Will Cabot came into town quietly, easing his horse along the back lots until he reached the rear of Monty’s Restaurant. It was full dark, late, the way in shadow as he eased out of the saddle and stepped up to the kitchen door that stood partway open. A light still showed inside. Monty would be cashing up, the staff gone for the night. She did this every night after the close of business. Cabot paused on the top step, looking into the kitchen and saw her at the kitchen table, bending over the paperwork.
‘Never adds up the way you expect,’ he said.
The woman glanced up, lamplight creating shadow across one side of her face as she moved. Any surprise she might have had vanished quickly.
‘You can say that about life in general. Now what are you doing here? Did anyone see you?’
‘I came in from the far side of town. Never showed myself on the street.’
Monty pushed aside her paperwork and stood. She crossed to the big cooking stove where a pot of coffee gently steamed. She poured into a pair of china mugs from the side, handing him one.
‘I ran into three trappers on the trail. They’d called in by the Gibbs’ place. They found Charbonneau, Roster and Kellin. All dead. Looked like a set to. I sent them to deal with that Bodie feller only it hadn’t worked out. They found Gibbs and his daughter backshot in the house. There was also Bodie, shot as well. And there were tracks heading away from the place. Single rider leading a spare horse. Heading north…’
‘Will, I sent Linus Dorn out to…’
‘That barfly. Christ, Monty, that was a damn stupid thing to do.’
‘Your three boys don’t seem to have done any better.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s done now.’
‘If Bodie hadn’t shown up in Colton none of this might have happened. Well at least he’s out of the way now.’
Cabot shook his head. ‘But he ain’t. Still alive. Those trappers brought him to town and left him with Meerschaum. I met up with ‘em on their way back to Gibbs place. They were going to bury the dead.’
‘Bodie’s here in town? If he tangled with Linus Dorn maybe he knows I sent him. Damn, Will, what do we do now?’
‘Tolerable late to be asking me that now.’
Monty stared at him, anger in her eyes. ‘Will, I don’t know how to deal with this on my own.’
‘Then we admit we’re in a mess. And see that Sam is running wild. Out of control. All the killing. The thieving. It’s our damn fault…we should have done something years ago.’
‘Done what?’ Monty slammed he coffee mug down on the table, spilling the hot liquid. ‘Had him locked away in a lunatic asylum?’
‘Thinking back that’s just what we should have done. He’s sick, Monty. More sick than we’ve ever admitted. Goddamn it we’ve always known that. We was wrong leaving him free…’
‘Will, he’s our son,’ Monty screamed, losing control. ‘Our son.’
‘I’ve let you use that over the years. Allowed you to cover for him. Done it myself to back you. Monty, we’re as responsible as he is.’
‘No. He doesn’t even understand himself what he does is wrong. He just…goes a little wild sometimes.’
‘Wild? Damnit, Monty, he goes more than just wild. Look what he’s done? What we’ve pretended hasn’t happened. It has to end. Here. I won’t allow Sam to cause any more misery the way he already has.’
‘No, Will.’ She caught the expression on his face. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Tell Ezra Pointer the truth. That we know all about Sam. What he’s done. It’s time to put things right. Like we should have done years ago.’
Monty stared at him, realization dawning on her as his words sank in. A cry of anguish rose in her throat. She let out a shrill wail. Stared around her, lost, seeking some kind of comfort and when she failed, she reached for one of the cook knives in the drainage board beside the sink. Cabot saw what she was doing and moved to stop her. Yet she moved faster than he anticipated and lashed out with the heavy blade.
‘Damn you, Will, I won’t let you help them take my son … I can’t … not my boy … ’
Her first lunge caught Cabot across his left hand, the keen edge of the knife slicing a deep, raw gash in his palm. Blood surged from the wound and Cabot drew back, a hiss of pain bursting from his lips. As he pulled back his hand blood flew in a bright spray.
‘Jesus, Monty, not this way…’
Cabot’s plea was lost on the woman. It was as if he was talking to a shadow as she lunged again, reason lost in the sheer panic brought on by the chance of losing her son forever. Her onslaught was all the more frightening when he saw the bright, unreasoning gleam in her eyes, the lips peeled back from her teeth in a grimace devoid of any feeling. His concentration lost for the moment Cabot failed to avoid the increasingly wild slashes from the knife in her hand. He felt the cold slice as it caught his cheek, laying open a deep cut that sent blood streaming down his face. Now she was screaming in an unending stream. Cabot took more cuts to his hands as he raised them in defense and when he tried to grasp her knife hand she slashed at his arms, cutting through his shirt with frenzied strength. Cabot fell back, dislodging pots and pans from the work space behind him. Above the clatter of iron implements he could hear Monty’s cries of rage, a sound that cut through him as deeply as the knife cut through his flesh.
Cabot stumbled, as much from the wounds as from the shock of her raging attack. On his knees, despite his physical strength, he felt helpless under the rage of Monty’s onslaught. It was a primal and unstoppable rage. The instinct of a mother desperate to defend her child, no matter how badly he had acted. No matter the terrible things he had done.
The bloodied knife descended, cutting a deep gash across the exposed back of his neck and Cabot had no more strength to resist. He slumped forward, oblivious now to the pain. To the blood pouring from the mass of wounds, and offered no more resistance as the knife rose and fell again and again, accompanied by the shrieking cries of the woman…