locket to Fred. Both Fred and Jarrod looked at the dead woman’s face.

“It’s her alright and we know she has a child.”

“She’s well dressed but not a lady.” Fred raised his eyebrows, surprised at Jarrod’s comment.

“What do you mean?”

“Too much jewelry and makeup and the dress is a garish color.”

“Saloon girl?”

“Perhaps but more like a courtesan.” Fred looked blank. Jarrod smiled. “A kept woman.”

“Someone said a pretty girl got off the stage a couple of days ago. Maybe this is her.”

“Could be,” Jarrod said, glancing over Fred’s head. Jarrod noticed something stuck in the briar bush. Fred noticed Jarrod’s intense gaze.

“What is it?” Fred looked over his shoulder as Jarrod retrieved the object.

“A woman’s bag.” Jarrod looked inside as Fred joined him.

“Anything?”

“Not much… a comb…change purse…here’s something strange.”

“What?”

“An envelope addressed to Charles Wyatt.”

“The owner of The Stockton Eagle?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t he buy the paper from your father in law John Linton?”

“Yes because John wanted to live the life of a gentleman farmer.” Jarrod ripped the envelope open. Both men were eager to know its contents.

“What does it say?”

“It’s just a note…something about Dallas Montgomery and the Farrells.” Both men exchanged puzzled looks.

Charles Wyatt was unable to furnish them with anymore information that and what was in the note.

“If you gentlemen don’t mind I have a news story to write.” Charles wrote furiously, trying to ignore Fred and Jarrod.

“What is your connection to the dead woman?” asked Fred.

“A pretty young woman in her twenties dropped by, spouting some gibberish about Dallas Montgomery and the Farrells.”

“And you didn’t think it was newsworthy enough to pursue it?” asked Jarrod.

“Pursue what? She would not confide in me. She was holding back information for personal purposes, I imagine.”

“Weren’t you curious enough to find out more?”

“Mr. Barkley, what are you implying that I’m…”

“Did she tell you who she was?” asked Fred.

“Rose Cooper was the name.” Jarrod’s eyes grew wide.

“You know her?” Fred said.

“No, but I had Heath looking for her in San Francisco,” said Jarrod. “What did she tell you?”

“Nothing much but that if things didn’t go her way, as she put it, she would have a story for me that would the biggest scandal involving the Farrells, Dallas Montgomery and Senator Shorecross. Now don’t ask me anything more because that’s all she said. If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I have work to do.” Though Fred was confused, Jarrod realized that by degrees he was gathering solid evidence to link the Farrells to Dallas’ murder. There was no doubt in Jarrod’s mind that it was probably Morgan Farrell who murdered Rose Cooper and that the baby in the picture was Rose and Logan’s child. A strange feeling came over Jarrod, that all of this was an odd coincidence and that if he had not gone along with Fred and Chester and found those clues, he would never have known all this.

“Do you have any idea what this is all about?”

“Not yet, Fred, but I will.”

Victoria was traipsing down the staircase, adjusting the buttons on her sleeve as Jarrod came in the door.

“Oh, Jarrod, thank goodness you’re home.”

“Mother, what is it?”

“It’s Dorothy.”

“Nothing happened to her.”

“No, no, nothing like that, she’s fine but she got a note. I don’t know what was in it and ever since she read it she has been nervous about something…something about that note.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Nothing, she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Where is she?”

“In the library.”

Dorothy stood stationary, hugging herself, gazing out the French doors. Jarrod stopped in the doorway before saying anything. Dorothy knew he was there, she smelled his cologne. She glanced over at him.

“Mother told me there was something wrong. Something about a note.” Jarrod held her by the shoulders. Dorothy averted her gaze. “Tell me.”

Dorothy’s fear was firmly planted. She allowed imaginary phantoms of horror to rise and terrorize her.

“I can’t…I just can’t.” Jarrod thought this time it was better not to badger his wife, then maybe she would tell him in her own way in time. He pulled her closer, holding her tight in his arms. Dorothy buried her face in his chest, shutting her eyes. Feeling the warmth and security of Jarrod’s embrace, Dorothy did not feel safe enough to tell him about the note.

As Dorothy and Jarrod entered the foyer, Fred was waiting for them.

“Fred, what are you doing here?” Fred whipped out a crumpled envelope addressed to Charles Wyatt of The Stockton Eagle, handing it to Jarrod.

“Read this.” Dorothy watched Jarrod’s face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This gives us motive but nothing about who might have killed Dallas,” said Jarrod, looking at the letter then at Fred.

