Love's Bounty Page 3

  Well, well, she thought, folding her arms and watching Mercy shove Hayes to his spot under a noose. While the man still reeled from the blow, the hangman slipped the noose around his neck. Mercy stepped back, standing to the side but remaining on the platform. Callie almost felt like shouting with joy at how he’d handled Conner Hayes, but curiosity overwhelmed her. What on earth had caused a young, handsome, educated man like Christian Mercy to turn into a ruthless, cold-blooded bounty hunter? He surely had good parents. Otherwise they would not have given their son such a name, and they would not have seen that he got enough education to actually teach English to others.

  The sheriff read the charges and the sentence, and all the while Hayes shouted obscenities at the crowd and at Christian Mercy. The preacher then led everyone in another hymn, obviously trying to ease their emotions after witnessing Mercy’s violence and listening to Hayes’s foul mouth. When the hymn was finished, Preacher Holliday asked each man about to die if he had any last words. Hayes could not speak. He simply spit blood at Mercy, hitting the man’s clean calico shirt. The second man, much younger, just shook his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That’s all I can say.”

  The third man glared at Christian Mercy. “All I want to say is that I hope Mr. Christian Mercy burns in hell with us once he dies,” he announced. “And I hope he, too, dies a violent death!”

  Mercy showed no particular emotion at the words. He simply stood there watching, an ugly spot of bloody spittle on the front of his shirt.

  The hangman placed a black cloth over the head of each man then, and Preacher Holliday prayed for them. After one more hymn, “Amazing Grace,” the preacher stepped down. Sheriff Taylor held a stopwatch and announced that sixty seconds were left before the hangman pulled the lever that would send all three men to their death.

  The crowd grew so still that Callie was sure she could hear the outlaws breathing as the black cloth over their faces moved in and out against their mouths. Hayes let out an odd, gurgling sound, and the younger man in the middle began crying.

  “Burn in hell, Mercy!” the third man shouted. “Burn! Burn! Burn!”

  With that the sheriff nodded his head, and the hangman pulled the lever. Gasps of “Oh!” moved through the crowd almost in unison. Another woman fainted, and most had looks of horror on their faces. Children just stared in wonder.

  Conner Hayes wiggled, obviously still not dead, and for the first time Callie saw a true smile come across Christian Mercy’s face, the most evil smile she’d ever seen. She swallowed in trepidation, thinking how there was nothing Christian or merciful about the man.

  Chapter Four

  Chris was not sure what to make of the woman/child riding ahead of him, straddled on the back of her horse like a man but wearing a calico dress. She’d thrown a blanket over her legs to cover them, but that didn’t help much when it came to a man’s imagination. Still, half of him wouldn’t be interested anyway, considering she looked barely sixteen and in some ways acted even younger. The other half of him argued she was old enough to be considered a woman, one who’d said she would “shoot him dead” if he tried anything. The statement made him smile, but he suspected she meant every word.

  He had no idea why he agreed to go see her ranch. Now she probably figured he meant to help her with her crazy idea of traveling the Outlaw Trail in search of her mother’s killers. That was about the dumbest, riskiest thing he’d ever heard of, and the only reason he even considered it was because he had a feeling the damn fool of a girl would try it by herself if she couldn’t find anyone to go with her.

  She was a stubborn, determined young lady. She was also pretty. He had not failed to notice she had a pleasantly full bosom in spite of the fact that the rest of her seemed too small to be filled out that way. Her freckles gave her the look of a lingering child inside a woman’s body. He figured she probably had a pretty smile, but so far he had not seen it. Lord knew she didn’t have much to smile about.

  Her brown eyes held a look of innocence in so many ways; but if she’d witnessed her mother being raped and killed, there was a part of her that had been forced to grow up real quick. The fact that she had watched the hanging without so much as a wince told him that.

