The Healer's Touch Page 6

  “Does he know I’m here?”

  “He knows—and he’s watching.”

  “Well—” The stranger pushed back from the table. “Much obliged for patching me up for the gallows.”

  “Gallows?”

  “I don’t remember who I am or where I’m from, but I seem to recall they hang outlaws in most parts.”

  Hang. She hadn’t thought about that probability. She’d heard the hammers and saws a few times when the town built the gallows for a hanging. The event always left butterflies in her stomach, but she’d never known one of the men scheduled to hang. She tried not to think about the man who would face that platform soon. A smidgeon of doubt crept into her mind. What if this man wasn’t an outlaw or the bounty on his head didn’t amount to a hill of beans? When she’d gone to town she’d not seen one poster that even resembled the man sitting before her, though puffiness marred his features.

  If he wasn’t an outlaw there wouldn’t be a bounty. And without a bounty Rosie would go without a door on the barn—and Lyric wouldn’t have the funds to begin her new life when Mother passed.

  The man shook his head in an apparent attempt to clear it. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  His voice brought her back to the present. “You won’t try anything, will you? If you sleep there, I’ll have to sit with you with my gun close by.”

  “Do I look like I’m capable of trying anything?”

  No. He looked like death warmed over, but she couldn’t throw caution to the wind just because she felt sorry for him. He could be telling a bald-faced lie. He might know exactly who he was and be looking for the moment to escape.

  “I’ll get a fresh blanket.” They both rose and she steadied him as they slowly eased to the parlor. He was wounded but strong; she felt the tight muscles and sheer power in his arm when he leaned into her slight weight. “I wish you would eat something,” she fretted. “You’ll need your strength.”

  “If I can’t make the climb to the noose I’m sure the sheriff will assist me.”

  The coming hours weren’t a pleasant thought—even less agreeable if she was wrong about his identity. It would be awful to hang an innocent person. She knew all too well what it was like to be wrongfully judged.

  She shook the unwanted thoughts away. Who else could he be but an outlaw? Didn’t Boots mention that Jim Cummins had been run out of the mercantile the same day this man destroyed her property? He could even be Cummins, though his poster wasn’t on the sheriff’s wall. Just because this stranger was weak as a newborn calf was no reason for her to go all soft and compassionate now. She settled him on the couch and then went for the blanket. By the time she returned his eyes were closed and soft snores met her ears.

  Tucking the warm blanket around him, she noted the pump knot on his forehead and winced. She supposed that after tomorrow morning he’d have more than a knot to worry him.

  An hour before sunup, Lyric crept down the stairway in her bare feet. The old house was quiet; no one was awake this early. She’d lain in her bed for hours, her conscience nagging her. Was it possible she had jumped to the wrong conclusion? Odds were if the wounded man wasn’t Cummins or one of the Youngers he was part of a gang, but her enforced solitude made her more aware of hypocritical and unjust beliefs. If the man on the sofa couldn’t recall who he was, was it fair to tag him as a criminal without absolute certainty?

  A life was at stake. In this case a mistake meant certain death instead of turned backs and outright shunning. The town had had its fill of outlaws, and they wouldn’t think twice about hanging this man without adequate proof of wrongdoing.

  Her strong penchant for fact surfaced. Fact was, nobody in the household could be certain who this man was or where he belonged. And even if someone in town recognized him, nobody in these parts told the whole truth.

  Lord, allow me more than my share of wisdom today. I can’t let a man hang if he’s innocent and only You know the truth at the moment. Help me to verify his true identity before I stand by and watch him be put to death.

  Not that the town would believe a word she said. But the stranger would be safe here until she got this matter resolved. It was the least one human could do for another. Not a soul would venture near this place, even if a bounty was in plain sight. It wasn’t likely the injured man was going anywhere soon, and she could afford half a morning to avoid a mistake she’d have to live with if she followed through with her original intent. She could slip into town, do a little investigating, and be back before she was due to meet the sheriff. Lark would milk Rosie, gather eggs, feed Mother, and—

  An ear-piercing scream from the parlor shattered the peaceful silence.

