“You buy those horses at the stable, like I told you?” asked Frank Pobe.
“Yeah,” replied Harry Stowe. “And I bought the supplies, too. We’re all set to leave right after we kill the woman.”
“Good.”
“You see anything yet?”
“No,” said Pobe. “It’s still quiet in the house.”
“You think we should kill her when she first comes outside ... or you think we ought to wait?” asked Stowe.
“We’ve been trackin’ her for too long to rush into this,” Pobe answered thoughtfully. “We’ll wait and see how things develop. Chances are, in time, we’ll be able to catch her alone. It’ll be clean and fast that way, without a house full of witnesses to deal with.”
“Hey, look,” Stowe said suddenly. “Somebody’s comin out the front door.”
Ree, dressed warmly in a heavy greatcoat, came out first, followed by William Sloan, Ella and then Hunter.
“That’s that ‘War Hunter’ feller,” whispered Stowe to Pobe. “The one that rode shotgun on the stage.”
“I see him,” said Pobe. “But look at that Ella Phillips, willya? Scofield said she was pretty, but damn, he didn’t say she’d look like that?”
“Gonna be a shame to kill her, ain’t it?”
“Hell, I’ve killed good lookin’ women before,” said Pobe.
“What’s it like?”
“It’s a damned sight more fun than killin’ ugly ones,” he replied with a sly grin.
It was probably the first time during the trial that Dave Bennett smiled—even then it was a sad smile ...
Ree Sloan was on the witness stand, describing what a good-natured boy Bennett had been before his parents died, and the difficult, trying years during his teens when he tried to make some sense of a life he had to live all alone.
She went on to say that the boy seemed to finally find himself when he fell in love with Jenna Lindstrom.
“I seen those two together a lot,” she said softly, speaking both to the jury and to S. J. Lindstrom. “They used to come back behind my house when they was takin’ walks around the outer edge of town.
“I tell you, it reminded me a’ the way young Bennett’s mother used to take David by the hand and walk with him every day after the boy’s father died. She walked with him, and talked to him, and tried to explain that life was no easy thing and that sometimes the good died young.
“The boy didn’t understand. He cried and cried. “It was strange, some of you thought, that when Mrs. Bennett died a few years later, that the boy never once shed a tear. Well, it didn’t surprise me none. All the cryin’ in the world hadn’t brought his pa back ... and besides, there wasn’t no one left anymore to walk with him and hold his hand if he’d a’ cried ...
“At least not ’til Jenna Lindstrom came along. A man needs someone he ain’t ashamed to cry in front of. I’m not sayin’ I saw young Bennett cryin’ when he was with Jenna. I’m just sayin’ that for the first time in a real long time, Dave Bennett could take a walk around the outer edge of town without feelin’ the weight of his past. And I believe that that’s because he found someone who could see him cry and still love him, someone he could love ... someone he’d never—ever—want to hurt.”
“Are you finished Mrs. Sloan?” asked the judge.
“I guess so, your Honor.”
“You care to cross-examine?” Judge Morwood asked the prosecutor.
“I have just one question for the witness. Mrs. Sloan, other than the fact you’ve known this man, during his youth,” he said pointing at Dave Bennett, “do you have any direct knowledge as to whether or not he set the fire at the Feed and Grain that killed Jenna Lindstrom?”
“It’s like I said,” she began, “Dave Bennett would never—”
“I said direct knowledge, Mrs. Sloan. Do you know for a fact that he didn’t set that fire?”
“Do you know for a fact that he did?” she shot back angrily.
“The evidence would seem to suggest that we do,” said the prosecutor smugly. “Thank you. No further questions.”
Ree was coughing violently when she left the witness stand. Ella helped her to the back of the courtroom and then, with William Sloan limping beside the two women, they walked slowly back to the house.
“They’re comin’ back,” said Harry Stowe from his vantage point across the street.
“I see ’em,” said Pobe, “but I don’t see Hunter.”
