“But you're the only one who can do it, Owen. I know it's a bitter thing. I know it's difficult to understand why you should be asked to risk your life for hundreds of people who are willing to do nothing. But that's the way it's always been. A few men with strength and courage have been willing to step into the breach at the crucial moment, though it was seldom their job. Remember the New England farmers at Lexington and Concord? The gallant Texans at the Alamo? Were those men working at their jobs, Owen, or was it something else... something that only a few of the strong can understand?”
“I'm sorry, Judge, but you're wasting your time.”
Judge Lochland sighed, then smiled with surprising gentleness. “Well, you can't blame a man for trying.” He pushed himself to his feet and took Owen's hand again. “Please give my regards to Elizabeth and the children.”
“I will, Judge. And watch yourself on the grade back to Reunion; it gets pretty steep.”
Owen watched the erect, white-haired figure stride proudly across the field toward his buggy. He could not be angry with a man like that.
Still, an anger was in him as he plodded back to the field and took up his hoe again. He slashed recklessly at the tough young weeds, striking the reddish earth with the sharp blade as though it were his enemy. Farmers at Lexington and Concord! Texans at the Alamo! The Judge must be slipping off the track in his old age. What did Owen Toller have to do with Texans, or the American Revolution?
But the judge's words kept coming back to him. “A few men with strength and courage... willing to step into the breach.” There was grim poetry in the thought, a kind of terrible truth in the meaning.
But Owen Toller had no wish to make history. He was no longer young, and the thought of death held a terror more real than it once had done. He was happy on the farm with Elizabeth and the children; Reunion would have to look elsewhere for their man with strength and courage.
When Owen came in that night, Elizabeth asked, “Didn't I see a buggy down by the cornfield this afternoon?”
Owen smiled, splashing water at the kitchen washstand. “You don't miss much, do you?” He dried his face, took his wife in his arms, and kissed her gently. “It was Judge Lochland. We were just talking.”
Elizabeth's eyes widened, pleased that a man of Judge Lochland's stature should come all the way to Lazy Creek to talk to her husband. “Why, Owen, I didn't know that you and the judge...” And then the look of pleasure vanished. “Owen, what did he want?”
“We just talked, that's all.”
“About the Brunners?”
He had never been able to fool her, and he knew that it was useless to try. “You can read me like one of those books you used to teach from.” He managed a laugh, but the sound was forced. “All right,” he said soberly, “we did talk about the Brunners. The gang raided Fort Bellefront and killed the freight manager and his wife. They were friends of mine.”
“Oh.” It was a small sound. “I'm sorry, Owen.”
He shrugged, but the gesture did not erase the grim lines around his mouth. “It's one of the risks of trying to do business in those hills. I used to tell them they'd better move that depot to a settlement.”
He made a stout effort to be casual, but Elizabeth could see that his mind could not dismiss the thought so easily. He turned abruptly, almost in anger, and went into the parlor. “Where's Lonnie?” he called after a moment.
“In the yard. I'll call him in a minute.” Elizabeth came into the small, crowded room and stood beside her husband. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.
“There's nothing to talk about. The Brunners raided Bellefront and murdered Frank and Edith Ransom.”
“Did Judge Lochland want you to do something?”
“He wanted to make me a special deputy to go after the Brunners, but I told him the same thing I told McKeever.”
“You did right!” she said happily, hugging her arms about his huge shoulders. “They have no right to ask favors of you. If they had made you sheriff, perhaps it would have been different; but now...”
“Yes,” Owen said tonelessly. “That's what I told Judge Lochland.”
The coldness of his voice shocked her. She dropped her arms and stared at her husband's face. “Owen, don't you think you did the right thing?”
“Yes. Of course I do.”
But Elizabeth wasn't sure. “There are hundreds of men in this county,” she said quickly, to drive her point home. “Men without families and no farms to look after. Young men. Let them go after the Brunners, if they're so eager to break up the gang! Let Will Cushman do it. Let the freight company do it. They have detectives who get paid to do things like that.”
Owen's face softened. His faint smile was that of a man who had loved his wife for a long time and knew her well. “You're absolutely right. Except that Will Cushman won't get out of Reunion. And freight-company detectives know nothing of those hills.” When he saw the stricken look on her face, he added quickly, “I was only joking.”
When Saturday came around again, Elizabeth and the children went to Reunion with Owen. They reached town shortly before noon, and Owen let Elizabeth and the children out on Main Street before tying up in the alley. “Here,” he said, handing her twelve dollars. “You'd better take this to do your shopping.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly. “But we have our account at De Witt's, don't we?”
“I closed it last Saturday,” Owen said blandly. “I must have forgotten to tell you.”
His wife asked no questions when she took the money, but he knew she was guessing what had happened. It won't last long, Owen thought. When the situation gets desperate enough, somebody will
