Where the Bullets Fly Page 26

  But the going would be slow with five sick women in a wagon, plus his own wounded men. He’d have plenty to worry about in keeping them safe and moving. Having Darabont around wouldn’t help them heal any faster. His people had already been through enough already.

  And so had Mackey.

  The sheriff stepped aside. “Take him. He’s yours.”

  Darabont looked him up and down with his good eye. “So this is how it ends, is it? The great Sheriff Mackey succumbing to revenge after all? Even after all your high talk about justice, you’re just going to let these heathens cut my throat after all, aren’t you?”

  “These men are from that same Blackfoot tribe you raided on your way to Dover Station. Since you attacked them before you attacked us, they have the right to put you on trial first.” He took a knee and glared into Darabont’s ruined face. “I promised you justice. Never said anything about it being white man’s justice.”

  Darabont began to squirm against his bindings as the oldest warrior stepped forward and slammed Darabont’s head back against the wagon wheel, rendering him unconscious.

  The warrior drew a blade and cut the ropes tying Darabont to the spoke of the wheel. He grabbed the unconscious man by the collar and began to drag him back toward his horse.

  From the front of the wagon, Mackey heard the women, just back from their washing, began to shriek at the sight of Darabont being free from the wagon wheel. Even though he was unconscious, he still terrified them. The five women clustered behind Katherine like frightened girls as she, herself, backed away. Billy and the others tried to calm them, but they recoiled just the same.

  Mackey grabbed the warrior’s arm.

  The warrior brought up his knife to Mackey’s throat.

  Mackey didn’t flinch. In English, he said, “Hurt him.”

  The warrior’s face did not change. In his own language, he said, “Your tongue does not have a word for what he will feel.”

  Mackey let go of his arm and the warrior withdrew his blade. The women’s screams began to subside as they watched the Blackfoot warriors throw Darabont over the back of their spare horse and bind his hands and feet beneath the horse’s belly. The men climbed back on their horses and rode away, trailing Darabont’s horse behind them.

  Mackey watched them until he couldn’t see them anymore.

  He waited to feel something for Darabont’s fate, knowing he was going to experience more pain in the next few days than most people experienced in a lifetime. The Blackfoot tribe would take their time. They wouldn’t finish him quickly.

  Mackey waited for some semblance of sympathy to reach him. All he felt was that justice would be done, even if it was red man’s justice.

  He realized Billy was standing beside him. “What do you want us to do now?”

  “Strip the dead of everything valuable. Guns, knives, ammunition, then stow it all in the wagon. Round up their horses, too. Should fetch a good price when we get back to town. Leave the dead where they are. No sense in wasting time burying them.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Then get the women together and tell them we’re riding out as soon as they’re able. We’ll camp somewhere else. Tell them the wagon’s the only way we can move them for now, but let them ride on horseback if they want. We can take down the canvas if it makes them feel any better. We’ll get them clothes and a new wagon at Fort Custer.”

  “And then we go home?”

  “We’re going to Dover Station,” Mackey said, though he wasn’t sure it was home anymore.

  Chapter 45

  Darabont drifted in and out of consciousness. He had no idea how long he’d been strapped to the horse, only that the warriors hadn’t stopped for days. Or was it hours? The pain in his shoulder and from his wounds made it difficult to gauge just how long he’d been traveling. All he knew was that he had fouled himself numerous times and the scouts didn’t seem to care.

  The dirt road grew greener and the horse’s footfalls became lighter as they seemed to reach some sort of camp. His head ached too much to look around, but he heard more voices before the horse finally stopped. He tried to decipher the language, but for all his education, could not. It was heathen talk, based on a language all their own, and he decided they had finally reached whatever destination the warriors had in mind.

  He was quite prepared for whatever they had planned for him. He assumed he’d be scalped and most likely castrated. He’d long since prepared himself for that eventuality. One didn’t spend as much time on the plains as he had without accepting such outrage was possible at the hands of the heathen horde. He’d made his peace with whatever god had damned him long ago. He had reaped his own vengeance upon His people. He expected no quarter from any god now—heathen or otherwise.

  He fought to control his relief when he felt his bindings cut and he was pulled off the horse. He hit the grassy meadow hard and shrieked as every one of his numerous wounds roared to life.

  Someone grabbed a handful of his remaining hair and pulled him to his feet. He looked up through swollen eyes, but saw nothing. The world was a vague, swimming expanse. He thought there were other people around him, though he couldn’t be sure. His legs were wobbly, but no one came to his aid. He walked only because he was led and knew they’d drag him if they had to. He decided he would not give them that last bit of his dignity.

  He did not see the hole until they dropped him into it, feet first. He was still unsteady on his feet, but realized the hole was too narrow for him to fall over. His knees buckled, but he did not sink. Whoever had dug the hole had done an excellent job. It was just enough room for him to breathe.

  And then someone began to fill it in.

  He tried as best he could to climb out, but with one ruined shoulder, it was impossible. He couldn’t move his good arm enough to get purchase anyway.