“What are you talking about?” Dorothy asked.

“This letter was written by Rose Cooper about her relationship with Logan Farrell and the child she had by him.”

“Who is Rose Cooper?” asked Dorothy.

“A woman employed by Dallas.”

“That still doesn’t prove which one killed Dallas,” said Fred.

“Exactly but if Logan is nowhere to be found in this area that can only mean one thing…”

“Morgan killed Rose,” said Fred. Neither of them noticed that Dorothy backed away from them.

“She also mentions a few other things…things Dallas told her,” said Jarrod.

“About the assassination attempt on Senator Shorecross.”

“Yes…and other questionable business deals and practices.” Jarrod looked up, noticing Dorothy gazing outside again. He noticed how preoccupied she seemed. No doubt conjuring up more fear. She jumped as Jarrod squeezed her shoulder.

Later, in bed, Dorothy’s restlessness kept Jarrod awake. Rolling from one side to the other, Dorothy finally settled on her back. Jarrod turned toward her, puling her close. Out of the darkness, she heard Jarrod whisper to her. Dorothy could no longer keep it inside.

“The note threatened the whole family if I testify.” Jarrod took her in his arms as Dorothy snuggled close.

“You could have told me.”

“I was afraid.”

“We can take care of ourselves.”

“I’m worried about the children.”

“Well…how about they spend some time with your father on his farm.”

“I guess so.”

“I’m gathering enough evidence not only to prove that Henri had nothing to do with Dallas’ murder but that Logan and Morgan Farrell did and had a strong motive for doing so.” Jarrod was so calm, so reassuring that Dorothy believed anything was possible.

“I can’t help worrying.”

“I know.” Jarrod pushed some strands of hair from Dorothy’s face, kissing her on the forehead. Dorothy closed her eyes and in minutes slept softly in Jarrod’s arms.

The following morning, Jarrod and Dorothy brought Constance and Andrew to her father’s farm. John Linton was delighted to spend time with his grandchildren. Hattie, a middle-aged jovial black woman, adored Andrew and was laughing and bouncing him on her knee. Constance enjoyed licking the spoon of the leftover chocolate frosting.

“Does Mr. John’s heart good to have some youngins around. Been a long time and I imagine he gets a might lonely at times now that your mama is gone.”

“Yes, I thought of that.” Dorothy did not tell her father the real reason she brought the children to stay. John Linton did not question it though Dorothy had a feeling he knew something was wrong.

“Those are fine looking horses, John.”

“Make good breeding stock, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” said Jarrod. John tapped his pipe on the weathered split rail fence.

“Dorothy’s afraid, I can tell.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A father knows these things…I can see it in her eyes. The testifying is frightening her.” Jarrod debated telling him.

“I told her not to worry.”

“Did something happen?” John took out a pouch of tobacco and began filling his pipe.

“Why?”

“Jarrod, I’m not an idiot, I know my daughter, she’s not afraid of anything, you know that.” Jarrod nodded. “Someone threaten her? The children? You didn’t come here to cheer up a lonely old man.”

“You’re right.” John clenched the pipe stem in his mouth.

“You have any evidence against the Farrells?”

“Some.”

“But not enough so Dorothy doesn’t have to testify.”

“I’m afraid so.” John lit a match on the fence rail, lighting his pipe. “John, you were in the newspaper business for a long time. Did you ever hear any stories about the Farrells?”

“Oh, yes, but none of them good, not much could be proven and those involved always disappeared or had sudden lapses of memory.” John puffed away on his pipe.

“Ever hear of Logan Farrell fathering an illegitimate child?”

“Now there is one I haven’t heard…but now wait a minute…there was a story about Logan having a child by another woman…some say it was a young maid the Farrells had working for them. Wouldn’t surprise me. Anyway, Anne got wind of it, threatened to leave…taking all her inheritance with her…but to save face adopted the child and they raised it as their own. Said he was an orphan from somewhere.”

“Was that Edward?”

“Yes.”

“He died when he was about four.”

“Yellow fever, they say.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Not too much fanfare about the child dying, not that there should be but it was strange.”

“I heard he had a relationship with one of Dallas’ girls and had a child.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s sired most of California.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed. Do you know something I don’t?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Jarrod sat smoking his cigar while reading when he looked up for a moment, seeing that Dallas had appeared again. This time she leaned against the fireplace mantle.

“What do you want?”

“Two things.”

“What?”

“You have to find Rose’s child.”

“I couldn’t find Rose, what makes you think I’ll find the child?”

“A convent outside San Francisco.” Just then Heath walked into the room.

