Outcast (25 page)

“Don't see how that's any of your business.”

“All business is my business. I am the business of this town. If I weren't here, this community would be nothing more than a patch of dust on the east slope of the Rockies. If it weren't for me.…”

Dolby sighed.

Burkhart's eyes squeezed shut. “I will tell you something I haven't told you before. You cannot count on my help in the next election. Quite to the contrary, I will support anyone who runs against you. As I understand it, Clive Jenkins intends to run against you.”

Dolby shrugged. “Don't know why this election would be any different from the others. Jenkins has run against me every time. In between times, he's a fine deputy.”

“You…you.…”

“The expression is son of a bitch, Elmer,” Dolby said. “Would you please excuse me now so I can get some work done.”

Burkhart stormed through the door, slamming it behind him.

Dolby put his feet on his desk, leaning back in his chair. Estelle Simpson had been in earlier to tell him about what happened in her shop. Something was going on. Looked like Standish was beginning to push back. He had introduced himself as Iona Belshaw's brother. Could be, but that didn't seem likely. Something was afoot, and it was in the sheriff's best interest to figure out what it was. He'd best go out and talk to Standish tomorrow morning, catch him early before he got off somewhere. Catch him early, before he got away.

CHAPTER 13

The rider poised at the edge of the trees. Standish caught the movement from the corner of his eyes. He didn't look up. It was best that the stranger didn't know he'd been seen. Standish stretched, using his arms to hide his study of the horseman. Couldn't see much in the shadows, but the threat was clear.

Standish walked to the barn and stepped into its darkness. He stood there watching. Just the one as far as he could see, but another might have worked his way behind the cabin.

Standish stepped to the barn's west window. He studied the woods, seeking anything out of place. Sometimes a flicker of an ear will set a hunter on a deer. Sometimes the shine of a boot by a tree trunk will tip off a man's presence.

Nothing there that he could see. Of course that proved nothing. Could be the others were better at hiding than Standish was at spotting. Standish walked back to the front of the barn, remaining in the shadows. The rider was still in the little copse of lodge pole pine. He wasn't exactly hiding, but he wasn't making a social call, either.

Standish slipped from his pocket the silent whistle Arch had shown him in Last Chance's general store. He blew soundlessly, but it was only a moment or two before he heard the clop of trotting horses headed for the barn.

The rider stood in his stirrups, trying to get a better view of what was going on. If he was after Standish, he would have to make a move now. The horses trotted into the barn, and Standish gave each a bucket of oats. Their heads jerked up about halfway through their treat. The rider was coming. Standish slipped out the back of the barn and worked his way toward the front.

The creaking of the old leather, and the sound of the stranger's boots revealed the man's movement toward the barn. He wouldn't step blind into the darkness any more than Standish would peek around the corner. The intruder would be just inside the barn door, peering at the vague outlines of two horses.

Sally nickered. The man was stepping in. Standish eased around the corner and stalked toward the door, ducking as he came to the east window so his shadow wouldn't give him away.

Standish eased up behind the stranger. “Something I can help you with?”

The man jumped, jerking in the air as though he had been shot. He reached for the pistol hanging from his belt, but the holster was empty. He sagged. Hell of a thing to be in a barn with a cannibal and an empty holster.

The rider turned slowly. The Moose Creek Cannibal Miles Standish was standing behind him, the missing pistol in his hand.

“Maybe you'd like to join me for breakfast?”

Sheriff Jeff Dolby shook his head violently. No way was he going to share a table with a cannibal.

“I'm having ham, eggs and biscuits,” Standish said.

The sheriff's mind traversed a dozen possibilities, settling on Standish fattening him for the feast. “No, I.…”

“I insist.” Standish said, gesturing toward the cabin.

Dolby's life flashed before his eyes at each step. He should have married. At least then, he would have some children to carry on his name. Now he would be remembered only as a curiosity, the sheriff the cannibal ate.