  As much as it hurt his jaw, he dipped his head as the hole was filled in, trying to keep the dirt from getting in his eyes and mouth. He screamed and moaned as best he could through a closed mouth, but the dirt kept coming, covering him completely from his knees, then his hips, then his elbows and his neck until . . . it stopped.

  Through swollen eyes, He looked around and realized he could not move his head. He had been completely buried except for his head.

  What little he could see was grassy and shaded by large, leafy trees. He had heard of the desert Indians, especially the Apache, who buried their victims in the desert and allowed the sun to kill them slowly. But if he had to choose a place to be buried from the neck up, he could not have picked a nicer spot.

  He listened to hear voices, movement, something to show he was not alone, but he heard nothing.

  Instead, he felt something pour over his head and down his face. Something thick and warm. He imagined the heathens were probably relieving themselves on him as part of some kind of pagan victory ritual.

  But as best as he tried to keep his ruined mouth closed, some of it dripped into his mouth and he realized what it was. It was not urine.

  It was honey.

  And it didn’t take long for the first fly to find him. Then, a second.

  And then the ants came.

  And for the first time in all the years since he was a boy, Alexander Darabont knew true terror.

  Chapter 46

  It was just past noon some days later when Sheriff Aaron Mackey led his motley army down Front Street in the same direction from which Darabont had come. The new wagon they had purchased in Fort Custer bore no canvas and the women inside it were smiling and laughing with the Boudreauxs and young Sandborne, who drove the wagon. Brahm and the vaqueros brought up the rear with the horses of the men they’d killed in tow.

  Katherine was the only woman not in the wagon. She was where she had been since the day she had been rescued, seated right behind him and clutching him tightly. Adair didn’t seem to mind the extra weight. Billy trailed close behind.

  He had thought about seeing if the telegraph wire had been repaired when the
y’d stopped near Fort Custer, but decided against it. He doubted it had been repaired yet and even if it had, he knew the town would not welcome news of five female refugees coming to town.

  None of the prostitutes of Hill House had survived Darabont’s cruelty, but that would not matter to the townspeople. The women Mackey had rescued were widows from Idaho and schoolteachers from Oklahoma and Texas and a parson’s daughter from Nebraska, but that would matter little to the women of Dover Station. They would be seen as damaged women, especially having been in Darabont’s clutches for so long. The wives of the town elders would be as curious about their experiences as they would be repelled by them, but they would treat them like second-class citizens just the same.

  Mackey’s sprawling group slowly drew the attention from townspeople and drunkards and shopkeepers as they rode down the main thoroughfare. None of them cheered or offered him greeting. No one threw hats in the air or celebrated as they had when they’d learned Darabont’s siege had ended. He hadn’t expected them to. He wasn’t sure he wanted them to, either.

  From what Mackey could see, Dover Station had sprung back to life from Darabont’s attack. His rocking chair sat unattended in front of the jailhouse, and the door was closed. Flatbed wagons were parked in front of his father’s store and Mason’s store farther down the street. He couldn’t tell if they were delivering supplies or picking up supplies, but either way, it was a good sign.

  The noise coming from the Tin Horn was loud, but far more subdued than it had been in recent months and far quieter than it had been the afternoon when he and Billy had first tangled with Darabont’s men. He, Billy, and Sim. God, how Mackey wished the three of them were riding back in together now.

  He made sure not to look at his house as he rode by for fear of what he might find there. If Mary was there, she’d see Katherine clinging to him and become enraged. If she wasn’t there, then she had most likely lived up to her promise of leaving him. Either way, he wasn’t ready to face the outcome just yet.

  He brought his party to a halt at Katie’s Place. He waited for Katherine to dismount first before he did. He hitched Adair to the hitching rail in front and started giving orders. To the Boudreauxs and the two vaqueros, he said, “Jack and Henry, you help these ladies dismount. Brahm and Sandborne, too. Javier and Solomon, take the horses over to the livery. Have them kept separate from the rest of the horses so Pappy and Mason can look them over later. Then drop the goods we took off the men over at the jail. Mason and my old man can haggle over who gets what later on. Hang around until I come back, and I’ll see to it that you’re all paid.”

  The men did as they were told. He thought Katherine would go back inside and help the girls get settled. She’d been so attentive to them during their ordeal and since, he thought she’d continue to be that way, especially now that they were home.

  Instead, she stood stock-still on the porch while the Boudreauxs led the girls inside. Billy drifted inside with the others, leaving Mackey alone with her.

  He knew everyone in town was looking at them. He put his hands on her shoulders anyway and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t go in there.”

  “Sure you can. It’s your place, remember? Big sign up there has your name on it. You’re home.”

  “No, I’m not. Not anymore. Not after . . . everything. Not just to me, Aaron, but to this town.” She put her hand over his. “To us.”

  “All the more reason why you need to go inside, honey.”

  She turned and looked up at him. “You haven’t called me that in years. Not since Boston, and now you call me that every day.”

  “And I’ll keep on calling you that for as long as you want me to.” He heard himself say it, though he couldn’t believe it. And he had never meant anything more in his life.

  “Old Wilkes is gone.” The tears began to come again. He’d never seen her cry before. Now she cried all the time. He supposed she had a right. “All the girls in Hill House are gone. That poor baby . . .”