“Which one?”

“Which one what? Asked Heath.

“Oh Heath…I was thinking out loud.”

“St. Francis,” said Dallas.

“Audra says dinner is ready and Nick is hungry as a bear.”

“When is he not as hungry as a bear.” Jarrod snapped his book shut then laid the cigar in the ashtray.

“Well?”

“Well what?” said Jarrod.

“I didn’t say anything,” said Heath.

“Heath can you do me another favor?

“It depends. What is it?”

“Can you go to St. Francis convent and look for a baby about a year old. I can get a picture of her for you.”

“What baby? When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“The child’s name is Hannah,” said Dallas.

“A baby named Hannah.”

“Hannah what?” Jarrod’s eyes shifted back and forth, waiting for an answer.

“Try Cooper…if that doesn’t work try Farrell,” said Jarrod. Heath shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you people coming to dinner?” bellowed Nick.

“Nick, Jarrod needs me to go to St. Francis convent to find a baby.”

“What?” Nick raised himself up to his full height with his fists on his hips. “Do you realize how much work there is to do? Jarrod you can go yourself, no sense wasting Heath’s time.”

“I have cases to work on, I have to be in court tomorrow and…”

“Alright….alright…what about Fiona?”

“She left for Denver to find Logan Farrell.”

“You have to go,” Dallas said.

“Go where?”

“”I’m not going anywhere,” said Nick.

“Not you,” said Jarrod.

“Oh, we’re not going through this again,” said Nick.

“Going through what?” asked Heath.

“Never mind,” said Nick, waving Heath away.

“Hurry your children need you,” said Dallas.

“Come on lets go,” Jarrod brushed past his brothers. Nick and Heath exchanged puzzled glances.

“What the devil is going on and what’s this about a baby?” asked Nick.

“Jarrod is definitely acting strange,” said Heath.

“Damn, it’s cold in here,” said Nick.

“Are you coming?” Jarrod poked his head in the room.

“Where?” asked Heath.

“Dinner,” said Nick.

“No, not dinner, John’s farm, lets go,” said Jarrod. Nick and Heath were baffled by Jarrod’s odd behavior.

After dinner, Hattie began clearing the dishes from the table.

“You outdid yourself Hattie,” John said, rubbing his stomach.

“Oh, nonsense.”

“That was the best cake I ever ate, said Constance.”

“Oh Lord child, but don’t tell your mama.” John noticed the coffee in his cup rippling and the cup dancing on the saucer.

“Listen.” Everyone except Andrew was silent. “Riders coming.” John jumped up from his chair, glancing out the dining room window. John could see in the distance a glow, bobbing in the darkness. Coming faster and faster toward the house, the thunder of hooves became clearer as individual torches appeared illuminating masked faces.

“Get the children, take them down to the root cellar.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Go, do as I say.” John gathered the children, shoving Hattie forward into the kitchen. Hattie moved the kitchen table. Picking Andrew up in her arms, she opened the trap door, leading to the root cellar.

“Go on child,” she urged Constance down first, then followed with Andrew in her arms. After climbing down, John closed the door, dragging the table back to where it had been. It was dark except for the cracks of light from the trap door above. Hattie held her breath, listening like a bird dog.

“Hattie, what is it?”

“Hush child.”

John scurried to get his rifle, positioning himself in the living room window. He watched them approach as he loaded the rifle. Using the rifle butt, he banged the glass out, aiming at the men as they gathered before his front porch.

“What do you want?”

“Just a warning to your daughter and the lawyer. Tell her to keep her mouth shut and him to keep his nose out of what doesn’t concern him.”

“You tell Farrell his time is coming and there will be no more bullying.”

“That’s big talk old man.” John waited, his rifle still trained on them. “Torch it.” John watched as a torch was thrown onto the front porch, igniting the wooden planks and a nearby rocking chair. Without hesitating, John shot the man in the shoulder. Another man fired back. “Go around back.” John kept firing.

Hattie heard the volley of shots from above while holding the children closer and tighter. Constance, who was clinging to Hattie could feel Hattie’s body tremble like gelatin, knowing she was just as scared. Hattie then heard a the back door open and a thud. She put Andrew down and waited a moment.

“Hang onto him.” Hattie began to climb the ladder. Pushing up the trap door she suddenly let it drop when she saw flames shoot underneath it. She scurried down the ladder, watching the smoke seep under the trap door. She shut her eyes tight, clasped her hands and began mumbling prayers.

John reloaded but before he could fire another shot, a rock flew in the window, striking John in the head. John fell backwards against a table, knocking over the oil lamp. He fell to floor, unconscious.

