THE CONDEMNED
Book 1 – Rowen
*Note: For purposes of this blog, the content here will be kept to PG standards. However, upon publication, the full novel will include more adult content.
Chapter 7
Wanted
“After you buckle it and put the end through this right here, you cinch it up nice and firm, but not too tight. Now go ahead. You do it.”
Zwick
stepped back to observe Rowen’s attempt at hitching a horse up to a buggy. When
he finished, Rowen looked up at the man. “What did I miss?”
The stable
owner puckered his lips. “As far as I can tell, nothing.” Bending over, Zwick
stuck two fingers underneath the straps. “A smidge tight. Might need to move
back a notch, but otherwise you did good. All right, let’s get the bridle on
him, and you’re done.”
They were
in the middle of slipping the bit into the gelding’s mouth when a familiar
voice interrupted them.
“Oh, good!
He’s almost ready!”
Rowen
jerked his head up to meet Postill’s surprised expression. “Hi, Doc! We’re
almost finished.”
“You’re
working here now, Mr. Taylor? Or helping out?”
“I am
legitimately employed,” he told her with a grin. “For the time being, anyway,
until Mr. Zwick figures out whether or not he wants to keep me or send me on my
way.” He eyed her as she strolled up to pat the horse on the neck. This time she
wore a short brown coat over a blue dress, along with her usual bonnet perched
on top of her head, and a pair of dark brown gloves. It was clear by the way
the horse was giving her its full attention that the animal was enamored of
her.
“Hello,
Blaze. How’s my boy doing?” She handed the creature a carrot, which it eagerly
took and consumed.
Zwick gave
Rowen a nudge with his elbow. “Finish ‘er up. You’re not done yet. You need to
bring the reins over to the buckboard, and then you can call it. But first…”
The man pointed off to the side. “Fetch that stepstool and help the doc up into
the wagon.”
Rowen
nodded and retrieved the short steps, setting them on the ground next to the
wheel. Postill handed him her medical box before taking his other hand to
steady herself as she lifted her skirt. She easily mounted the wagon and
settled on the seat, then reached for her kit. Rowen handed it to her, along
with the reins.
“Thank you,
Mr. Taylor. By the way, Mr. Zwick, if anyone comes looking for me, tell them
I’m heading out to the Weatherly place.”
“Is Irene still
doing poorly?” Zwick inquired.
“I hope not.
I’ll find out when I get there.” She turned to Rowen. “Thank you for getting my
wagon ready. I expect you to still be employed when I return,” she quipped with
a smile. Not waiting for an answer, she lightly slapped the reins over the
horse’s back and clicked her tongue twice. The gelding obediently moved
forward, and they exited the stables.
Rowen walked
up to the open doors and continued to watch her until she took a left at the
end of the road and vanished from sight. When he finally turned around, he
discovered Zwick holding a shovel out to him.
“Now show
me how well you can clean the stalls,” the man ordered with a partial grin
lifting one side of his mouth.
Sighing,
Rowen took the shovel. “Is there a bucket or something I can dump the shit in?”
Zwick
pointed behind him. “Outside, against the back wall, is a wheelbarrow.”
“Where do I
dump it when it gets full?”
“At the far
end of the paddock, by that open field. People come by regularly to get what
they need for their gardens and such, so I don’t have to worry about it piling
up too high.”
“Hamp!
Hamp!” A man Rowen didn’t recognize ran into the stables. He was almost out of
breath, and his face was pale with apprehension. “Sheriff needs you armed and
out front right now!”
Zwick
didn’t question the man, who ran out. Instead, he turned to Rowen. “Can you
handle a gun?”
“I can
learn!”
The man
gave a quick nod and hurried into his office, emerging seconds later with two
rifles. He handed one to Rowen. “Act like you know what you’re doing, and no
one’ll suspect. Go by my lead. Now let’s go see what the emergency is.”
They rushed
out of the stables to find Sheriff Melfry and two other men Rowen didn’t know.
They had their firearms trained on four men on horseback who’d stopped in the
middle of the street.
“You’d make
things a whole lot easier for all of us if you fellas just turned around and
went back to where you came from,” Melfry informed the strangers.