  And oh, yes. She needed to inform Lark the outlaw wasn’t dead.

  Murphy Hake rode his fence line searching for breaks. Cattle theft was rampant in the holler and most of his time was spent running down strays or rounding up stolen cattle. His herd wasn’t the largest in the holler, but it put meat and bread on his table. He stayed to himself, went to bed early, got up before dawn, and worked hard. He had inherited the plot of ground when his folks died during a measles outbreak three years earlier. He was an only child, left to fend for himself, which he didn’t mind. Folks left him alone—other than that pesky Lark Bolton. Now that he was older he had his fair share of women admirers, and he took full advantage of their attention at the occasional Saturday night social.

  He spotted a fresh cut and reined up. Warm sunshine covered his back and he slipped out of the denim jacket he’d donned before daylight. With wire cutters in hand, he approached the break, not the least bit surprised when he saw the youngest Bolton girl heading in his direction. Lark.

  Shaking his head, he mentally prepared for the visit. For some reason, the girl was smitten with him. His closest neighbor had turned into a pest. She helped pass the time, but he didn’t welcome her intrusions. It was uncanny how she seemed to know where and when he’d be working. Of course, town gossips claimed the Boltons were all crazy. They were unusual, but he supposed they’d say the same about him. He kept to himself and unless someone happened his way he didn’t look for company.

  Lark walked up, her face split wide into a contagious grin. How old was she now? Twelve? He didn’t look up when she approached; he didn’t want to encourage the interruption.

  “Hi!”

  Nodding, he lifted a piece of wire fencing and tacked it into place.

  “Nice day, huh?”

  “Real nice.”

  Lark’s eyes scanned the length of broken wire. “Cattle rustlers, huh?”

  “Yep. Can’t seem to keep ahead of them.” He tacked another piece in place.

  “There’s going to be a hanging after a while. Are you going?”

  Kneeling, he fitted the line to a post. “Nope.”

  “Why not?” She put both hands on her knees and bent close, crowding him. He gently eased her aside and continued with his work.

  “Ah…that’s a shame,” she prattled on. “You don’t go out often, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  Undeterred, she followed him down the fence line, hands on her knees. Someone needed to tell this girl that she was headed for trouble if she dogged all males like she did him.

  “I don’t get to go to any hangings.” She sighed. “I’d like to, but Lyric won’t let me.”

  “Twelve-year-olds shouldn’t be witnessing such things.”

  “I’m fourteen now. Did you forget?”

  Forget? He wasn’t aware he’d ever known. Or cared. When he didn’t answer she leaned closer. “Do you think that’s fair, or do you think she’s just mothering me?”

  “Mothering you. Your mother’s sick, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah, she’s real bad.” She handed him a nail when he turned to reach for one.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, frowning.

  “You’re welcome. I’m hoping Mother will live a long time because when she dies Lyric wants to leave this holler but I don’t. I want
to spend my life right here.” She cast a glance his way. “I want to get married and live here forever.”

  When he didn’t answer again she prompted, “Do you think that’s silly?”

  “Silly?” He eased to the next post.

  “You should go out more often,” she decided.

  “That right?”

  “You’re too young to stay cooped up by yourself. It isn’t good for a body.”

  He turned slightly to stare at her. “How do you know what I do?”

  “Oh, I know,” Lark said. “I watch out for you.”

  “Watch out for me?” Straightening, he looked her straight in the eye. “Why do you watch out for me?”

  “I just like to make sure you have everything you need. You know, you being alone and all.”

  Pitching a wire cutter into a bag, he said tightly, “Don’t let me catch you anywhere near my place.”

  “Why not? I’m not trespassing or anything. I’m just keeping an eye on you.”

  “You don’t need to check on me. I’m doing fine.”

  Now he’d have to watch for her peering in his windows. When was she going to get over this childish crush?