The cabin was neat and clean. Dolby had half expected to see human heads grinning down from the walls. A scent in the air. What was it. Could be anything. Could be.… Spasms wracked Dolby's throat, and he thought he might vomit.

Standish gestured toward the chair on the far side of the cabin. Not good. Standish would be behind him while he was at the stove. The cannibal could walk up behind him and cut his throat.

“Uh, if you don't mind. I'd like to sit in this chair.”

“I mind.”

Dolby gritted his teeth. He didn't have much choice, not with Standish holding the only pistol. He sat stiffly at the table, listening to Standish's steps behind him. The scent increased. Ham, it was ham, all right. Certainly not.… Dolby flinched. How the hell would he know how
that
smelled?

“I'm not really very hungry. Had a big breakfast.…”

Standish set a pan on the table. He sat down in his chair, black against the light streaming into the cabin. The pistol lay on the table, muzzle toward the sheriff. Standish reached toward the sheriff. “Plate, please.”

Dolby shook his head. “I'm stuffed. I don't.…”

“Plate.”

Standish shoveled a large helping on Dolby's plate. “It's ham and eggs. Nothing else. Ham's sitting on that little table by the stove if you want to look.”

Dolby cringed. “I didn't mean.…”

“Eat.”

Dolby picked at the casserole and tasted it. Ham, all right, good ham.

Standish noted the star on the sheriff's vest and nodded. “I want you to know that I'm pleased you came.”

The fork paused halfway to Dolby's mouth. He had been right. Standish was fattening him. “Uh, I really don't.…”

“Eat. We have a few things we need to talk about.”

Dolby nodded. Might be his last meal. No reason not to enjoy it.

They ate in silence for ten minutes. Standish was the first to speak.

“I suspect you're out here because Mrs. Burkhart sicced Mr. Burkhart on you.”

Dolby nodded.

“Second, you did a little primary investigation and discovered who I am.”

Dolby blanched. “Nope, don't know anything about you, nothing at all.”

Standish leaned across the table. “We need to be honest with each other. First, after we've talked, I'll give your pistol back to you. You will be free to leave then, or to arrest me for.… What did Burkhart say I did to his wife?”

A tentative smile twitched across Dolby's face. “Said you brutalized her.” The sheriff shook his head. “I know that's not true. I talked to Mrs. Simpson. You didn't lay a hand on her.”

“Anything else?”

“Said that you called his wife a whore.”

“But I didn't.”

“No you didn't.”

“So…?”

Dolby fidgeted.

Standish leaned across the table, taking another slab of ham. “Please eat. It is a sin to waste food.”

The two ate, each watching the other. When the sheriff settled back in his chair, Standish said, “So you've come all this way to see the cannibal of Moose Creek.”

Dolby leaned back, shaking his head. “No sir, I.…”

Standish sighed. “Coffee?”

Dolby shook his head.

Standish refilled the sheriff's cup and his own. “I want you to know that I have never killed anyone. Nor have I ever…eaten anyone. I am pleased that you are here, because I am hoping that you will help me prove that. First, I want to talk to you about what happened to Mrs. Belshaw.”

Sheriff Dolby squinted across at Standish, trying to peer into the man's soul. He nodded. “That's bothered me for sometime. Say what you have to say.”

Standish picked up the pistol. “I'm going to put this away until you're ready to leave. That all right with you?”

The sheriff nodded, and Standish walked over to the box beside his bed. He laid the pistol there, and came back carrying the Klaus Bele's journal. “Would you please read this?” Standish opened the journal and handed it to the sheriff.

Dolby didn't see where he had any choice. He leaned over the book.

Sheriff Jeff Dolby slammed the journal shut with a vigor that left the sound echoing through the cabin. “That son of a bitch. That ugly, stupid son of a bitch.”

“Not right to speak ill of the dead.”

Dolby glared across the table. “He's roasting in hell right now. Doesn't matter what I say about him.”

“What about the others.”

“I don't know who they are.”

“You could ask the bartender.”