The man in
the lead leaned over and crossed his arms over the saddle horn. “Sheriff, let
me make one thing clear. We’re not here to cause trouble. We just want a drink
and bite to eat, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“You can
keep going the way you’re headed,” Melfry intoned, his voice as stoic and
all-business as his demeanor. “Chamberlain is about ten miles up the road.
They’re a bigger town than us. They’ll have everything you need.”
“But we
don’t wanna wait that long,” the man next to the leader remarked.
“We’re
thirsty now,” the leader continued. “We’ve been traveling a long distance, and
we’re parched.”
“And we
don’t have anything here to offer you ‘cept a drink from a cold spring,” Melfry
countered. He motioned with his head. “I strongly suggest you circumvent our
town and head that way if you’re determined to have anything stronger than
that.”
Rowen
stared at the man’s face. There was arrogance there. And cruelty. The guy was
up to no good, and Rowen would bet anything that those four had something
planned. Worse, the man’s countenance was ringing a bell in the back of his
mind.
Straightening,
the leader eyed the five men with guns pointed at him, barring his way. A sick
grin stretched the corners of his mouth. “Very well. If you’re going to be
inhospitable about it, I guess we don’t have any other choice. But, trust me, Sheriff,
I ain’t gonna forget this little incident.”
Melfry
didn’t respond. After another moment or two, the leader turned his horse
around, and the foursome left the way they’d come. Rowen and the others
remained where they stood until the strangers took the corner at the farthest
end to skirt the town.
“Barkley,
Myerson, cut past the general store and watch to make sure they don’t try to
backtrack,” the sheriff ordered. He glanced over at Rowen and Zwick. “You men,
watch the pasture. Let me know if that bunch gets back on the road leading out
of town.”
Zwick
nodded once. “Sure thing, Sheriff. Come on, Rowen.”
They
hustled back to the livery, but instead of going inside they hurried past it
and went around the building to where the pasture was located. Taking a stance
where the strangers would be able to see them clearly, they waited for the
riders to appear.
“Hey, Mr.
Zwick.”
“If you’re
going to stick around, might as well call me Hamp like the rest of the folks
do,” the man drolly stated.
“Okay.
Hamp, if something happens here that’s too big for the sheriff to handle…”
Rowen began.
“Someone
hightails it up to Chamberlain to fetch Marshal Loving.” Hamp looked over at
him. “Why do you ask?”
“The one
who’s the leader. I think I’ve seen that guy before. I don’t know where or
when, but I’m almost dead certain I’ve seen his face…somewhere. Do you know who
that man is?”
Hamp shook
his head. “Nope, and I don’t reckon I want to. Besides, I don’t trust a bunch
of strangers riding into town. One or two, we can handle.” He eyed Rowen to
make a point. “But four big, burly men armed to the teeth…” He suddenly pointed
in front of them. “There they are. Hold your rifle up, son. Let ‘em know we
mean business.”
Rowen held
the weapon the way Zwick held his as the strangers casually continued past.
When the group finally returned to the main road leading away from town, they
moved on, never once checking behind them to see if they were still being
watched.
Rowen felt the
knot in his stomach begin to loosen. “Those men, if they meant to do us harm or
cause trouble, they probably could have killed us back there where we stopped
them.”
“Yep. They could
have. But they didn’t know how many of us there were. There could’ve been more
armed men hiding inside the shops.”
The man’s
tone made him pause. “Were there?” Rowen queried.
Hamp’s
answer included a smile. “What do you think? All right. I can’t see ‘em
anymore. Guess it’s safe now to stand down.” Reaching over, he plucked the
rifle from Rowen’s hands. “You get back to work while I go tell Sheriff Melfry
they’re gone.”
Rowen took
one last look down the road when it suddenly hit him. The realization stunned
him enough to where Zwick noticed his shocked expression.
“What?
What’s wrong?”
“I remember now where I’ve seen that man. I mean, not the man himself, but his picture,” Rowen declared. “That guy is Ossie Chapman. A drawing of his face is on a wanted dead or alive poster hanging inside the sheriff’s office!”
TO BE CONTINUED
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