Jarrod, Nick and Heath, seeing the glow in the distance, hurried toward it. When they got close enough, Jarrod whipped out his gun, shooting at a man, trying to pour rat poison in the well. Seeing Jarrod, the man whirled around, aimed and fired. Jarrod fired and wounded him in the face.

Nick rode up on another man, kicking the torch out of his hand, then jumped him. Both tumbled to the ground. Both stood up as the man tried to swing at Nick who grabbed him by the throat and punched him.

“Come on lets go.” The men gathered and rode off and were swallowed up the night. All that was heard was the fading sound of thundering hooves.

Heath managed to put out the fire on the front porch while groggy, John managed to get off the floor. Smelling smoke, he glanced up but his eyes would not focus.

“John.”

“Heath…the kitchen…” John coughed, “Hattie and the children are in the root cellar.” John watched as Heath disappeared into a wall of thick black smoke. Minutes seemed like hours to John as he watched the door…waiting. Seeing Heath emerge with Hattie and the children, was a welcomed relief.

Meanwhile, Jarrod and Nick were outside the back door, stamping out the fire with burlap bags. Once the fire was out, Nick looked at Jarrod.

“How did you know there would be trouble?”

“Just a feeling,” said Jarrod.

Realizing that her father and children were in danger because of Morgan Farrell, Dorothy refused to testify. Victoria suggested that she and Audra take the children and visit some relatives. Dorothy agreed but her heart was still not set on testifying. The fear of retaliation from the Farrells was all too real to her. All this because her conscious was too strong to let her ignore what was right. Knowing Jarrod’s dogged determination, she would have no choice but to testify. Jarrod assured his wife that if Morgan Farrell tried anything now, he would only end up tightening the noose around his neck. Dorothy could not be convinced and there was still no proof that Morgan Farrell was responsible. It was only Dorothy’s word they were seen at Dallas’ and the rest was speculation since Henri could not recall what happened. This is the way Dorothy saw it. Though the evidence was circumstantial, Jarrod felt he was building a strong case against them. Dorothy hated being hindered by Morgan Farrell’s power and threats. Wherever Farrell’s men went to wreak havoc, they could never be identified and it was always at night attacks would take place. Morgan Farrell escaped the jaws of the law once too often.

“Gentlemen, I have a present for you, said Fiona, poking her head in the door of the sheriff’s office. Jarrod and Fred drank coffee while discussing Dallas Montgomery. Fiona opened the door wider, shoving Logan Farrell in ahead of her.

“How did you find him?” asked Fred.

“Secrets of my trade or I wouldn’t be good at my job.”

“She’s something else,” Farrell said. “Never met a woman like her.”

“I know,” said Jarrod, glancing over at Fiona.

“According to Miss Lundee, Dr. Merrar was looking for me.”

“Dr. Merrar?” asked Fred. Fiona cleared her throat as Logan glanced over at her. “I told Mr. Farrell his wife was gravely ill and he had to return,” said Fiona, leaning against the brick wall, her arms folded.

“It was us who was looking for you,” said Jarrod. “We wanted to talk to you about the night Dallas Montgomery was murdered.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you gentlemen are talking about.”

“Forget it Farrell, don’t play dumb, you’re past the age when it was attractive,” said Fred. “Your father already admitted both of you were there that night. Dorothy Barkley saw both of you leaving after hearing Dallas scream.”

“Surely you don’t think I killed Dallas.”

“That thought had crossed our minds,” said Jarrod, looking at Fred.

“Did he say I did it?” Jarrod and Fred exchanged glances.

“No…but he said he didn’t kill her. Which means it had to be you,” said Jarrod. Logan’s mouth turned into a hard, straight line.

“What about Henri Passpatou?”

“My wife has agreed to testify that Henri entered Dallas’ room after she screamed and you two then ran out. Henri was knocked unconscious and does not recall what happened.”

“I guess I’ll need a lawyer.” Jarrod brushed by Logan on his way out the door.

“There’s Harold Drummond,” said Fred.

“That old sot, you must be joking. Everyone know the best criminal lawyer in these parts just walked out the door.”

“True and I doubt he would defend you since his wife is a prime witness against you and your father.” Fred took his arm, leading him back to a cell.

“That didn’t stop him from defending Korby Kiles years back.”

“Jarrod learned his lesson from that case, believe me.” Logan turned to Fiona.

“How much is the bounty you’re getting?”

“Nothing…just doing a favor for a friend.” Fred tugged on his arm, urging him into the cell.