  She sat a horse damn well, knew what she was about when it came to that. This young lady had led a rugged life and would probably be just fine camping outside most of the time. It was difficult not to laugh at how she looked right then, in that dress, sitting the back of a horse, and wearing a plain old cowboy hat that looked too big for her. A man couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. The main thing that made him unsure about helping her was having to take her along on his search. Not only was that dangerous for her, but it made things more dangerous for him. It only gave him double reason to have to watch his back when he took her to places like Robber’s Roost and Brown’s Park. If it weren’t for those lovely breasts, he could maybe at least pass her off as a boy…maybe.

  Her reddish-brown hair hung in wispy strings now, beat up by wind and dust since leaving town. The rhythmic way she rode her roan gelding was disturbing to a man. He decided to ride up beside her so he wouldn’t have to watch her bouncing bottom; but when he did get beside her and glanced her way, her breasts also bounced rhythmically.

  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?” she asked.

  Chris turned to look straight ahead. “Much farther?” he asked.

  “About a mile.”

  “You stay out here all alone?”

  “Yes, sir. Me and my ma ran the place after Pa died, and then after she was—” She stopped midsentence and waited a moment before continuing. “After she was gone I just stayed on, hoping to take care of the place myself. I don’t like admitting I can’t do something, but it’s all just too much for one person, man or woman. If you don’t accept the ranch as payment, I’ll just have to sell it to somebody and use the money to find me someone else to go after those outlaws. I’ll find them one way or another, Mr. Mercy.”

  “Call me Chris. Sir or Mr. Mercy both feel too formal to me.”

  “They shouldn’t. Heck, you were a schoolteacher once, right? I expect most everybody called you sir or Mr. Mercy.”

  “Well, my teaching days are over, and what I do for a living now doesn’t exactly compare.”

  “I think it’s just fine what you do. You go after men some others are too afraid to go after. And they are men who deserve what they get, whether you shoot them or they hang. I respect your courage and determination, Mr. Mercy. And for right now I don’t feel right calling you by your first name. It’s not proper.”

  He glanced at her, but she stared straight ahead, a determined, hard line to her lips…lips that could be soft and inviting if she’d allow the woman in her to fly free. He tried to imagine how she’d look all done up with a fancy hairdo and a little color on her cheeks and lips, a pretty dress…

  “Weren’t you afraid to stay out here alone, after what happened to your mother?”

  She shrugged. “Sure I was, but I figured what happened to my ma was something that would probably never happen again. Besides, all the good horses and livestock got stole, so what was left for anybody to be interested in?”

  Chris decided not to answer that one.

  “This is a pretty good area around here,” she continued. “We never had trouble like that before. I buried my ma, and I just…stayed. I didn’t have any place else to go, and the ranch meant everything to my folks. I wanted to keep it alive—for them. But now I guess I’ll have to give it up, one way or another.”

  They rode on silently for a few minutes. “You buried your mother all by yourself?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chris shook his head. “You’re quite something, Miss Hobbs.”

  “You can call me Callie. You addressing me is different from me addressing you. You’re older.”

  Chris frowned with irritation. “You make it sound like I’m old enough to be your father.�
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  “Well? How old are you?”

  Chris took a cigarette from his shirt pocket, along with a match. He struck the match with his thumbnail and lit the smoke before answering. “Thirty-two.”

  “That does sound kind of old to me.”

  “Well, it isn’t.”

  “You ever been married, Mr. Mercy?”

  The question struck a nerve. “I have. And I don’t want to talk about it, just like I don’t want to talk about why I quit teaching to go after wanted men. Got that straight?”

  “Yes, sir.” Callie kicked her horse into a faster lope and rode ahead of him. “Here we are!”

  Chris watched her ride through the gate of the Double C. He followed, taking inventory along the way. The fences needed mending, but that was understandable. The land he saw on the way in looked damn good, green, good for grazing or farming, either one. And she was right about land like this being worth a lot now that the railroad had come to town.

