Heart Of Stone
Sheriff Seth Tibbens stood just feet from the saloon's porch. He wouldn't let his town be bullied by the likes of Tom Conley. Tom and his brother Hank were wanted for well you name it and they were wanted for it.
Tom, Tom Conley, this is Sheriff Tibbens, step on out of there. His words were controlled they rang with authority and command. His stance told it all. He seemed sure of his ability and calmly waited for the outlaw. His broad shoulders and tall silhouette were planted like the mighty oak. All of this felt old-hat to Seth. He'd been a lawman most of his life wheeling his star with justice and a lightning hand.
A cloud passed in front of the sun - a black-omen, but for whom? The swinging doors of the Knotty Pine Saloon were set in motion, just like the events at hand; leaving Tom Conley squarely planted outside the entrance and the sheriff about ten paces away. There are individuals you meet that you never really notice what they look like. The wickedness of their soul taint their whole being leaving your memory of them ugly, Tom was such a man.
Sheriff I have a drink waiting on me let's make this quick. My brother and I have a big day planned.
Seth, eyed the man with a icy blue stare, he studied every line on his face, as his peripheral vision scanned for movement. I'm faster than you and you know it. Make this easy on yourself, because with a flinch I'll be the one making it quick.
Seth's eyes narrowed as a malicious smile landed on Tom's lips. A small wave of panic sweep across Seth's mind as he wondered where that backstabbing brother of Tom's was. No longer was Seth's eyes fixed on Tom, they were slightly dilated as a silent but sharp burning pain entered into his back. A wave of adrenalin coursed through him as his last act as sheriff would be to send Tom Conley to hell. Two shoots from Septh's gun rang out. Both men fell to the ground dead. Seth was face down in the street with a knife in his back. Hank the perfect coward had delivered the death blow to Seth then sank spur and let out of town on a fast and breezy bay.
The crowd quickly gathered around the sheriff and then the sea of on lookers parted letting Sandy to her father's side. The girl, well the young woman never once thought someone would best her dad. Her mind was numb, completely blank of thought only grieve stood alongside of her.
She had no memory of walking home or of changing her cloths or the sleepless night she spent in her fathers' favorite chair. Sandy? Sandy are you home? Stated Billy, acting-town-sheriff. I'm going to leave a box of stuff in your dad's study.
She never opened the door of her room and never spoke to Billy even though they were sweet on each other. Fifteen years of living as town sheriff was brought to her in a box.
Tears still streaked her face as she slowly removed each item; her fathers bible, a plaque stating 'Sheriff Seth Tibbens', pearl handled colts and a two-bit novel 'The Minute-Men'. Sandy reached for the book with a trembling hand and a broken heart. The book was halfway out of the box as her tears stopped flowing and her broken heart turn to stone, for under the book was the ivory handled knife.
The evil that stole her world and changed her fate was now her only companion. She clutched the knife to her body and in that moment grief was buried, even before her father was and a reckless rage took its place. With her new found strength a purpose was born.
*
Death Rides A Fast Horse
Sandy slowly walked back to her room and tried hard not to look at the black veil that lay on her bed. With a reluctant hand she laid the knife down by her father's bible. A large dress box sat on the bed. There had been a time when the box held wonderful memories but at the moment she could not recall one. The box a silvery-blue etched in gold and tied with a smooth teal ribbon begged to be opened. The silky adornment dropped to the floor as the lid got tossed aside. Matching teal tissue paper lay neatly across the contents of the package.
For a moment she studied the box and then the veil. No one would understand the decision she just made and she surely would be judged for it. Her black funeral dress hit the floor as the tissue paper no longer hid the contents; a pearl handle colt, yellow plaid shirt and special made hunting trousers. Not that she liked to hunt, but she loved to tag along whenever her father went. The school teacher had told Tom it was shameful for a young woman to be seen in trousers and a total disgrace for any girl to go around heeled. Sandy was a good shot, with a tight grouping, not fast but with targets fast is not needed.
Supplies were rapidly gathered and she saddled her father's horse, Justice. He had a sense of humor and named the gray steed Justice, for the horse had four swift feet. A small crash came from the far stall where she kept Dan her three year old paint. Sitting the black and white fire-ball was thirteen year old Wes. I'm going where ever you're going.
You're a boy and you are not going anywhere with me. Sandy's delivery was flat but she meant it.
Wes followed Sandy everywhere she went, at just ten years of age he lost his parents and now days he seemed like part of the family. He lived with his elderly grandma, who wasn't happy to have him and wouldn't miss him. This was no secret to anyone in town.
