Prairie Song Read Free Page A

but he outweighed her threefold. Her Colt would be useless against so many.
    “I insist on seeing him.” She lowered her tone as if she could order him to stand aside. “It makes no sense to hang a dying man.”
    “Better he gets what’s coming to him before he leaves this world. You’ll see him, miss, when everyone else does. As soon as the priest finishes with him, we’ll march him right over to that tower.”
    All eyes followed his pointed finger to the shadow of the water tower looming above the trees. Even now a man was climbing the wooden structure with a rope slung over his shoulder.
    Moving closer to the step, Cherish demanded, “Who is in charge? I will speak to him before this insanity goes any further.”
    “The man in charge, miss”—his hot breath stung her cold cheeks—”was killed a few hours ago by the man you’re trying to save. Maybe if someone had hung this bandit a long time ago, the sheriff would still be alive.”
    “But are you sure you have the right man?”
    The deputy laughed. “I was sitting in the office when he came in. Sheriff Moore was in the back. This killer walked right past me. The next thing I know, there’s gunfire and he’s running out.” The deputy raised his voice for all to hear. “We were on his trail in minutes. He rode till his horse was played out, then jumped the train. He was either damn lucky, or he knew the time of this train, the way he seemed to ride toward it.”
    He motioned to the half-dozen men around the car. “We all voted, just like a jury, to hang this killer tonight. If we wait till morning, he might get his strength back and like a snake brought in the house to warm, he’d turn on us and maybe kill again before we could stop him.”
    A priest stepped from the car and all hope of delay died. She felt as she had so many times during the war when men were killing one another faster than she could save them.
    The deputy nodded in respect and stepped aside for the priest to pass. “Thanks for offering him last rites. I know it weren’t easy for you, Father, after being there when the sheriff was killed. But we wouldn’t want to do anything that wasn’t on the up-and-up.” He glanced at Cherish, smiling as if he’d won the argument.
    The people rattled like paper tied to the tail of a dust devil. The priest stood on the last step of the car and pointed toward the rope now swinging in the wind. “God’s will,” he shouted as all except Cherish turned to watch the rope.
    She only stared at the hooded brown robes hiding the man of God. How could he be party to this injustice? Surely he lived by some code. As she watched, he turned and slowly lowered himself to the ground. For a moment his robe’s sleeves pulled almost to his elbows. Cherish saw his knuckles whiten as though the two-foot drop to the ground had been a great effort. She saw the dark stains of blood on his hands and knew the stranger inside the car must still be bleeding.
    Then, in the light of a dozen torches, she saw the scars on the priest’s right wrist: scars silently telling of a man past pain, scars betraying the true identity of the man beneath the robes.
    Cherish almost shouted aloud at her discovery. Then she bit her lip, sealing her mouth against betrayal. She glanced at the deputy. He was picking which men would go into the car and bring out their prize. When she glanced back to see the man in priest’s robes, he had vanished into the velvet night, his robes blending with the tree trunks and the tall brown grass.
    Deputies marched up onto the platform, waving at the crowd as if they were performers in a sideshow. The bald man took a few moments to deliver a speech as though he were running for office. All the deputies crowded around, their guns lifted high in salute. The bald self-appointed leader raised his hand, playing his moment of glory to the hilt. “This is a time of justice!” he shouted. “Now let justice’s hand rule.”
    He moved into the car, both guns