Authors: Rachel Cartwright
Bret gritted his teeth. Scared and humiliated, he trembled more with anger than fear. He was not going to let these men hurt his mother. He dug his hand into the pocket of his torn knickerbockers.
Boland unbuckled his gun belt and handed it to Haines. “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. McGowan. Kinda high ’n’ mighty with your nose up when you passed me on the street. Guess you don’t cotton much to half-breeds, but I wanted to give you a chance, anyways.”
Ragget approached Boland and spoke with slurred speech. “Gus is still green. Don’t you think we should let him have a go first? They ain’t got much spirit left after we’ve finished with ’em.”
“Maybe he’s right, Captain,” Haines said. “Let’s see what our bright boy can do. ’Sides, only quim he’s ever had is on the backside of a heifer.”
Captain Boland chucked his head back and laughed. The men slapped each other’s shoulders and howled like drunken fools. Even Gus grinned at his own ridicule.
“All right, get up here, boy. I like to know what a man’s made of if he rides in my company. Don’t be bashful. The sofa over there will do just fine.”
The pale youth cringed. “No . . . no, sir. Thank you. I don’t much feel like it.”
“What’s that, boy?” Boland grinned like a wolf about to pounce.
The young man’s sullen eyes grew more intense. “If she’s been with coloreds or other men, there’s a chance I could catch something. The war spreads the pox like wildfire.”
The others fell quiet and glanced at each other.
Lorena closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She quietly thanked the strange young man for exposing his fear. Let them think what they wanted about her character if the lie would stop them from laying their filthy hands on her or Bret.
Haines scratched the side of his face. “Damned if I’ll admit it, but maybe he’s right for once. Heard a man can go crazy from the pox if’n it’s real bad. Eats up your brain like maggots on horse meat.”
The captain bit the tip of his thumbnail and spat it on the floor. “I don’t care what a frightened boy-virgin says. She don’t look sick.”
Gus lowered his gaze and looked away.
Lorena’s heart quickened. She pressed her feet and legs together as she edged back toward the spiral staircase leading to the second floor.
“C’mon, bright boy,” Haines said. “You heard the captain. Maybe you can give us all a lesson.” The men whooped it up again, and Haines shoved Gus forward.
Gus stumbled for a few steps then stood for the longest time gawking at Lorena and her son. He frowned and kept blinking as if unsure of what he was looking at. “With all due respect, Captain Boland, I don’t think I can—”
Before he finished his explanation, Bret broke away from Lorena’s side and jabbed his hand into the young man’s groin. Gus howled and buckled at his knees.
Lorena bolted for the stairs with Bret just a step ahead of her, leaping toward the second floor.
“Get that little bastard!” Gus yelled from the parlor. “Jesus! He almost got my—”
Haines guffawed. “Wouldn’t be no loss to the ladies, any hoot. But at least the bulls won’t get jealous now, Gus.”
Bret pulled on the rope lowering the hatch ladder leading to the attic. As he motioned for his mother to hurry, Lorena saw the gleam of a short, fine blade in his hand, his whittling knife, a birthday gift from his father.
“C’mon, boys,” the captain roared. “Enough bein’ civil.” The stairs creaked as the drunken men lumbered up in no apparent rush. “Ain’t nowhere for them to go.”
Lorena’s arms stretched out but grasped only air. “Bret?”
“Up the ladder, Mother. Hurry!”
Hot tears streamed down Lorena’s face as she climbed, and she gasped for breath as she reached the top rung. Over her shoulder she saw the top of the captain’s hat clearing the second floor landing. The voices of the men sounded close behind him.
“Where you goin’, missy?” Weems hollered. “A traitor’s whore got nowhere to hide.”
She held back a scream. Please, Lord. Not here. Not like this with my son’s eyes open to every evil. Lorena had never asked God for anything before and promised she would never again.
As small as he was, Bret pulled at her with all his strength until she reached the timbers placed loosely across the attic joists.
Behind her, the captain shouted. “Up there. Quick, you drunken cowards.”
Lorena and Bret drew up the ladder and tossed it aside. She kicked down the attic door and slid a heavy wood beam across it until the tip passed under the iron bracket.
