A Wolf in the Fold

The Butchers might come after me, but I had the utmost confidence in Brisco. He was the fastest critter on four legs, or damn near the fastest. No other horse could hold a candle to him, or hadn’t yet. Besides, I had seen the horses in the Butcher corral, and they were not in his class.

I had been riding a while when I became aware something was wrong with the saddle. It felt rough and lumpy. Reaching down, I discovered I was sitting on my jacket. I had forgotten all about it. Reining up, I twisted and slid the scattergun into my bedroll, then tugged the jacket out from under me and shrugged into it. Since there was no sign of pursuit, I unstrapped my gun belt, wrapped the belt around the holster, and crammed it in a saddlebag.

I was in glum spirits when I reached Whiskey Flats. It was past midnight and the town, as usual, was still and quiet. I had told the liveryman that I would bring Brisco back in the morning, but now, after thinking it over, I rode to the end of the street. The double doors were shut and barred. I rode around to the corral, stripped off my saddle and saddle blanket and bridle, opened the gate, and shooed him in.

The boardinghouse was dark. I entered by the back door and snuck up the stairs. A few creaked but not loud enough to wake anyone.

I laid on the bed and thought about the fiasco. I had accomplished nothing. The only one I could blame was myself; I had been careless. For a professional Regulator, I would make a great dishwasher.

I wondered if maybe I had been sloppy on purpose. That sounds ridiculous, but part of me had balked at rubbing the Butchers out, and that part might have wanted things to go wrong.

Eventually I drifted into sleep. Usually I don’t remember my dreams, but when I opened my eyes and sat up the next morning, images lingered. Images of a scarecrow figure in a brown hood that had chased me all over creation. In his bony hands had been a gleaming scythe that he kept trying to stick me with. “Damned silly,” I said out loud.

I filled the basin with water from the pitcher and washed up. I shaved, too. Most parsons are tidy about their appearance.

The restaurant was half full. I claimed my usual seat, and right away Calista brought a cup of steaming coffee and set it in front of me with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Reverend Storm. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” As lies went, it was tame compared to some I had told her.

“I expected you earlier,” Calista said. “It’s pushing nine.”

Normally I was up at seven. I ordered eggs with sausage and toast and asked her to keep the coffee coming. No sooner had I taken a sip than a ruckus broke out in the street. Some of the customers got up to see, and a man in a bowler exclaimed, “It’s the Butchers! They’ve brought a body in!”

I made a special effort not to seem too eager. I sat and took another sip, then slowly rose and walked to the door.

Calista was on the boardwalk, drying her hands with her apron. “I hope that’s not who I think it is.”

Only five of the family had come. Hannah was on a buttermilk. Ty and Clell were on either side of her, the stocks of their rifles on their thighs. Carson and Sam were as nervous as cats in a room full of rocking chairs. The body had been wrapped in a blanket and tied over a swayback sorrel. One shoe poked out of the blanket, and at sight of it, I felt sick to my stomach.

People were hurrying from every which way; the owner of the general store, the liveryman, the blacksmith, the butcher, women, children, everyone. Hannah waited until she had a crowd, then sat straighter and cleared her throat.

“You all know me. You all know my family. You know about the trouble we’ve been having with the Tanners. They have accused us of rustling. But we’re not cow thieves and never have been. I was hoping to sit down with Gertrude Tanner and talk things out.” Hannah’s gaze lingered on me. “But now it doesn’t matter. The time for words is past.”

No one said anything. Most were staring at the body.

“A couple of nights ago four cowboys from the LT were found dead in a ravine at the bottom of the Dark Sister. The finger of blame was pointed at my family. I said it then; I will say it now. We had nothing to do with it.”

“I believe you, Hannah,” Calista said.

“It’s good some do. But there are those who don’t. Gertrude Tanner has told all who will listen that she places those deaths at my doorstep. She vowed not to rest until she’s had her revenge.” Now Hannah turned her sad eyes on the body. “I know Gertrude is a woman of her word, so we’ve been keeping watch in case her cowboys paid us a visit.”

“Lord, no,” someone said.

I spied a couple of LT hands at the back of the crowd. The people standing near them shied away.

“Last night someone tried to sneak up to our cabin,” Hannah revealed. “Shots were swapped. Whoever it was got away, but not before the buzzard about blew one of my daughters in half with a shotgun.”