“Even if I have to pistol-whip someone else someday? Or be forced to shoot somebody?”
“You have me by your side now,” Ernestine said. “I will see to it that you do not find yourself in situations where violence is called for. It will be my wifely duty to guarantee you never again spill a drop of human blood.”
“You are taking a lot on your shoulders.”
“You don’t want me to try?”
“Hell, Ernestine,” Jeeter said, and then, “This marriage business is new to me. I can’t change my ways as I would change clothes. It will take time. But I give you my solemn word that once we are shed of Kansas, I will tread softly on your account.”
“There is no time like the present,” Ernestine insisted. To her, he was merely being stubborn.
“You don’t know what you are ask—” Jeeter stopped and twisted halfway around. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Hoofbeats. Someone is following us.”
Ernestine swiveled and listened, but the only hooves she heard were those of their own mounts. She suspected her new husband of trying to change the subject, and grinned. “You are making it up.”
Jeeter rose in the stirrups and peered hard into the night behind them. It took a few seconds for what she had said to sink in. “Why in God’s name would I do that?”
“I will be grateful if you do not test the Almighty’s patience by taking him in vain,” Ernestine said.
Jeeter was beginning to wonder about her. She had a knack for taking everything he said the wrong way. Most of the time he did not mind because it was over trifles. But now their lives were at stake. Or at least his, since the good citizens of Dodge thought he had stolen her. He drew rein and she followed his example.
“Why did you stop?”
“Can you hear them now?” Jeeter asked.
Consternation crept over Ernestine. Distant and faint came the unmistakable drum of horses, moving fast. “How did you hear them?” she marveled.
“When you have ridden the wild country as long as I have,” Jeeter said, “it comes natural.”
“Who do you think it is?”
“Who else? It is the posse. And if they think I will let them get their hands on me, they have another think coming.”
Chapter 24
Ernestine Frost was in a bewildered frame of mind. She had lived her entire life without once witnessing an act of violence. Which suited her fine since she always regarded violence as an act of last resort. To her way of thinking, any dispute, any difficulty, could be resolved by talking it out. That was all it took. A little talk and a sincere wish by the parties involved to settle things amicably.
Then she married Jeeter Frost. Since her wedding she had held a lawman at gunpoint and helped bind him, then watched as another lawman was beaten senseless.
Now this.
Ernestine had never been particularly squeamish. She was not one of those who fainted at the sight of blood. Once she had come on the scene of a mishap involving a wagon that overturned and crushed the driver. She had seen the man’s crumpled form, seen shattered ribs sticking from the man’s pulped chest, and been unmoved. So it was not the grisly aftermath of violence she abhorred as much as it was the idea of violence itself.
By rights she should object to Jeeter inflicting more. But she was in a quandary. She had pledged herself to him, promised to be the best wife she could be, to stand by him through thick and thin. She should stand by him now and do as he wanted, but when he told her his plan, she balked.
“I refuse.”
“I am your husband. You are supposed to do as I ask.”
“How many wives are asked to do what you want me to do?” Ernestine pointed out. “You overstep the boundaries.”
Jeeter stifled his exasperation. He reminded himself that she was new to this sort of life. “Are you saying there are limits to your love?”
“I most definitely am not!” Ernestine replied, flustered by the suggestion. “When you give someone your heart, you give them all of you.”
“I gave mine to you,” Jeeter said.
Ernestine was confounded by how adroitly he had turned her argument against her. “And I to you!” she said more shrilly than she intended.
“Then why won’t you do it?”
“Men could die,” Ernestine said, thinking that would settle it.
“I could die,” he rebutted. “Would you rather have that?”
Choked with emotion by a mental image of him lying on the plain shot to pieces and covered with blood, Ernestine said, “No, never.” And knew she had lost.
“Right here will do, then,” Jeeter said. “Remember, do it when they are twenty yards out. Remember to drop flat when the lead starts flying. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“Can’t we avoid them? It is night. It should be easy.”
“If we don’t do it now, we will have to do it later,” Jeeter said. “I would rather we had the edge than they did.”
Ernestine bowed her head. “I pray God will forgive me.” She heard him take the packhorse and go off into the dark, and she had never felt so frightened as she did waiting there alone for the posse to catch up. She prayed they would not find her. She prayed they would pass her to the east or the west, but it was not to be. The pounding of hooves grew louder, ever louder, and when it was loud enough to match the pounding in her veins, she climbed down, held firmly on to the reins, and called out, “Who is there? What do you want?”
The riders came to a stop. For a while there was silence and then a youthful voice asked, “Was that a female?”
“Yes,” answered someone in a harsh tone.
“Shouldn’t we answer her?”
Ernestine could just make them out, a knot of men and horses close enough to hit with a flung stone. “Who are you? What do you want?” she repeated, giving them the chance to say they were not the posse and were not after Jeeter and her.
“Who is askin’?” the man with the harsh voice demanded.
“I asked you first,” Ernestine said. “If you are a gentleman, you will answer first.”
“I ain’t no gentleman,” the man snapped. “Who are you? Are you alone? What in hell are you doin’ out here?”
Ernestine probed the night for Jeeter. He would not wait long to spring his surprise. She must talk fast. “Tell me you are not out to harm anyone. Tell me you are not out to kill.”
There was a gasp, and another voice said, “Did you hear? How does she know?”
“It is not natural,” said yet another man. “Maybe she’s not real. She could be a haunt.”
“I don’t want to tangle with no spook!” exclaimed the youngest.
“Shut up, all of you!” the harsh one commanded. “She’s not no haunt.” He raised his voice. “You’re not no haunt, are you, lady?”
“I am not sure what a haunt is,” Ernestine told him, “but I am flesh and blood just like you. Now please. Who are you? Who do you intend to kill?”
“The party we are after should have been planted long ago,” the man said. “If ever there was a case of deservin’ to die, this is it.”
They had to be referring to her Jeeter. Ernestine took a step, pleading, “Ride off! Now! Before it is too late! Oh, I beg of you! Ride for your lives!”
“What are you talkin’ about, damn it?” the man growled, and then, almost in the same breath, “Wait! You’re the schoolmarm! The one the whole town is stirred up about!”
“We found her?” the young-sounding one said.
By then Jeeter Frost was close enough. He had slunk on foot in a loop that brought him up from the rear, and he had his Colt Lightning out when he came to the first of them. He pressed the muzzle to the man’s spine and blew the backbone into splinters. At the shot the man cried out and flung forward over the saddle, spooking his mount, which bolted. Instantly, Jeeter sprang to the second rider, jammed the Lightning low against the man’s side, and squeezed off another shot. The slug, angling upward, tore through the man’s innards and burst out between the sternum and the clavicle. The man was dead before his body started to fall.