others speculated that Indians were to blame since two of the Butchers had been scalped.
Calista had already seen it all, so she stood to one side. I overheard when the owner of the general store came over to her.
“You were right. There’s no sign of the parson anywhere. Are you sure he came out to visit them?”
“I’m positive, Tom,” Calista said. “He told me he was going to pay his respects, and I saw him ride out of town.”
“Strange. Unless the Indians took him.”
“If it was Indians,” Calista said.
“Jordy and Carson were scalped.”
“Anyone can lift hair.”
“They’ve been stripped clean of weapons and ammo. Indians do that, too,” Tom mentioned.
“Anyone can steal weapons, too.”
“Why do you refuse to believe it was Indians?”
“Because we haven’t had Indian trouble in years. The Comanches no longer roam at will, and the Kiowas know better.”
“If not them, then who?” Tom asked.
“You know the answer to that as well as I do,” Calista said. “She vowed to wipe them out and they’ve been wiped out.”
“That’s a strong accusation to make without proof.”
“You agree. You just don’t want to say so.”
“What I think isn’t important. Without evidence, it counts for nothing.” Tom regarded the charred debris. “Gertrude is the wealthiest woman in west Texas. She has a shark for a lawyer and cowboys who would die for her.”
“Are you saying you’re scared of her, Tom?”
“You’re damn right I am, pardon my language. She would make a formidable enemy. I, for one, do not intend to antagonize her unless I have good cause.”
Calista gestured. “You wouldn’t call this good cause?”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I liked the Butchers, Hannah especially. I liked them as much as you did. But now they’re dead and I’m alive and I aim to stay that way.” Tom studied her. “What do you plan to do?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to ride out to the LT and accuse Gerty to her face, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll have a private talk with the Rangers when they get there. Which I hope to God is soon.”
“Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“A drummer told me. He ran into Texas Rangers a few days ago. They said they had to wrap something up, then they were headed for Whiskey Flats. Expected to arrive on Wednesday. That would be tomorrow.”
“You should have told me sooner.”
“What difference does it make? We’ll let them hash it out. If they go after Gerty, so be it. But I wouldn’t count on it.”
“We can’t let her get away with this. Not this, we can’t.”
The store owner shrugged. “What will be, will be. I’m not a lawman. I’m not related to the Butchers. I have no stake.”
“Other than common human decency.”
“That’s not fair, Calista. No one is more fair than I am. I don’t charge outrageous prices like some do.”
“I’m talking about human lives and you’re talking about canned goods.”
Tom sighed and shook his head. “There is no talking to you when you get like this. Look yonder. They’re about ready. I’ll go lend a hand. But you be careful, hear? Don’t go tangling with Gertrude Tanner unless you have more to back you up than suspicions.”
“I’ll do what I have to.”
Some of the men had brought shovels. They formed a burial detail, and the Butchers were planted in a row to the north of the cabin.
No one found Daisy’s grave. I had seen to that by covering it with leaves and pine needles and brush.
Everyone gathered to pay their respects. They formed a half circle and bowed their heads, and there was a lot of coughing and fidgeting.
Calista began. “I guess it’s up to me. I knew them as well as anyone and probably better than most. They were decent folk. They never imposed. They were always friendly. Hannah Butcher was as kindhearted a woman as ever lived.”
“She sure was,” someone agreed.
Calista acknowledged the comment with a smile. “For some time now the family has been under a cloud of suspicion. They were accused of being rustlers. We all know by whom. But Hannah denied it, and I believed her. I visited them many times and never saw any cows or fresh beef or hides.”
Muttering broke out, and a portly man said, “It’s a good thing Gertrude Tanner isn’t here to hear you say that. She doesn’t take kindly to being called a liar.”
“It’s the Butchers we should be concerned about,” Calista responded. “Specifically, who killed them. It seems to me that the person who pointed the finger of blame is at the top of the list.”
“Is this a funeral or isn’t it?” a disgruntled listener complained.
“Sorry,” Calista said, but she did not sound sorry. She gazed skyward. “Lord, we commit the souls of these good people unto your care. Watch over them and preserve them. We ask this in your son’s name. Amen.”
A chorus of amen’s were added. They started to drift toward their horses and wagons.
Calista was last. She gazed at what was left of the cabin, then at the woods. I thought for a second she spotted me, but she showed no sign of it and walked to her horse.
I watched her ride off with mixed feelings. Part of me had wanted to reveal myself. The other part, the part that hired out his gun for money, held me in check. No one must know I was alive.
That night I slept fitfully. I tossed and turned, racked by a nightmare. In it, I was trapped in the burning cabin. I was pinned and helpless, the flames licking nearer and nearer. Just as I caught on fire, I woke up. I was caked with sweat, yet my mouth and throat were as dry as a desert. Weakly, I made it to my feet, and the stream. After slaking my thirst, I kindled a small fire. I had some rabbit left over from supper, and I was famished. Dawn was not far off, so it would suffice as breakfast, too. While the meat roasted on a spit, I examined my wound. I was worried about infection, but there was no sign of any.
The sunrise was spectacular. I sat munching on the juicy meat as pink, orange, and yellow splashed the eastern sky. It occurred to me that I had never really admired a sunrise before. I was always so caught up in myself and what I was doing.
The thought troubled me. I was becoming soft. What did I care about sunrises and sunsets and such?
Still, it
I spent most of the morning in the thicket by the cabin. Noon came and went and still no sign of anyone. I was about to return to the hollow when hooves drummed, and shortly thereafter in they rode.
There were two of them. Both were middling sized. Both sported woolly mustaches. Both wore two revolvers. The badges pinned to their shirts gleamed as they reined to a stop. One dismounted while the other shucked a Winchester from his saddle scabbard and levered a round into the chamber.
You hear so much about the Texas Rangers that when you see them, you half expect them to be as big as giants. But these were as ordinary as pie, or almost. It’s hard to describe, but one look and you knew these two were two of the toughest hombres to ever draw breath. It wasn’t that they strutted around like roosters. Not at all. It was in how they held themselves and in how they moved.
The one who had climbed down was crisscrossing the clearing, reading the sign. He was good, too. He pointed at where Hannah had fallen and said, “This here was the mother.”
How he could tell was beyond me. A puddle of dry blood marked the spot, but it could be anyone’s blood.
