A Wolf in the Fold

Gasps and oaths greeted the news. Certain things were never, ever done, not even on the frontier. One was horse stealing. Another was cattle rustling. The third was the worst, a deed so vile, folks would not stand for it: harming a woman.

The cowboys did some shying of their own at the glares they received. “Why are all of you looking at us?” the tallest hand angrily demanded.

“Which girl is it?” Calista Modine asked. “Your oldest or your youngest?”

I held my breath.

“It’s Sistine,” Hannah said. “Poor, sweet Sissy.” Hannah turned the buttermilk so it was alongside the sorrel. “I didn’t bring her here to be buried. I have a spot near our cabin in mind for that.” Hannah’s lips quivered. “No, I brought her for all of you to see. Just hearing she was shot ain’t enough. It doesn’t make it as real as seeing with your own eyes.”

Indeed, all eyes were on the form in the blanket. It’s safe to say I was the only one who felt relief.

“Killing my daughter is the last straw,” Hannah had gone on. “I won’t take any more of this.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Calista advised. “I’ve sent for the Rangers. Let them handle it.”

“The Rangers can’t bring the dead back to life,” Hannah said. “The Rangers can’t arrest anyone without proof, and we can’t prove the cowboys did it.” She gigged the buttermilk over to the pair of cowpokes, Ty, Clell, Carson, and Sam sticking to her like pinesap. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“Not a damn thing, lady,” the tall one snapped. “We didn’t shoot your girl and we don’t know who did.”

“That’s the gospel truth,” the second cowboy said. “We’re under orders not to go anywhere near your place.”

“Whether you pulled the trigger or not,” Hannah said, “you work for the Tanners, and that’s enough blame for me.” She paused. “Shoot them down like dogs, boys.”

The cowboys were caught flat-footed. Much too late, they clawed for their hardware. By then Ty, Clell, and Carson had leveled their Winchesters. Sam did not level his.

The shots were a hairbreadth apart. At that range those backwoods boys could hardly miss.

The tall cowboy spun and fell, scarlet gushing from his mouth. His companion took a few steps back, gaping in astonishment at the bullet hole in his sternum; then he melted like hot wax, quivered a few seconds, and was gone.

The onlookers had been stunned into statues by the sudden violence. The whimper of a child broke the spell and the majority scattered, afraid more lead would fly.

Fortunately for the Butchers, the pair had been the only LT hands in town. Hannah climbed down, went to each body, and nudged with her toe. “Dead,” she confirmed. “Sissy can rest a little easier.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Calista said.

I felt I had to add something. Pointing at the sky, I said, “You have angered your Maker this day, sister.”

Hannah tilted her head toward me. “You’re a couple of days late and a couple of dollars short on common sense, Parson. This doesn’t concern the Almighty. It’s between me and mine and the Tanners.”

“The Texas Rangers will come after you,” Calista warned.

“By the time they show up I’ll have settled accounts.” Hannah climbed on her horse, reined around, and came over near me. “Sorry to talk to you like that, you being a man of the cloth and all, Reverend Storm. But I’ve lost my husband and one of my children, and I will gladly accept perdition before I will let those Tanners make wolf meat of any more of those I love.” She indicated the dead cowboys. “It’s war now. Out and out, guts and blood war, and the devil take the hindmost.”

Chapter 10

Everything was working out just fine. The Tanners blamed the Butchers for the deaths of LT hands I had killed. The Butchers blamed the LT for Sissy, yet another name I could scrawl on the chalkboard of victims that stretched back over the years to that fateful day in the alley when I stabbed my pa.

No one suspected me. No one guessed who I was or the real reason I was there. I was free to go on killing, and the beauty of it was that if I killed with care, the blame would continue to fall on other shoulders than mine.

Thanks to Calista and her meddling, I had to do it soon. Everyone was taking it for granted that it would be a week or more before the Texas Rangers arrived, but there was no predicting. The Rangers fought hard, they rode hard—they were hard. It could be they would show up tomorrow. I had to be done when they got there or risk tangling with law officers as feared and as efficient as those gents in the red coats up in Canada. Like the Mounties, the Rangers possessed a fierce devotion to duty and took pride in always getting their man. Since this time I was that man, I preferred to light a shuck before they began nosing around.