He ejected from his chair and ran to the house. The screaming and cursing continued as he mounted the porch. He quietly turned the knob and let himself in.
The man had the woman backed into a corner, holding her with one hand, the other raised to slap her again. As Trent moved toward him, he caught sight of children’s faces peering from another room. The man stopped with his hand paused in mid-air when he saw the woman’s eyes turn to Trent.
With a curse, the man lunged toward a back door, but Trent’s foot intercepted his legs, piling him up on the floor. The woman’s assailant came up spitting mad from the floor, but his anger was no match for Trent’s cold fury. As the man stepped in, he met him with a straight left jab that crushed the man’s nose in a shower of blood. Not giving the man any chance to set himself, he bent him over with a short jab to the ribs, and then straightened him up with a solid uppercut to the jaw. Then he grabbed him by the neck and threw him bodily outside into the street.
As the two men came together again, he noticed a small crowd had gathered. The would-be rapist took a wild swing at him that he easily evaded, and then Trent started slapping him, first one hand, then the other, until the man was whining in frustration. He drove the man back down the street with his pounding fists.
Finally, he pinned the man against the awning post next to his office. He turned to the crowd who’d followed along. “Someone get me a rope.”
“You going to hang him, Marshal? We’ve all had trouble with that man.” The question came from one of the women in the crowd.
He considered the idea a moment. “Well, it’s a thought, but I don’t think so.” Knowing what they were thinking, he held up his hand to avoid an argument. “I know he deserves to be killed for what he tried to do, but that would be over quickly. I have something else in mind.”
A few minutes later he had the man tied to a post with the rope thrown up over a crosspiece, pulling his hands over his head, and taking most of his weight off his feet. He stood looking at him a long time, as the man groggily looked back. Finally, he turned to the crowd. “Has anyone checked on the woman?”
Murdock pushed her way through the crowd. “I did. She’s all right, Marshal. Just scared.”
“Good. Thanks, Murdock.” He turned back to his prisoner. “So, what do we do with vermin like this?”
The comments from the crowd were varied and sudden, ranging from death to emasculation. He noticed a puddle forming under the man that wasn’t sweat. “We’ll let him hang here all night. The woman he assaulted will have a whip. It’s up to her to use it, or not. Murdock, in the morning you can turn him loose. If he’s still alive, he can leave town.” He turned back to the man. “Mister, I don’t want to know your name, where you’ve come from, or where you are going. If I see you again, I’ll beat you to death.”
He’d noticed a few men in the outskirts of the group that weren’t local—they just weren’t dressed right. He directed his comments to them. “The people of this town will not be bothered. Anyone causing problems will answer to me. I won’t be giving any more warnings.” He was in his office soaking his hands when Katie came in. She leaned on the door as she closed it. There were no lights inside, so he could barely see her in the evening dusk.
“I can’t leave you alone for a minute.”
He couldn’t tell if she was mad or pleased. “Just doing my job… I think.”
She didn’t acknowledge ambivalence. “What are you doing to your hands?”
“Found some Epsom salts on the shelf. It’ll help keep the swelling down.”
She stepped forward, looking at his battered hands. “I heard this ‘porch ornament’ tried to rape that poor woman. Do you think he’s the one you’re looking for?”
“Not likely. He’s too clumsy, and not smart enough. No, he’s not the one.” She came closer, like a forest animal sniffing out something it didn’t understand. “What’s wrong, Katherine?”
“I don’t know—I really don’t. You killed a man earlier today while he was just sitting there talking to you. Then, I see what happened out here and it bothers me. Sometimes, I don’t know you and that scares me. You were so brutal… I’ve never seen you like that.”
He watched her and hoped the dread didn’t show in his eyes. Their settlement was unique, and up until now was safe. Compared to the rest of the country, she’d led a sheltered life. For the first time, he wondered if being with her was just a dream. “You’re right. You don’t know me, Katherine. I tried to tell you that. I’m not hiding anything from you. This is who I am.” He dried his hands and held one out to her. “Come and sit with me. We can talk.”
She shook her head, “No. I— I better not. I need to think.”
“Then go do your thinking, Katie.” His voice was harsh in the gloomy room and he couldn’t keep his feelings out of it. “While you’re at it, stop by and make sure that piece of filth hanging on the porch is being treated right. Maybe you could take him home with you. I’m sure your father would approve.”
He didn’t get up to close the door after she left. He wasn’t too sure it would close after the way she slammed it—it was still swinging. Sitting in the darkness, his throat felt raw and his mind empty. He knew his world had just walked out that door. What he didn’t know was how to get her back.
MURDER & REDEMPTION
1
The midmorning heat pressed a heavy hand on John Trent. The trail written in the bent grass and churned earth turned up by the passage of horses was easily followed. Pagan Reeves and his men hadn’t tried to cover their trail.
He thought back to the night before. His simple ruse had worked. He was sure Reeves was a back-shooter, so he’d taunted him until the man went running to his chief, Jeremiah Starking. He could have wasted weeks plowing around the hills looking for Starking, but now the trail was like a paved highway, road signs and everything.
Topping a rise, he saw a huge encampment spread out below him. Groups of people milled around the cleared area between at least fifty cook fires. Children ran and whooped through the clearing and farther away a small herd of horses grazed under the watchful eye of a guard.
There was only one tent in the clearing and he pulled out his binoculars to study it. Horses held by a boy in cut off bib-overalls next to a large tent looked hard ridden. Pagan must be in conference with Starking. It was time to move.
Walking his horse into the clearing, rifle across his thighs, Trent rode straight and relaxed in the saddle. His hat pulled down to his eyes, the tin star glittered in the sunlight. The camp seemed different from others he had seen. The people at the campfires were bedraggled, and though most looked like they’d missed a few meals, they were clean. The area around the fires was clean, and he noticed for the first time a garbage pit dug to one side, and farther out, the latrine. Someone kept a tight rein on these people.
A germ of an idea began creeping into Trent’s head.
A wave of people preceded his way through the camp, then broke and split at the large tent as he reined in the gelding.
The curtain brushed aside and a tall, white-haired man stepped outside. Several men, including Pagan Reeves, Ben Hobbs, and Red Seaver, instantly flanked him.