Morgan Farrell leaned back in his big forest green leather chair, his feet up on the desk, puffing on a cigar. He knew a noose would be waiting for Logan and prison for him. Worming his way in and out of situations that would have destroyed him long ago, Morgan Farrell learned to use his scare tactics effectively. Being ruthless and feared met more to Morgan Farrell that honesty or dignity, feeling that was appropriate only for the weak. He despised weakness and words like kindness were never spoken in his house. A devout atheist, even God and his word had no room in the Farrell house.

Some say Farrell killed his first wife so he could inherit her money and the ranch. This was never proven. Neither could anyone prove what happened to his second wife, a gold digging social climber who collected lovers. She just vanished one day. Farrell claimed she ran off with one of her many lovers. It had been said that Morgan Farrell admired his wife for her southern charm and beauty, shallow thoughts only. She was a passionate woman, a manipulator that could never make Morgan Farrell love her. He was incapable of genuine feeling, he was stone cold.

“Mr. Farrell.”

“What is it?” Even using people’s names was a waste of time.

“Your son, he’s back and in jail in Stockton.” Nothing moved but Morgan Farrell’s eyes as he looked up at his foreman.

“Go on, get out of here.”

“But…”

“Go.” Morgan Farrell stroked his chin…thinking…planning. Without Dorothy Barkley there would be nothing to tie he and his son to Dallas’ murder. Deluding himself that he was innocent and blameless in all that he ever accomplished, considering that the bodies stayed buried and people did not talk and fled, was satisfying to him. He knew that Dorothy would cave in if her family was threatened but now that he did not have access to the children then he would have to go after her husband. Knowing that Jarrod was probably the force behind Dorothy, pushing her to testify, gave Morgan Farrell a valid reason for threatening Jarrod. The Barkleys were the only nails left that could seal Logan’s coffin.

Relaxed and sitting on the couch in Jarrod’s office, Heath twirled his hat on the tip of his index finger. Waiting for Jarrod to return from court. He began whistling when Jarrod walked in the room, surprised at seeing Heath.

“That was quick, what did you find out?”

“Hannah Cooper is there and one of the nuns, Mother Superior did confirm that Rose Cooper was the mother only after I told her the child’s mother was dead.”

“Were you able to find out who the child’s father was?”

“Mother Superior was reluctant to say but I ran into my old friend Sister Jacob and she looked in the records.”

“And?”

“Logan Farrell is listed as Hannah Cooper’s father.” Jarrod smiled triumphantly.

The last thing Morgan Farrell wanted to see was Jarrod Barkley after seeing Logan in a dingy, dark jail cell.

“What do you want now Barkley?”

“The sheriff found Rose Cooper, dead, two days ago on outside the edge of town.”

“I suspect that is supposed to mean something to me? Well, it doesn’t. You can go.”

“Not so fast. Rose Cooper had a child by your son Logan…her name is Hannah Cooper.” Morgan tried not show any recognition, maintaining a poker face.

“Means nothing to me.”

“Oh, I think so and that’s why you killed Dallas. A married man with a child by a prostitute wouldn’t look very nice on Logan’s resume for senator. Not to mention all the other dirty little secrets you thought were dead and buried are somehow coming to light.”

“Get out, get out of here.” Jarrod took one last look at Morgan Farrell before leaving. As Jarrod approached the front door, he heard someone gasping, trying to call out in a feeble voice. Jarrod looked around then heard a thump. He looked up and saw Anne Farrell lying in a heap on the upstairs landing. He rushed up to her as the maid scurried out from a bedroom.

“Miss Anne…Miss Anne.” Both knelt beside her. “Help me get her to bed.” Jarrod helped the maid pick Anne off the floor and carry her to her bedroom. “I’ll get her medicine.” Jarrod pulled the covers over Anne, noticing her sweating and slightly bluish tint to her lips. Anne opened her eyes for a moment.

“They’re killing me…”

“What?” As the maid was about to administer the medicine, Jarrod took it from her, smelling it. Jarrod glanced at the maid who seemed unaware of anything around her.

“You…I told you to get out, what are you doing up here?”

“Miss Anne fell and he was helping me get her back to bed.”

“Shut up.” He pulled the maid aside and took Jarrod by the arm to escort him out when Jarrod wrenched his arm away, hitting Morgan Farrell in the face. Farrell fell to the floor, unconscious. Jarrod grabbed the small bottle of medicine, slipping it into his pocket and left.