  After several minutes of riding, they approached a sturdy-looking log house. North of that was a huge corral and a large barn that looked in good shape. A few chickens scurried about, but other than that he saw no sign of livestock of any kind. Behind the house he could see a dried-up, weedy garden. Callie must have made up her mind that this year she would just let it all go, since she was determined to go find her mother’s killers instead of running the ranch.

  “Looks nice, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  “It does.”

  She waved her arm. “All the land beyond is just as good as what you saw coming in. And there’s a waterfall against the mountains way at the back of the property that feeds a little creek where livestock can go and drink. Pa even dug us a well.” She dismounted, apparently so intent on impressing him about the property that she forgot she wore a dress. She swung her leg over the back of the saddle as she got down, and Chris caught sight of white drawers. She walked her horse over to the well and cranked up a bucket of water, then carried it over to a trough in front of the house and poured the water into it.

  “Come water your horse,” she told him. “You can come see the house inside. I can make you some coffee, something to eat, if you want.”

  “Maybe just the coffee,” he said, dismounting. He led his own horse to the trough, tying it and following her inside. He removed his hat and hung it over one post of a wooden chair that sat at what looked like a home-made table.

  The house was pleasant and clean, with lace curtains at the windows and braided rugs on the pine plank floor. He could see that all of this was the product of two hardworking people…actually three. Callie’s folks had obviously worked hard to build a lovely and most likely profitable working ranch and farm…only to have all of it cruelly taken from them through death. Now their only child was set to lose everything they had worked for. It made him feel guilty for even thinking about accepting it in return for finding her mother’s killers, but without a bounty on their heads, a man had to see some kind of compensation. He wasn’t going to go out there and risk his life for nothing.

  “This is a real nice house,” he told her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mercy.”

  Callie lit some wood under a burner plate, then set the plate over it. She set an iron coffeepot on the plate, and from the way she hoisted it, Chris could tell it was already full of water. He watched her pry the lid off a can of coffee.

  “I already ground some coffee so I could do this quicker. I like to have some ready for company so they don’t wait so long.” She scooped some of the grounds out and poured them into a strainer inside the coffeepot. “There. It shouldn’t take too long.” She set the can of coffee aside. “I have some fresh biscuits in the bread bin, or fresh bread. Some cookies too. Would you like any?”

  He couldn’t help a light smile at her eagerness to impress him with her proficiency. “Maybe a biscuit with the coffee.”

  “Fine.” She opened the bread bin in the pantry and took out a basket of biscuits. She carried them to the table and sat down. “Well, what do you think? I can even leave most of the furniture. I’ll probably go live with Hank Sooner and his wife behind the supply store in town after we get back. I won’t have any place else to go. You would be all set up here, either ready to ranch the place yourself or sell it for good money. I’ll sign the deed over to you when we get back, and it’s yours to do with what you want.”

  Chris sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t like taking the only thing you have left, something your own parents built with blood, sweat, and tears. I don’t feel right about it.”

  “You don’t have any choice if you intend to help me. If you don’t take the ranch, I’ll sell it outright and use the money to pay you. Same thing both ways. I just figured you’d rather have the ranch yourself. Then you’d have time to figure what you’d like to do with it. You could maybe lease it out to a neighboring farmer or rancher. It would be good, steady income for you. Or maybe by then you’d like to settle for a while, ranch it yourself instead of selling it. Rawlins is a nice place to live. It’ll grow now that we have the railroad.”

  Chris shook his head in wonder. “That mind of yours never stops, does it? Always thinking ahead.”

  “My pa taught me that. He was tough on me sometimes, but it was just because he wanted the best for me and wanted me to be able to take care of myself. He always said a person had to look out for his own self, because nobody else was going to do it for him…or her. He also taught me to be practical about things. That’s what I’m doing now. He’d want me to find Ma’s killers, and I need help. Help takes money. I don’t have any. All I have is this place.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “And what if we don’t find the men you’re looking for? What do I get for all my trouble and time?”