Dolby scratched the back of his neck, chagrin creeping over his face. “I really screwed this up, didn't I?”

Standish shrugged. “Don't be so hard on yourself. All you did was allow an entire community to devastate a woman whose only sin was to help a neighbor in need. You stood by while those sons of bitches who brutalized her bragged about their exploits, and you left an eight-year-old boy alone to protect his mother.”

Dolby sighed. “What the hell can I do?”

“Not much. You can charge those bastards for what they did and drag Iona's name through the mud again.”

“That's her name, Iona?”

Standish sneered. “You don't even know her name?”

Dolby scratched at the table top with a fingernail, concentrating on the effort as though it were the most important thing he had ever done. “I didn't know.”

“Seems to me that it's your job to know.”

Dolby nodded.

“So how are you going to make this right?”

Dolby shrugged.

Standish rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. “You came out here to arrest me, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

Dolby fidgeted in his chair.

“Spit it out.”

“For murder and cannibalism.”

Standish leaned forward. “On what charge?”

Dolby bristled. “I told you, murder and cannibalism.”

Standish leaned back. “It might interest you to know that I've never been charged with either crime.”

Dolby's frown created a little coulee running down his forehead. “What the hell are you talking about? Everybody knows you're a murderer and a cannibal.”

Standish shook his head. “Don't know why you're surprised. Seems only fair that I haven't been charged with something I didn't do.”

“Then why the hell.…?”

“Quandary of a question isn't it?”

The coulee hadn't left the sheriff's forehead.

“I've been running for three years now.” Standish leaned across the table, emphasizing his words. “For something I didn't do.”

“Why didn't you…?”

“Why didn't I challenge my own demons?”

Dolby nodded.

“Because the pack that chases me is outside the law. They wouldn't give me anymore time than what it takes to toss a rope over a limb.”

Standish reached into a pocket and pulled out the clipping. “Would you please read this, Sheriff?”

Dolby took the article, brittle now with age.

The Altima Beagle has discovered a terrible story from the sole survivor of the Moose Creek Mining Camp debacle. Samuel Bodmer arrived terror-stricken from the camp just three days ago. He is under Dr. Mertin Charles' care. The doctor says it is nothing short of a miracle that Bodmer survived
.

The miners didn't know of the demon that had arrived in their camp when Miles Standish staked his claim. It was not long after his arrival, however, that the men realized the danger of his presence
.

“
He would howl at night, as though he was a wolf,” Mr. Bodmer said. “And he had a look in his eye that would terrify any Christian man.”

Standish, this newspaper will not call so despicable a person mister nor do we have any inclination to call him human, was a sluggard, begging food from the other miners who were compelled by their Christian morals to care for this beast
.

Beast he may be. The Reverend Timothy Periwinkle says Standish is either possessed by demons or is an agent of a nether world. He said that Bodmer's description of Standish's eyes confirmed his suspicion that Standish is in league with the devil
.

The miners, innocents all, didn't recognize the beast that stalked their midst until an early blizzard stripped them of shelter and food. They huddled in one tent, listening to the winter winds sing of their deaths. Hunger stalked these men, felling them one by one
.

When the first died, Standish volunteered to take the body into the blizzard. He was gone for an inordinate time, and when he came back, Bodmer saw blood ringing Standish's mouth. Standish was grinning, and it was a terrible thing to see
.

As others died, Standish carried them out, too, and when the surviving miners were so weakened they could hardly move, Standish, strong still with the flesh of the deceased, began eating their compatriots within their presence. He would comment as he ate, having a partiality for livers, Bodmer said
.

So these weakened men waited their turn under this foul man's knife. Bodmer said he had come to crave death, unwilling to suffer the terrible gore of this blasphemy
.

When the world, nay the universe, seemed black as Standish's heart, hope blossomed for Bodmer. Standish left for a moment, and Bodmer managed to crawl under the edge of the tent and make his way to a small cave a short distance away. Squirrels had gathered a sizable portion of pinecones there, and Bodmer managed to survive on the nuts
.