It was late when Jarrod arrived home. Tired and worn out, Jarrod led his horse into the stable. Hearing a noise, Jarrod stopped to listen but heard nothing more. He looked around, seeing only shadows cast by the moonlight. Still the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He continued to lead the horse into a stall and noticed some straw trickle down from the loft above. Jarrod eased his gun out of the holster. There was a creaking noise as Jarrod turned, pointing his gun up at the loft. Suddenly, a figure appeared, jumping him from the loft. The gun discharged and both went down to the ground. The gun flew out of his hand as others appeared from the shadows and began battering him.

After hearing the shot, Dorothy came out of the house, pulling her shawl around her. Hearing banging and crashing in the stable, she held up her lantern and approached slowly. The noise became less frantic with more thumping and groaning. She wondered if something had happened to one of the horses. But what about the gun shot? Stopping in the doorway, she saw six masked men beating her husband.

“Stop it, leave him alone.” The men looked up at her. Out of the corner of her eye, Dorothy spotted the Jarrod’s gun, lying on the floor nearby. She scrambled to get the gun while one of the men rushed toward her. As she grabbed the gun, Dorothy lost her balance, crashing to the floor. Before the man reached her, she fired up at him. Clutching his shoulder he ran out the door. She cocked the gun, aiming at the rest of the men. Hearing the click of the gun, they also scurried out of the stable. Dorothy’s hand shook as she clutched the gun. Hearing the men ride away, she crawled over to Jarrod. She rolled him over, noticing he had a swollen, bruised mouth, bloody lip and black eye not to mention other contusions and perhaps broken bones.

Jarrod winced as Dorothy dabbed his face with a cool, damp cloth, wiping away the blood. Wringing out the cloth in the wash basin, she resumed cleaning his wounds.

“Dr. Merrar should look you over. You may have a some broken ribs.”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse.”

“I can’t imagine how it could be worse than this. I will not testify, I’ve made up my mind.” Jarrod tried to muster some strength to argue. “I know what you want me to do but I can’t risk your life or the lives of my family.”

“Morgan knows I know about Rose Cooper and the child and about Anne.”

“What are you talking about?” Dorothy twisted the cloth.

“Logan is the father of Rose Cooper’s child. She was one of Dallas’ employees when Dallas had a brothel in San Francisco. Morgan had a business arrangement with Dallas. Anyway, that and other things Dallas knew is the reason she’s dead.”

“What about Anne Farrell?”

“They’re poisoning her…I know it…that’s why no one has seen her and they say she’s sick.”

“How do you know?”

“Her medicine…didn’t smell right…like there was some kind of poison. I gave it to Dr. Merrar to examine.”

“If what you’re saying is true…then the rumor that Morgan killed his first wife and maybe his second is true also.”

“That’s why you have to testify.”

“Look what happened to all the others.”

“They were scared.”

“So am I.”

“I know but we have stop him and the most warped reality of all would be if Logan got that senate seat.”

“I doubt it now with all the negative publicity.”

“Maybe.”

“I can’t help the way I feel Jarrod.”

“But you can…”

“Please, Jarrod, don’t.” Dallas appeared. Dorothy noticed a strange expression on Jarrod’s face. Suddenly Dorothy felt very cold.

“Not you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe I should get Dr. Merrar.”

“No…no,” Jarrod groaned.

“Come on lawyer,” said Dallas.

“Be quiet.”

“You’re mad because I won’t testify.”

“That’s your choice.”

“Alright, what would you do if you were in my place?”

“I would hope that I would have the courage to testify.”

“Now you got her handsome,” said Dallas, smiling. Dorothy stared at Jarrod.

Days later, Jarrod decided to take a planned trip to Sacramento, but on the trail he a group of scruffy, flea bitten rawhiders, were waiting in a grove of trees to ambush him. One of them raised his rifle, aimed at Jarrod and fired. Upon hearing the gunfire, the horse reared up and took off at breakneck speed. The rawhiders mounted their horses, taking off after Jarrod. Jarrod glanced over his shoulder, noticing the rawhiders following closely. One of the rawhiders, aimed at Jarrod, firing his gun. The bullet creased Jarrod’s head, stunning him. Noticing Jarrod slumping over, one rawhider rode up close to the buggy, grabbing the reins that had slipped from Jarrod’s hands. He yanked on the reins, slowing down the runaway horse. One of the others came up on the other side to help slow the horse down and stop him.

“Now here’s a man of real quality, cousin Clem.” He smiled, revealing a row of crooked, tobacco stained nubs. Jumping into the carriage, he began to frisk Jarrod. “Lookie what I got here.” Holding up Jarrod’s gold watch, he swung it in front of his shabby companions. They gathered like buzzards around a kill.