  “I thought about that too. I’ll still give you the ranch for your efforts. But you have to really try, give it a good three-month effort.”

  “What will you live on during those three months? I’ve got money and can take care of myself, but I don’t intend to put you up the whole time. You’ll need coach fare. We’d take a stage up through Muddy Gap and into Lander, where we’d buy some good horses for the trip. I intend to leave my own horse boarded here until I can come back for him. We’d head up to Hole-in-the-Wall first, then proceed south. It’s a long, long way. We could end up all the way down in El Paso, Texas. You’re talking months of travel. Sometimes we’ll stay in a rooming house or a hotel. We’ll need supplies, meals—”

  “I’ve got my and Ma’s savings. I’ve got enough for that.”

  “Got a good rifle?”

  “Yes, sir. A good Winchester-Bonehill twelve-gauge double-barrel shotgun. Pa got it brand new just a couple of years before he died. I keep it oiled. It’s in real good shape. I’ve shot several rabbits with it.”

  “Good, because on the coach ride you might be using it to shoot at stage robbers.”

  “What about Indians?”

  “I don’t think they’ll be much of a problem. The Sioux and Cheyenne are more concerned with the Black Hills right now.” Chris shifted in his chair. “Trouble is, once we get where we’re going, you might have need of something with a longer range than a shotgun. I have two Winchester repeaters. One is a .44-caliber slide-action carbine. The other is a .45-caliber Hotchkiss magazine rifle. They’re both pretty reliable, with true sites. Ever use rifles like that?”

  “No, sir, but I expect I can handle pretty much any kind of firearm.”

  Chris admired her confidence. “What about clothes? Dresses won’t do.”

  “I know that. I told you I usually wear pants. I’ve got plenty that fit me good. I’ll dress real plain and practical so’s I won’t cause problems for you.”

  Chris couldn’t help a snicker. “Where we’re going, it won’t matter how you dress. Men are men, and having you along is going to be a headache.” He almost regretted the words when he saw how she looked away, some of the excitement going out of her.

  “I’ve learned a good l
esson about how men can be,” she answered. “I’ll try real hard to cover up that I’m a woman.”

  A girl, he thought.

  “And I don’t mind sleeping under the stars or riding under the sun. I can ride all day without aching all over, and dirt and sweat don’t bother me. I won’t be a problem. I can hold my own, Mr. Mercy. You don’t have to baby me.”

  “I can see that.” What the hell was he doing, actually agreeing to this? “You’d have to follow every damn thing I tell you.”

  “I would.”

  “And if you did spot one of them, you wouldn’t dare say a word in front of him. You’d have to wait and tell me later. Might save us getting our heads shot off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chris frowned. “Wait a minute. Wouldn’t they recognize you? And if they did, that means—” The coffeepot began to boil. “If you saw those men, then they saw you. And they don’t sound like the kind of men who would leave you alone just because you look a little young. Why didn’t they turn on you when they finished with your mother?”

  She hung her head, and he saw a tear drip from her cheek. She quickly wiped angrily at her eyes and jumped up to grab the coffeepot. “They didn’t see me.” She poured him some coffee and set the pot back on the stove, away from the hot burner. “Better let this cool or it will get too strong,” she said rather absently.

  “How could they not see you?” Chris pressed her.

  She swallowed, lowering her eyelids. “My ma saw them coming, and there were a lot of them, five, in fact. She’d left the rifle in the barn, so she couldn’t shoot at them. She told me to…to get inside the wood box and not to come out no matter what happened. She begged me, made me promise on God’s honor, said if anything went wrong, she couldn’t stand going to her grave knowing the same thing might happen to me. I didn’t want to do it, but I no sooner got into the wood box before one of them snuck in through a back window we’d left open. At the same time, the others kicked their way right through the front door. In no time at all they had hold of ma, and—”