  Shaking her head, Lark grinned. “Are not.”

  “Look, don’t you need to be somewhere?”

  “Nope. Not until they come for the outlaw.”

  “What outlaw?”

  “The one we got in our parlor. We think he might be one of the Youngers. He tore through our barn door a few nights ago and we’ve been expecting him to die any minute, but he keeps hanging on. We’re supposed to take him to the sheriff’s office this morning, where someone can hopefully tell us who he is. Then they’re going to hang him.”

  “The sheriff.” The remark came out harsh and unsympathetic.

  “You don’t like our sheriff?”

  “He’s a runt. Doesn’t have enough gumption to come in out of the rain.” He hammered, using more force than necessary. Sheriff Dixon should have never appointed his nephew to the job. The boy had no experience with outlaws and barely knew how to pin his badge to his shirt.

  “Sounds more like you don’t respect him…or maybe you’d like the job?”

  “I wouldn’t turn it down.” He stood, adjusting his hat brim, and leaned down to pick up a tool. “And you can bet I would do some boot kicking in this holler.” He met her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be running along?”

  Glancing up, she appeared to study the sun. “Yes, I guess I should. Boots will be over directly. We’ll have to help Lyric move our outlaw to town.”

  He grunted. Lord have mercy. He hoped those two wouldn’t be hanging around all day. He’d not get a lick of work done.

  “You want me to let you know if they postpone the hanging until tomorrow?”

  “No. Not interested.”

  “It would be better than sitting around by yourself all day.”

  “Watching a man die isn’t my notion of fun.”

  “I didn’t say it was fun, but it might be interesting. Do they die quickly?”

  “Quick enough.”

  “Do you know any outlaws in this area?”

  “I thought you said you had to leave.”

  “Oh…yes, I do. Want me to take your jacket and drop it off at your house on my way home?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, you’ll let me know if I can be any help. Nothing wrong with someone helping a neighbor.”

  “Don’t need a thing, but thanks for asking.” He reached for the horse’s reins and prepared to mount. Her longing gaze didn’t escape him. The girl was in love.

  “You take care,” she said.

  Touching his forefinger to his hat brim, he reined aside. “You do the same, Little Miss.”

  5

  The jailer sprang to his feet when Lyric entered the jail. A frown crossed his pimply features and his Adam’s apple bobbed with anticipation. “You got the corpse?”

  “The oddest thing happened. He roused late last night; seems he wasn’t dead after all.”

  The apple on his neck jumped. “Roused? You mean from the dead?”

  “From the chair. Rallied ever so slightly. He’ll need more time to pass away.” That wasn’t exactly the truth but the good Lord knew the man needed someone on his side.

  “Well, I was about to order a gallows built. Can’t see no use in nursing the fellow back to health if we’re just gonna hang him anyways.” He chuckled. “Just put ’em out of their misery. That’s my theory.”

  “Yes.” She stepped to the poster wall and one by one slowly examined the likenesses. “It seems peculiar…” She paused and fixed him with a stare. “It’s not necessary to stand across the room from me. I’m not crazy, you know. I mean you no harm.”

  “Yes’m. Habit, I suppose.” He straightened and sauntered to his desk, but she noticed he never took his eyes off her.

  She turned back to the poster board. “It seems that if the man’s face was on this board, I would recognize him. “

  “Could be one of them Quantrill Raiders—they’re a bad lot. Could even be Hoodoo Brown—now that thar’s worth a pretty penny if you was to get him. He’s the baddest cowpoke there is.”

  “It’s my understanding that these outlaws—that the Youngers make their residence nearby. Three, four miles away?”

  “Yes, suppose they do. They shelter a lot of them crooks and bad guys.”

  “If they’re so close to town why don’t you simply go and arrest them? Some have handsome bounties.”

  Shaking his head, he fixed on her. “Do I look stupid? They might live there but I don’t go looking for trouble. I got a wife and a little girl to feed. In these parts, nobody goes looking for trouble; it finds them easy enough.”