She collapsed on top of the door and hugged her son to her side. His tears soaked into her blouse. Gasping to catch her breath, she clenched Bret tighter and pleaded for the delivery of his innocent soul.
The stagecoach rumbled and skidded around a rocky bend in the road. As it cleared the sharp turn, the driver squinted through the dust kicked up by the horses. He sucked in his breath and his eyes went wide with shock. He pulled back on the reins, slowing the team. Allowing the horses to break their full gallop, he yanked back on the brake lever, bringing the coach to a skidding stop.
Only the panting of horses filled the silence in the remote plain. The driver took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, all the while keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.
The nervous guard kept his rifle at the ready in both hands, his finger tapping on the trigger. The driver slid his hand down on the grip of his Colt Peacemaker.
William unbuttoned his jacket, revealing his holstered Colt. The small boy, Evan, poked his head out the open window to see what was happening. His mother, Mrs. Alice Rutherford, immediately pulled him back into the coach.
“What did I tell you, Evan? Don’t you dare move.”
The boy sobbed, his face buried into his mother’s side. The elderly couple lowered their heads and prayed.
William placed a comforting hand on Mrs. Rutherford’s arm. “Please. Don’t be troubled. Evan and you will be home soon. I promise.”
Mrs. Rutherford nodded through her tears. “And don’t worry your family, Mr. McGowan. I’ll do as you’ve asked.”
The sudden sound of scrambling feet on the stagecoach roof made everyone stare up at the ceiling. A single gunshot echoed from a still distance. A moment later, the guard fell past the open window and thudded to the ground. Mrs. Rutherford hugged Evan closer. The passengers stared in silent, frozen terror at the dead man on the ground.
As William withdrew his weapon, two shotgun muzzles poked around the sides of the open window. “Your choice, Mr. McGowan,” one of the unseen men said. “But you raise that gun and these fine, innocent folks will be joining you in hell faster than you can cock the devil’s hammer.”
CHAPTER 2
Lorena cowered in the attic, listening to the men stomping up and down the hallway, punctuated by mumbled cursing and banging on the ceiling. Surely they would tire of trying to figure a way past the barred entryway and leave.
Burn the barn, kill the livestock, but leave me and my son in peace.
She prayed for just some of the strength and the determination she had always taken for granted in her husband. Lord, how she wished William was with them now.
The scraping of boots stopped directly beneath the attic door. “Make things easy on yourself, ma’am,” Captain Boland yelled. “’Less you want something awful to happen to your boy. Don’t matter much to some men during these damnable times of tribulation.”
Lorena backed away from the door, stumbled over the ladder and fell back on the joists.
Bret put out his hand. “Mother. Are you hurt?”
“No, darling. Thank you, but . . . ” She stepped onto the timbers where her son was crouching. “Maybe I could have convinced them to leave. Now we’ve only made them angrier.”
“But the man . . . he wanted to hurt you.”
She could feel his body heave as he fought back sobs.
“They came for Tommy Jenkins’ father, and Mrs. Jenkins was there and—” Bret lost control and gushed with tears. “They made him stand there. Tommy saw every—”
Lorena put her hand over his mouth. “Hush now. I’ll not hear anymore. Do you understand me?”
Bret sniffed and nodded his head.
“Mrs. McGowan? Please ma’am. We can forget about this.” The young man, Gus, spoke again. His pleasant, reassuring voice made her stomach contract in a tight ball. “Just open the door and climb back down.”
“We have good horses in the stable and there’s money in the brown crockery pot in the kitchen. Take everything and leave us alone.” Lorena prayed that would satisfy them and bit her tongue to stop from screaming at them from the anger raging in her heart.
You’ll never touch my son. I’ll die before I let you or the rest of you lickfinger cowards touch us.
Gus’s tone became even more amiable. “No ma’am. Captain Boland didn’t mean anything by that, and your boy didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. We’re just trying to make you see sense.”
Lorena cried softly and pulled Bret to her breast. “Go away. You’re the traitors. Attacking innocent women and children. You call yourself the home guard? Whose home are you protecting?”
“Come now, Lorena,” Captain Boland said. “If your husband had been loyal to the Confederacy, we’d all be sitting down to turkey dinner on Sunday.”