“What else is he go on him, Jake?” Jake pulled out Jarrod’s billfold from inside his coat.

“Whewee! We hit the mother load.”

“How much?”

“Must be near $200 here.” Jake held up the clean, crisp bills in his hand, waving them in front of the others. Clem smiled a gap toothed grin. Clem proceeded to take off Jarrod’s gold cufflinks and remove his gun from the holster when a shot was fired, blowing off Clem’s tattered hat with the chewed raccoon tail.

“We better get out of here.”

Fiona rode up as Jarrod regained consciousness. Fiona noticed a thin trickle of blood down the side of Jarrod’s head. Jarrod felt something wet on his face, realizing it was blood.

“What happened?”

“Some rawhiders bushwhacked you.”

“Figures with the kind of week I’ve been having.”

“Come on, we better get you back to the ranch and send for Dr. Merrar.”

Fiona threw her hat down on a nearby chair and sat down with her whiskey. Fiona stared into space, nursing her drink. While her eyes were fixed on the door, three loud, moth-eaten rawhiders walked into the saloon. Fiona shook her head, sipping her drink. The saloon was quiet, with only a poker game and one of the customers telling his life story to one of the saloon girls. That was until the rawhiders came in, flashing money. Fiona suddenly became interested and wondered about them. While watching them, she noticed one of them had a gold watch. It was hard for her to tell but she had an idea that the watch was Jarrod’s. Grabbing her hat, Fiona rose, stepping up to the bar.

“Can I see that watch?”

“What’s your interest little lady?” She glared at him.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure, why not.” He pulled it back out of his pocket, showing it to her. Fiona took it from him, studying it.

“I guess we’ll have to go over and have a talk with the sheriff.” The rawhiders laughed.

“We ain’t going nowhere.”

“You’re going with me.” All eyes were on them.

“I doubt you could budge us too far,” Clem said, chewing on a wad of tobacco. Clem looked over his shoulder at his companions, grinning. Fiona leaned on the bar, staring at them. Fiona said nothing more as she walked past them and out the door. Jake spewed out his beer while laughing.

Once they relaxed, Fiona appeared in the doorway of the saloon with her shot gun aimed at them.

“Lets go, boys.”

“You better be careful with that gun little lady, it might go off.”

“You’re the one who should be careful.” Those closest to the bar moved away. One of the rawhiders took a step closer to Fiona as Fiona shot at the floor, near his foot. Stopping still, he looked down at the splintered wood and powder burn startled then at Fiona. “The next one will be right through your leg.”

“You sure you know how to use that little lady?”

“Do you really want to find out?” All of them exchanged glances, unsure of whether Fiona was bluffing. “I don’t have to kill you…just place a bullet where it will do the most damage.” Clem, still chewing on his tobacco, looked at Fiona, her hard stare, nothing moved, not a finger, not twitch of the body, just a solid, cold stone stance. She was too calm for Clem to ignore her.

“I think she means it,” Clem said out of the side of his mouth. Jake glared at him, fingering his knife. Fiona’s eyes dropped.

“I wouldn’t,” Fiona said. Whipping out the knife, Jake raised it up to throw it as gunfire cracked the air and the knife became airborne. Every time Jake would reach for the knife, Fiona would fired near his hand, the floor peppered with bullet holes, gun powder and splinters. “Shall we go?” In a single file, all three rawhiders, walked out ahead of her. Fiona held back, being cautious. Fred came out to meet them.

“What’s this?” asked Fred.

“These are the men who robbed and tried to kill Jarrod this morning.”

“What are you talking about, we didn’t rob or try to kill anyone,” said Clem.

“This gold watch proves otherwise,” said Fiona dangling it front of Fred.

The rawhiders confessed that a man named Sam Conklin, paid them to rob and kill Jarrod. Sam Conklin was Morgan Farrell’s foreman.

“Logan, we need the truth, who killed Dallas Montgomery?” asked Fred. Logan refused to answer. “You want to hang for a murder you didn’t commit?”

“How do you know I didn’t kill her?”

“You must have some death wish, Farrell,” said Fiona.

“He’s my father.”

“Did he kill Dallas? He’s implying you did.” Logan was weary.

“He killed her.”

Fred and Fiona rode out to the Barkley ranch to return Jarrod’s stolen items and to let them know what had happened when Victoria told Fred that Dorothy had left with a loaded shot gun, riding over to Morgan Farrell’s ranch.

Dorothy stood, aiming the rifle at Morgan Farrel’s head.