  “But all that reward money—isn’t that an enticement?”

  “You can put a price on your life?” He shook his head again. “No one around here thinks so, ma’am. Now if one was to come and turn hisself in I’d be happy to oblige, but I’m not going to their place askin’ to get my head blowed off.”

  She turned. “But you’d have no problem hanging an outlaw?”

  “No ma’am, but yours will be dead when you bring him to me. Thar’s a difference. I’ve heard that Hoodoo Brown’s been seen in the area as late as last month—and even Jim Cummins—but then I heard Hoodoo moved his family somewhere up around Warrensburg not long ago and took a decent job as a printer’s devil. But men like him don’t stay straight fer long.”

  If the man on her sofa was Hoodoo he was married with a large family.

  “Is this Hoodoo’s poster?” The poster was faded and the face was hard to make out.

  “That’s him.”

  She peered closer and noted this man wore a long white beard. Of course men shaved, but the man in the image before her was older than her outlaw. Tacking the poster back into place, she continued down the row. Not a single likeness fit her man.

  “If I go to all the trouble of fixin’ for a hanging you are going to bring your man here, aren’t you? You’re not going to turn him loose if he lives. You’d be a fool.”

  And she’d make a bigger fool of him. “If you’d like, you can come get him. Mother might even invite you inside.”

  The jailer paled. “That ain’t necessary. I’ll take your word on it.”

  She hadn’t given her word. “You said this Cummins person was seen in the area recently?”

  “He was—but something spooked him real good and he hightailed it outta town like a cat on moonshine—forgot all about buying his tobacco. What makes you ask?”

  “Well, I’m thinking it could be him in my parlor.”

  “No.” The jailer lifted a thoughtful hand to his jaw. “Don’t reckon so. One of Cummins’s cousins was in yesterday and he didn’t mention anything about Jim. If Cummins had gone missin’ in your parlor, the boy would have asked about him.”

  The whole situation took on a troubling aspect. If the man on Mother’s sofa was really an outlaw in need of hanging there should b
e an image of him among these…sterling-looking specimens. Shouldn’t there?

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, I don’t know why any of this should trouble you. Just hand him over and I’ll take care of your problem. Don’t matter if he feels good or not—in a split second he’ll be out of his misery.”

  “I thought you didn’t go looking for trouble.”

  “I ain’t looking for it, but when it’s handed to me I dispose of the matter. You bring him in and I’ll hang him.”

  She turned. “And if he isn’t wanted by the law?”

  “Well then, I’d say he’d be having a bad day and I’d also say if he’s in these hollers he’s wanted for something.”

  Bad day, indeed. She’d consider being strung up like a smoked ham more than a bad day; it would be criminal if the man were innocent. Yet there wasn’t a single reason for her to think him blameless. Just because he was dazed didn’t mean he was harmless. Shaking her head she moved away from the board. “There’s one other thing.”

  “Yes’m?”

  “If there is a bounty on this man’s head what would it be?”

  “Don’t rightly know the amount, but a man like Cummins won’t bring much. But if you had part of a Younger gang, now, you’d be looking at a lot more money.”

  “A hundred dollars?”

  “Ma’am, a bounty can to go five thousand and up if ’n it’s the right person. Depends on the charges and if he’s killed anyone important.”

  Five thousand dollars. A fortune. The amount spun in her head. She and Lark would be set for life. They could go anywhere—on a ship, travel by coach, and stay in the nicest hotels.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “Not likely you got Frank, but anyone ridin’ with that Younger gang is bad news. If you should happen to have one of them in your possession then we’re talkin’ real money.”

  Nodding, she stepped around him and walked to the door.

  “So you’ll deliver him tomorrow early one way or the other?”

  She paused. “He’s worth more alive than dead, isn’t he?” She had to be smart about this transfer. If a man was dead he wasn’t much good to anyone, and it seemed to her folks in this town surely took delight in their executions.