You're only seventeen and I'm going or I'm telling. Wes cocked his head in triumph and the two headed north out of town, just like Hank had a day before.
The knife that took her father's life was in her saddle bag. Wanting to sink the blade into the coward that killed him made the palm of her hand itch. She tossed a bag of biscuits to Wes. Don't ask to stop for supper, because if you stop before I'm ready you'll get left behind. She wanted to smile as soon as the words left her lips, but she could not find a single smile. How many times had her father said that exact sentence?
Don't you think we should take Blue? Wes asked in his best grown-up voice. Sandy nodded, he spun the horse around to free the old hound. The fuss the dog made should have raised the dead.
Our first stop will be Lone Chimney. It was Sandy's best guess and a good place to hide. Her dad had looked for many a man at that old homestead, it would take the duo a good two hours to get there.
They rode without talking most of the way there. Finally Sandy slowed the horse and removed an envelope from her shirt pocket. I want you to have this letter, but please don't read it till you get back. I want you to read it in front of Mr. Taylor (the town banker). Do you promise?
Of course I do. What's it for?
Please, just do as I ask. It was the first truly nice thing she'd said today.
Sandy reined in her horse and Wes did the same. The pair took to foot, leaving the horses tied to a tree. They each carried a Henry repeater. There was a faint smell of smoke in the air. At that moment she realized the danger she had put them both in. It was too late to think that over now. Blue hung on her heels, as did Wes. In just a few feet they would be able to see the old farm. A wild fire took this place five years ago. All that remained was the fire place, and the four graves the fire made need of.
Sandy, Sandy I see something just ahead. His whisper was hard to control and his voice shook, but not as much as his arms. Sandy inched up closer to peer through the holly where Wes pointed. As she did she snapped a twig which put a deer to flight. Wes let out a nerves laugh. Knowing it was a deer settled his nerves. The two walked up to the smoldering ashes someone had stayed there last night. In frustration Sandy crumbled to the ground, she sat there cross-legged wondering how to know if it had been Hank or not.
Lets bring up the horses, I have an idea, said Sandy.
Blue, danced all around the two of them and through the legs of the horses, his anticipation was on the rise. Sandy walked the horse right to the hearth. Pulled the knife from the saddle bag and let Blue take a whiff. The spot on the knife where the blade met the ivory had been wrapped in leather and hopefully the owners scent. The dog checked out every inch of the area. Sandy offered him another smell and the three of them were northbound again.
Wes wanted to complain about the hours they had spent in the saddle, but he remembered the pain he felt when his parents died, so he let it go and instead offered her a biscuit. Now the Moon fully lit their way, leaving shadows on the ground as far as the eye could see. Blue's ears perked up and he let-out like a flash with only his bark to lead them.
Panic set-in as Sandy imagined Hank waiting for them with his hands hanging low and six ways of dying strapped on both sides. Within minutes Blue had stopped barking and both kids thought the worst.
"What do you think he's after?" Wes asked. Sandy shook her head for she had no way of knowing. Sandy had no real idea on what was going on. Instinct and hate guided her, but to what end? Soon Blue was back at her feet and in the distant a glint of a camp-fire.
Wes are you ready to set up camp?
Am I ever, my backside is killing me and my toes are numb.
For the first time that day Sandy smiled but it was because she had a plan. They rubbed down the horses gave them a hand full of oats. Then they saddled them back up. Her dad use to tell them posse stories, on how sometimes they'd leave the horses ready to run. Sandy and Wes slept setting up and back to back, with no fire.
Just as soon as Wes fell asleep she headed toward the distant camp. In no time Sandy was close enough to see the campfire. The man was sleeping on his belly passed-out drunk with his bottle still in hand and snoring to beat the band. She had to see his face, she wanted to make sure. All of a sudden her knees felt weak. She slow walked up to the man, his hat partly covered his face. A timid hand removed the hat. At that moment she was frozen in place. Childhood memories flooded her thoughts and a burning rage consumed her. The repeater had been left behind with the horse; all she brought with her was the knife. Her eyes were locked on his face. Her knuckles were turning white under the pressure of her own grip. A violent churning erupted in her stomach and a single bead of sweat rested on the back of her neck.
So it was written, an eye for an eye. She mumbled under her breath and with the venom and the speed of a viper she planted the knife deep in the killer's back.
Sandy! Wes yelled.
She looked up just in time to see the second man shoot Wes and then her.
You rotten little Bastards, you killed my partner. The dark haired man spouted. He walked over to Hank pulled the knife from his back and rode off into the dark. Blue, would set there with the three of them till the posse caught up to the crime scene. While Ben Trent smiled at his own wickedness and eyed his new found treasure.