  “The JT Ranch is gone, too, so that means poor Brahm is out of a job. He’s a good cook and could help with the rowdies like Old Wilkes used to do. Sandborne’s a friendly sort. Could fill in nicely helping you run the place.”

  She blinked a tear away. “It’s not the same.”

  “It’s not supposed to be. But it can be better.”

  She looked away from him again. “How long were we gone, Aaron? The whole ride back here, you never told me.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Very much.”

  “It took me three days to find you. We took a little longer coming back because I didn’t want to rush you girls.”

  He wasn’t sure if he should say what he was thinking and decided to do it anyway. “I’ve never gone through what you have or what those ladies went through with Darabont. But I’ve seen plenty of people who’ve suffered at the hands of Apaches and men like Darabont. Some of them crumbled and were never the same again. Some pushed their way through it and found a way to live. But if you don’t walk through that door now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. If you have the courage to push through it and try to live, I promise you that it’ll get better a lot quicker than if you run from it.”

  “It’s not the same.” She looked down at the porch step where she stood. “You beat Darabont. I only survived.”

  He tucked his finger under her chin and raised her face until she looked at him. The silver streaks in her hair were still there, but the lines were less visible and the redness had gone from her eyes. But they were harder than they had been the last time they’d spoken on her porch. He wondered if they always would be. “You kept as many of the women alive as you could without any help from me or anyone. I beat Darabont the only way I know how. Now it’s up to you to beat him your own way. And the best way you can do that is to walk inside your hotel and tend to the women who still need you.”

  She buried her face in his chest. And despite all the people looking at them, he didn’t push her away. When she looked up at him again, there weren’t any tears. “I guess we both have work to do.”

  He felt himself smiling. “Best get to it. Both of us. I’ll be by later.”

  He watched her gather herself as she walked through the door of her own hotel.

  He’d just unhitched Adair from the railing and climbed up into the saddle when he saw her standing just inside the doorway of the hotel. She looked at the townspeople before she yelled, “I’m proud to love you, Aaron Mackey. And I don’t give a damn who knows it.”

  Smiling, she brushed past Billy as he was coming out of the hotel. The deputy watched her go inside, then looked up at his friend. “Quite a woman, ain’t she?”

  Mackey managed to say, “Let’s get back to the jail.”

  Chapter 47

  Billy had just finished brewing a pot of fresh coffee when Pappy ran across the street. His face flushed more from excitement than the effort. “You came back.”

  Mackey had already had his fill of sentiment for one day. “Told you I would. Brought back plenty for you and Mason to pick over. Guns, bullets, saddles. Horses, too, over at the livery. You boys can pick over them tomorrow.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Pappy said. “I care about you and what happened. Darabont dead?”

  “Not yet. Handed him over to Wolf Child’s men. He raided their settlement on his way here. Killed a lot of women and children. They’ll hurt him worse than a hangman’s noose will.”

  Mackey didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Where’s Underhill?”

  “Out at the JT Ranch. He’s been surveying the damage with Mr. Rice for the past couple of days. They ride out at first light and come back each evening. Took a look at the mining camp already. Seems the miners had the good sense to get the hell out of there before Darabont’s men could reach them. Wasn’t much there, so he left it alone, except for the dynamite he stole. Loggers, too. Some of them have already started filtering back i
nto town, even the hands at the JT who survived. Looks like Rice might want to get into the ranching business. Says they’re going to rebuild. Run more horses and cattle. There’s talk Underhill might run it for him.”

  Mackey drank his coffee. “Glad to hear it. You’ll need it to help keep the town on its feet.”

  “Word is they’ll have the telegraph up and running in a day or so,” Pappy said. “Railroad stopped here yesterday, so it looks like Darabont didn’t damage the tracks like he said he had.”

  Mackey wasn’t surprised. “Probably didn’t want to waste the dynamite on steel rails when he could use them on us instead.”

  Pappy looked at his shoes and toed the ground the way he always did when he was about to deliver bad news. “Mary’s gone. Left on the first stage that came into town.”

  Mackey sipped his coffee. “That was to be expected.”

  “No loss. Bitch even bought her ticket from Mason instead of from me. Spiteful even to the end.”

  Mackey sipped more coffee. “That was to be expected, too.”

  Pappy rubbed his nose and changed the subject. “I heard Katherine made it back okay. Some of those captives you brought in, too.”

  “I know what the next question will be,” Mackey said. “They’re not whores, just Darabont’s captives. None of the women from Hill House survived Darabont’s men. You don’t want to know the details. Just make sure that damned rumor mill of yours doesn’t destroy those women’s reputations before they’ve had a chance to put down roots. They’ve been through enough already.”

  His father took a step back. “Jesus, Aaron. I don’t deserve that. Here I am, delighted you’re back and . . .”

  Mackey looked at Billy, and Billy spoke for him. “Sim’s dead.”

  “Sim?” Pappy whispered as he lowered himself into a chair by the door. “After all he’s been through. Shiloh. Georgia, even, only to be laid low by the hand of rabble. How?”