Until that moment I never felt true hatred. The kind that causes the pulse to quicken and the head to hammer and every nerve to tingle with the throbbing urge to take life.
I fought down my rage and cast about for something to dig with. A broken tree limb was handy. It nearly killed me, and the grave was much too shallow, but I gave her a decent burial.
The coyotes and buzzards could have the rest of the Butchers.
I had work to do.
Chapter 16
Three weeks. That’s how long it took for me to mend. Three weeks, with me chafing at every minute that went by.
All I thought about was Gertrude and the LT. I lived, breathed, and ate revenge. I considered various ways to go about it. The quickest was to rig kegs of black powder under the ranch house and the cookhouse and blow the Tanners and their hired hands to hell and back when they sat down to supper. But that would be too quick. Too merciful. I did not want them to die in an instant’s time, feeling little pain. I wanted them to die slowly. I wanted them to suffer. I wanted them to know why they were dying, and feel the fear the Butchers had felt, trapped in the cabin with no way out.
That was fitting for the cowboys. For Gertrude and her son and the son of a bitch who murdered Daisy, I had something special in mind.
So for three weeks I hid on the Dark Sister and plotted. I did not have a horse. Brisco had disappeared the night of the attack. Either he ran off or they stole him. I did not have provisions, but I got by. Game was everywhere, and I camped in the hollow close to the stream, so I never lacked for water.
I had plenty of guns. I took every weapon the Butchers had, and their gun belts, besides. I ended up with six rifles and seven revolvers. Four of the rifles were Winchesters, the rest were older single-shot models. I chose the newest of the Winchesters and a bandolier Jordy had been wearing. Most of the revolvers were Colts. I’m partial to Remingtons, but I settled on a pair of Samuel Colt’s brain-children. They were near identical army .45s with seven-and-a-half-inch barrels. Basic wood grips, not fancy pearl or ivory. The front sights had not been filed off, as I had done with my Remingtons, and the ejector rods were still attached.
Every day I practiced handling them. Drawing, cocking, twirling, spinning until they became as much a part of me as my hands. It was important. Don’t ever let anyone tell you all pistols are the same. They are not. Each kind has its own special feel. The trick is to become so slick with whichever model you choose that you can draw and shoot straight without thinking about it. Just up and squeeze and bang!
There was another reason I took the guns and the gun belts. It was the same reason I made it a point to find and take the arrow Gertrude left.
When I wasn’t practicing or hunting, I spent a lot of time in a thicket close to the east wall of the cabin. No one showed up until the evening of the second day after the slaughter, and then it was Calista. I heard her galloping up the trail long before I saw her. I almost rose out of hiding to greet her. Almost. She reined to a stop and sprang from the saddle, horror etched in her face. She went from body to body, saying, “Oh, my God!” over and over. She cried over Hannah. Fifteen minutes she was there; then she swung on her sorrel and raced for Whiskey Flats.
I figured it would be morning before more came, and I was right. Half the town turned out. They came on horseback. They came in wagons. Some brought the kids. They gawked at the bodies, they remarked on the wounds, they allowed as how it was an outright massacre. A few commented on the absence of firearms. Several others speculated that Indians were to blame since two of the Butchers had been scalped.
Calista had already seen it all, so she stood to one side. I overheard when the owner of the general store came over to her.
“You were right. There’s no sign of the parson anywhere. Are you sure he came out to visit them?”
“I’m positive, Tom,” Calista said. “He told me he was going to pay his respects, and I saw him ride out of town.”
“Strange. Unless the Indians took him.”
“If it was Indians,” Calista said.
“Jordy and Carson were scalped.”
“Anyone can lift hair.”
“They’ve been stripped clean of weapons and ammo. Indians do that, too,” Tom mentioned.
“Anyone can steal weapons, too.”
“Why do you refuse to believe it was Indians?”
“Because we haven’t had Indian trouble in years. The Comanches no longer roam at will, and the Kiowas know better.”
“If not them, then who?” Tom asked.
“You know the answer to that as well as I do,” Calista said. “She vowed to wipe them out and they’ve been wiped out.”
“That’s a strong accusation to make without proof.”
“You agree. You just don’t want to say so.”
“What I think isn’t important. Without evidence, it counts for nothing.” Tom regarded the charred debris. “Gertrude is the wealthiest woman in west Texas. She has a shark for a lawyer and cowboys who would die for her.”
“Are you saying you’re scared of her, Tom?”
“You’re damn right I am, pardon my language. She would make a formidable enemy. I, for one, do not intend to antagonize her unless I have good cause.”
Calista gestured. “You wouldn’t call this good cause?”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I liked the Butchers, Hannah especially. I liked them as much as you did. But now they’re dead and I’m alive and I aim to stay that way.” Tom studied her. “What do you plan to do?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to ride out to the LT and accuse Gerty to her face, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll have a private talk with the Rangers when they get there. Which I hope to God is soon.”
“Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“A drummer told me. He ran into Texas Rangers a few days ago. They said they had to wrap something up, then they were headed for Whiskey Flats. Expected to arrive on Wednesday. That would be tomorrow.”
“You should have told me sooner.”
“What difference does it make? We’ll let them hash it out. If they go after Gerty, so be it. But I wouldn’t count on it.”
“We can’t let her get away with this. Not this, we can’t.”
The store owner shrugged. “What will be, will be. I’m not a lawman. I’m not related to the Butchers. I have no stake.”
“Other than common human decency.”
“That’s not fair, Calista. No one is more fair than I am. I don’t charge outrageous prices like some do.”
“I’m talking about human lives and you’re talking about canned goods.”
Tom sighed and shook his head. “There is no talking to you when you get like this. Look yonder. They’re about ready. I’ll go lend a hand. But you be careful, hear? Don’t go tangling with Gertrude Tanner unless you have more to back you up than suspicions.”
“I’ll do what I have to.”
Some of the men had brought shovels. They formed a burial detail, and the Butchers were planted in a row to the north of the cabin.
No one found Daisy’s grave. I had seen to that by covering it with leaves and pine needles and brush.
Everyone gathered to pay their respects. They formed a half circle and bowed their heads, and there was a lot of coughing and fidgeting.
Calista began. “I guess it’s up to me. I knew them as well as anyone and probably better than most. They were decent folk. They never imposed. They were always friendly. Hannah Butcher was as kindhearted a woman as ever lived.”
“She sure was,” someone agreed.
Calista acknowledged the comment with a smile. “For some time now the family has been under a cloud of suspicion. They were accused of being rustlers. We all know by whom. But Hannah denied it, and I believed her. I visited them many times and never saw any cows or fresh beef or hides.”