“You won’t pull that trigger.”

“Don’t be too sure. How does it feel look death in the face? To feel the same fear you have inflicted on so many of your victims. Is that how it was when you killed Rose Cooper? Or Dallas?” Dorothy’s hand trembled holding the gun but not from fear but from anger. Dorothy had abandoned all reason, unable to suppress her rage, ignoring the consequences that could prevent any further bloodshed or sorrow. Her anger was slow in building but now it was familiar and strong and Morgan Farrell noticed it too. “It wasn’t enough to terrify me by trying to harm my father and children but to try and kill my husband.”

“I did no such thing, none of what you’re saying is true.”

“You’re such a liar…lies, lies, that’s all you ever tell. How do you sleep at night?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jarrod said some men tried to kill him.”

“They weren’t my men. Did he recognize them?”

“No, they shot at him. He never got a close look at them.”

“Why not?” Dorothy was losing patience.

“He was unconscious.”

“So, you assumed all this. Do you honestly believe I would jeopardize Logan’s chances of a fair trial by harming your family?” Fiona lowered the gun barrel.

“It’s true,” said Fiona.

“Aren’t you that crazy Frenchmen’s friend? The one who killed Dallas.”

“Yes, but you stand corrected…you killed Dallas.” Dorothy glanced over at Fiona.

“That’s absurd.”

“That’s not what Logan says or the rawhiders hired by your foreman, Sam Conklin to kill Jarrod Barkley.

“You’re lying…Logan wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Everyone lies but you,” said Dorothy. This time Morgan Farrell looked surprised by his son’s betrayal. He had underestimated Logan’s weakness.

“I could have helped him.”

“Letting him hang for a crime you committed. Or maybe you had another scheme to buy off the law. I guess he figured it was you or him. He never was noble,” said Dorothy.

Logan Farrell made a convincing witness for the prosecution. He talked about his indiscretion with Rose Cooper as the motive for Dallas’ murder and that she was blackmailing them.

The rawhiders testified Sam Conklin, on the orders of Morgan Farrell, hired them to kill Jarrod, making it look like robbery was the motive. Sam Conklin testified Morgan Farrell ordered him to set fire to John Linton’s farm. Morgan Farrell was also accused of killing Rose Cooper to further conceal Logan’s indiscretion.

Practicing remorse and repentance for his sins and conspiracy with his father, Logan never spent another day in jail. He claimed he was trying to protect Morgan while Morgan proclaimed his innocence with frequent outbursts in the court room, accusing witnesses of lying. No one was listening, they had all come to expect this from Morgan Farrell. No one could pity a man they hated for so long.

Even Jarrod, who sat in the back of the court room, felt justice had been served for all the wrongs committed by Morgan Farrell. At one point at the end of the trial, Jarrod looked down the row of onlookers, seeing Dallas at the end. She slowly turned her head, looked at him, winked and faded away.

As the court room emptied, onlookers could still hear Morgan Farrell’s plea of innocence. Even the God fearing ignored him. The minister found forgiveness difficult, hoping Morgan Farrell might find peace with God, asking mercy on his soul.

Three days later, they hung Morgan Farrell. A pall fell over the crowd…not a word…not a sound uttered but the creaking sound of the trap door swinging, a gasp and a sigh. A limp body, like a Halloween scarecrow swung and twisted like a plumb line as people cleared the area.

Logan remained, hat in hand, staring, surprised by his feelings and the finality of the moment. It was the kind of independence he had never known. Morgan Farrell truly exaggerated his son’s weakness and his own ability to manipulate. Some will believe that Logan’s cowardice brought him to this yet it was own manipulation that purged him of his father’s control

He popped his hat back on his head, slipped his hands into his pockets, with his head hung low, walked away. No one would ever know that he had killed Dallas and should have hung in his father’s place.

Half way down the street, Fred and Jarrod met up with him.

“What is it now?”

“It’s your wife,” said Fred

“Anne? What about her?”

“She’s dead.”

“Dr. Merrar examined the medicine she was given, said he found poison in it. You wouldn’t know how it got there?” asked Jarrod.

“No, maybe my father had something to do with that too.”

“I’m afraid not. The only one in the house to handle the medicine was you or you instructed the maid to administer it when you were not there.”

“It had to be the maid.” Jarrod looked at Fred, shaking his head.

“Come on, you’re under arrest for the murder of Anne Farrell,” said Fred.

“I didn’t murder my wife.”

“You’ll have your day in court.” Logan’s eyes grew wide as he looked back over his shoulder at the gallows.

THE END