The men’s hushed laughter rose through the attic.
“But to show you I’m still a gentleman. I’m going to give you a minute to think about your predicament again and decide what’s best for your family.”
Boot heels and furniture screeched against the floor.
“And I will still honor my original promise to you and do my best to spare your husband.”
Lorena wasn’t listening to anything Captain Boland said. She pulled an old blue pea jacket from a trunk and told Bret to put it on while she searched for boots.
“Lorena? Lorena McGowan. Damn it! Answer me, woman!”
She had nothing more to say to any of them. The noise below was the desperation of the damned, for she would never forget this day. Pray as she did, Lorena knew God wasn’t going to save her. But there was still a chance she could save her son and husband.
She pulled Bret close and whispered, “Reverend Vaughan believes in our cause. Tell him you need to spend the night until your father arrives on the eleven o’clock coach tomorrow.”
Lorena led him to the dormer window and silently pushed open the shutters. It was just wide enough to allow Bret’s slender body to pass through. “Once you’re on the sill, darling, you’ll have to edge yourself around until you can reach a branch of the old oak.” She hugged him and felt him tremble in her arms. “Don’t be frightened, Bret. I’ve seen you jump to that branch many times.”
“I’m—I’m not afraid.” He wrapped his thin arms around her neck.
“Promise me you’ll meet your father at the station tomorrow for the eleven o’clock coach.”
Bret wiped back his tears and looked up at her. “I promise, Mother. I know a shortcut to the Reverend’s home. No one will see me.”
Lorena peered through the window. In the front yard, the vigilantes’ unattended horses stood tethered to the posts by the water trough. Thank God there were no more of them waiting outside.
She helped her son on to the sill just as the first axe head cracked through the attic hatch, then another, and another. With strength brought on by fear and supreme determination to live she held onto her only son as long as she could.
Bret took another step and Lorena’s hands no longer touched him. He edged his way along the ledge and in another few moments he was gone from her sight around the cornice as the axe splintered the attic door.
Captain Hugh Boland watched Travis Haines check the knot on the noose before throwing the first rope over the gibbet. Cordage this thick could snap a steer’s neck. Better to have it too strong than have it fray and tear before the day was done, because the Lord knew there would be more than enough chances of that today.
The captain took off his hat and wiped the sweat of his hangover from his forehead. At eleven o’clock in the morning, the sun felt too hot for late October.
After the busy night at the McGowan ranch, the air seemed to cling to his skin and not even the faintest breeze stirred to cool his brow. But it had been worth it. Napoleon brandy started the fire down below, and that traitor’s whore kept the flames burnin’ all night.
Haines whistled through his teeth and threw another rope over the long gibbet. A small crowd interested in the proceedings had assembled.
Many of the women turned their eyes this way and that while they fanned themselves. The men checked their timepieces—growing more hot and impatient by the moment—occasionally heckling Haines and the other men on the platform to let them know it.
The captain put his hat on and cocked the brim. Folks got to realize. It takes time to make everything just right. He was proud the others had cottoned to his idea of using a butcher’s hoist with a box and plank being rigged for a drop. They all agreed it would speed things up especially when they used ten nooses on the regular gallows.
Haines flung the final rope into place and the captain stepped back, satisfied all preparations were completed.
Armed, vigilante guards ordered the first group of bound men and women out of the hay wagon and marched them at gunpoint to the steps of the gallows as more wagons arrived behind the first.
Captain Boland had gone over the list several times. Two hundred men and women from five northern Texas counties would walk up these stairs before sundown. He cut off a fresh plug of tobacco and popped it in his mouth. After he read out each name, Haines slipped a flour sack over the traitor’s head.
The captain knew many of them only by reputation and a few by name and face. He’d never sat down to dinner with any of the men or shared a drink, and even if he did, that wouldn’t have changed a goddamn thing. All slave-lovin’ traitors to the Confederacy and even worse, traitors to Texas.
Captain Boland spat over the edge of the platform. He scratched his sweaty scalp at the back of his neck as he looked down the row of faceless, drooping sacks. Before last month, each one of these fine gentlemen would just as soon have walked in the mud to cross the street than have to say good morning to a half-breed like him. ’Specially the likes of Mr. William McGowan there.