“That’ll make it even easier for us. You figure we ought to let ’em get settled, then bust in there and take care a’ business?”
Pobe thought about it for a while, then shook his head. “There’s three of ’em and that could be a problem.”
“Hell, Frank, there’s just a crippled old man and two women. What’s the big deal?”
“We can only kill two people at once,” Pobe explained. “The third one, whoever it might be, could have a gun; could cut and run and get away; or could even hide from us while the whole damn town comes runnin’ to see what all the shootin’ was about. They know that house and we don’t. We’ll wait,” said Pobe emphatically, ’til either she comes out alone, or until we’ve seen there’s only two people in that house.”
“What if one of those two people should be that feller ‘War Hunter’?”
Pobe blew his nose in his sleeve and boasted, “Back in Philly I eat guys like that for breakfast.”
Harry Stowe had seen Pobe in action before. He didn’t doubt him.
Dave Bennett, fidgeting nervously in the witness stand, gave his account of what happened the night Jenna Lindstrom died.
Advised by his lawyer to keep his testimony short (so that the prosecutor would have fewer targets to shoot at during cross-examination), Bennett wasted no words and went right to the heart of his story ...
“It’s true I was mad at Mr. Lindstrom for trying to stand between Jenna and me,” he explained. “And it’s true I wanted to get back at him for that. But neither me nor Bobby Wilson set the Feed and Grain on fire.
“We was drinkin’—that’s true, too. But Bobby was just helpin’ me blow off steam. We were comin’ up with all kinds of fool ways to teach Mr. Lindstrom a lesson, but it was just the liquor talkin’, that’s all.
“But when Bobby and me saw that fire burnin’ at the Feed and Grain, we just forgot everything and ran there to try to put it out. That’s when I heard Jenna screaming. I tried to get through the flames to the stairway but I just couldn’t do it. I swear I tried, but I just couldn’t do it!”
Bennett sat back in his chair. He saw that his hands were clenched into fists and that beads of sweat—or were they tears?—were cascading down his cheeks. He composed himself and in a voice barely above a whisper, he continued ...
“The fire swept through the building in just a few minutes. It wasn’t long before the screaming stopped. The whole building was burning, from the first floor to the roof. I suppose that’s about when everybody started rushin’ to help. But it was too late. Jenna was dead.”
“Why did you leave Lost Creek after the fire?” Braxton, the defense attorney, gently prodded.
“I just wanted to be alone.”
“Then why did Bobby Winslow go with you?”
“Because he was my friend and he was worried about me. He kinda looked after me during those next few weeks. He was a good friend ... and bein’ my friend got him killed.”
“One last question, Dave,” said Braxton. “Just before you saw the fire at the Feed and Grain, do you remember talking to anyone? In other words, is there a witness who could verify the fact that you weren’t at the Feed and Grain when the fire started?”
The crowd suddenly came alive with the sound of mumbling voices. This was an unexpected question. If Bennet claimed a witness and could actually produce him, then the outcome of this trial might turn out considerably different than had been expected.
No one was more aware of that than S. J. Lindstrom. The veins in his neck were bulging, but otherwise he kept his boiling emotions in check.
He stared at Bennett in the witness stand, waiting to hear what he was certain would be a pack of lies.
And Bennett, sitting in the witness stand, knew that he had reached the crossroads. His lawyer had told him about the witness Hunter had brought back on the stage last night. But his lawyer had also urged him not to lie. Unless a man is real good at it, a lie is as obvious as a three-legged cow. If the jury had a gut feeling that he was lying—even just this once—it would discredit everything he’d said before, and probably tarnish the testimony of his witness.
The problem was, Dave Bennett couldn’t remember talking to anyone except Bobby Winslow that night. He had no recollection at all of talking to the witness Hunter had brought back from High Ridge.
Dave Bennett took a deep breath. If he was going to hang, at least he’d die telling the truth ...