Come the Spring Read Free

vest pocket. He stood close enough for herto see his long fingers and his carefully manicured nails.
    Why had they removed their masks? Didn’t they realize that Franklin and the others would give the authorities their descriptions…
Oh, God, no … no … no
…
    â€œIs the back door open, Mr. Johnson?”
    â€œYes, sir, it is.”
    â€œWell, then I expect it’s time to leave. Whose turn is it?” he asked.
    â€œMr. Bell hasn’t taken a turn since that little girl. Remember, sir?”
    â€œI remember. Are you up to it today, Mr. Bell?”
    â€œYes, sir, I believe I am.”
    â€œThen get on with it,” he ordered as he drew his gun and cocked it.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” the president asked in a near shout.
    â€œHush now. I told you no one would get hurt, didn’t I?”
    His voice was horrifically soothing. MacCorkle was nodding when the man named Bell fired his shot. The front of the president’s head exploded.
    The leader killed the man in front of him, jumping back when the blood from the wound he’d inflicted spewed out.
    Franklin cried, “But you promised…”
    The leader whirled toward him and shot him in the back of the head. Franklin’s neck snapped.
    â€œI lied.”

Two

 
    The ceremony was unique. The guest of honor, Cole Clayborne, slept through it and the celebration that followed. An hour after most of the guests had departed, the effect of the unnatural sleep was wearing off. In a stupor, he floated somewhere between fantasy and reality. He felt someone tugging on him, but he couldn’t summon enough strength to open his eyes and find out who was tormenting him. The noise was making his head ache fiercely, and when he finally began to wake up, the first sounds he heard were the clinking of glasses and loud, rambunctious laughter.
    Someone was speaking to him, or about him. He heard his name, yet he found it impossible to concentrate long enough to understand what was being said. His head felt as though there were little men inside, standing between his eyes, pounding his skull with sharp hammers.
    Was he hung over? The question intruded into his hazy thoughts. No, he never got drunk when he wasaway from Rosehill, and even when he was home, he rarely had more than an occasional beer in the heat of the afternoon. He didn’t like the aftereffects. Liquor, he’d learned the hard way, dulled the senses and the reflexes, and with half the gunslingers in the territory wanting to build their reputations by killing him in a shoot-out, he wasn’t about to drink anything more dulling than water.
    Someone was having a mighty fine time. He heard laughter again and tried to turn his head toward the sound. Pain shot up from the base of his neck, causing bile to rush to his throat. Ah, Lord, he felt like hell.
    â€œLooks like he’s coming around, Josey. You’d best get on back home before he starts growling and spewing. You’re liable to get your feelings hurt.” Sheriff Tom Norton stared through the bars of the cell while he addressed his wife of thirty years.
    Josey Norton scurried away before Cole could get his eyes focused. It took him a minute to realize where he was. He gritted his teeth as he sat up on the narrow cot and swung his legs to the floor. His hands gripped the mattress and his head dropped to his chest.
    He studied the sheriff through bloodshot eyes. Norton was an older man with weather-beaten skin, a potbelly, and melancholy eyes. He looked like a harmless hound dog.
    â€œWhy am I in jail?” The question was issued in a sharp whisper.
    The sheriff leaned against the bars, crossed one ankle over the other, and smiled. “You broke the law, son.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œDisturbing the peace.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNo need to shout. I can see it pained you. You’ve got a nice bump on the back of your head, and I don’tsuppose yelling is gonna