A hanging like that would sure as hell draw a crowd.
It would be an interesting trial, though.From the talks he’d been having with Lucas and the one Doc had with the mother, those two would be testifying under oath that they alone were to blame.Neither one wanted the other to be dancing for the hangman.
Sheila stayed outside the shack with Lucas while Caleb and Doc spoke to the patient.
Mrs.Fields knew what was going on.Doc had filled her in with what had happened while she’d been unconscious.Caleb guessed that the flush in her cheeks was not all caused by fever.She’d lost men she was responsible for, and the future for herself and her son wasn’t looking all that rosy either.She had to be feeling sadness, anger, worry, desperation.
Doc introduced him and told her what Caleb had been sent to do.He also told her that her son had confessed to their past crimes, where they came from, and what they’d been doing since her husband was killed.
She spoke directly to Caleb.Her voice was not strong, but she was clearly a bright woman.
“If Lucas has told you anything that makes him look responsible for all that has happened, it’s a lie.I’m the leader of this gang.I’m the one responsible for the robberies of the Wells Fargo stages.I’ll swear that he never participated in any holdup.He just arrived here after I was wounded.I’ll swear to that on my husband’s grave.I’m the one who should be punished for those crimes.”
She paused, trying to catch her breath.She was growing paler, but she still clung to a hope of saving her son’s life.
Caleb had seen men lie to save their own hides.This was different.Every word cost her, and every word was meant to buy Lucas another breath.
“Lucas admits he was part of the gang,” he told her.
“He’s only seventeen.He was a child when I got started.For all the years I’ve been robbing those villains, I kept him away.And he did what I told him to do.”
Caleb had no doubt this was all a lie, but he understood her fierce determination to save her child.
“Ma’am, I ain’t no lawyer or judge or jury.But in this last robbery, you were sitting inside that stagecoach.Your blood was left on that seat.So there’s no way you can take responsibility for shooting the driver and the guard riding shotgun.They’ll hang you for robbing those stagecoaches, but murder is the most serious of everything that you’ve done.And Lucas was outside holding a gun.”
“It wasn’t him.”She closed her eyes, and long lashes lay on the pale cheeks.“That was Dodger, acting against orders.”
“So you say.But your word ain’t gonna be good enough.I seriously doubt Judge Patterson will believe you.And I know them Wells Fargo men chirping in the governor’s ear in Denver will be calling for your head…and for your son’s.”
She tried to sit, and Doc helped her, propping her up with a folded blanket behind her back.Caleb didn’t know what she looked like before being shot, but right now she seemed shrunken and spent, a frail slip of a woman.Her right arm was bound in a sling.
“I’ve already told you what I’ll tell the judge and jury, Mr.Marlowe.I will take the blame, and I’ll say whatever needs to be said.I won’t have my son wrongfully accused.But would you like to hear the whole story?”
Despite the days she’d spent in this cot, her eyes were clear when they met his, and her voice was growing stronger.There was a hard edge to it, but Caleb also took notice of the motherly tone of command.Right then, he understood how she ran the tough men who worked for her, minded her orders, and remained devoted to her.How many men were capable of disrespecting and ignoring their mothers?She had a quality in her manner that made any half-decent man sit straight and listen.
“I’d like to hear the whole story…if it’s the truth.”
She nodded with satisfaction.“I want you to forget, just for a moment, this last robbery on the Denver road and those poor dead men.I want to tell you exactly how we’ve conducted our business for the past five years.”
“I’m listening.”
As she shifted her weight, trying get comfortable, she gasped and clutched her shoulder.Whatever color remained in her face drained away now.It took her a few moments to recover, and Caleb waited.Doc was watching her carefully.
“For each robbery,” she said when she could continue, “I’d choose one of my men to take the lead.That person would wear a long duster and a flour sack over his head.We’d cut holes for eyes, and he’d wear a special derby.”
This was why there was no description of the faces of this gang, Caleb thought.There was no possible way for anyone to describe them.
“My man would jump out from behind a large boulder or tree on whatever route we’d chosen for the robbery.He’d wave his shotgun at the driver.”
“Why would they stop?Why didn’t they run him down or shoot him dead?”
“Because at that very moment our other men were hiding in the brush or behind trees or boulders at the side of the road.We chose our spots carefully.My men would have their rifles pointed at the driver, and the weapons would be conspicuous, even if my men weren’t.When we started our campaign against Wells Fargo, we made it even more daunting.We’d use carved pieces of wood painted to look like rifles, wedged into the brush.We made it look like there were dozens of us.”
“Go on.”
“My man would tell them to throw down the strongbox.”
“And they always did.”
