Dead Man's Corner

Chapter 1The cloud of dust on the horizon warned Eliza of imminent danger. She grabbed her gun, a heavy pistol with a cracked butt, before hurrying John Brownstone from the garden to the barn. “What’s going on, Miss ‘Liza?” John asked, confused but compliant, as she pushed him up the ladder to the loft. “Somebody’s coming. He’ll be here soon, and I don’t want him seeing you, whoever he is,” Eliza explained. “Here, get under this hay.” John burrowed into the hay, tossing more over his back. “How long ‘til I can come out?” “I don’t know. Maybe he just wants to water his horses. Maybe he’ll want to stay the night.” Eliza shook her head. “I’ll try to get rid of him.” “I can pretend to be your boy, Missus. Just tell ‘em I belong to you,” John said, looking at her with concerned eyes. “No. You know I couldn’t do that John. Besides, I’ve seen posters with your face. What if he’s seen them, too? I can’t risk it. You can’t risk it.” Eliza kissed his forehead, fresh fear crawling up her throat. “Stay here until I come in for you.” John nodded. “Yes’m.” Eliza backed out of the loft, still clutching the gun in one hand. She knew how to shoot, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to aim and fire at a living man. Most likely, the stranger would just ask for a bucket of water and be on his way. But there was always the chance that a bit of water wouldn’t be enough, and nobody could defend the homestead except Eliza herself. The cloud of dust grew larger as it approached, but Eliza could tell it was just one man and not an entire gang or stagecoach. She settled in the shade of the front porch, shielding her eyes with her hand to better gauge the stranger’s arrival. It took just minutes from the first sighting for the large, gray stallion to gallop into her yard, startling the dogs lazing in the shade. A battered hat obscured the man’s face, shading his eyes. He seemed to be looking at her, but Eliza couldn’t tell. She pulled herself to her full five feet, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “What do you want?” she demanded. The stranger didn’t answer. Instead, he dismounted from his horse and led it to the well. She watched silently as he dipped the bucket into the clear water, drinking from it liberally before allowing the horse to drink from the pail. “What do you want?” Eliza asked again once he straightened. “I’m looking for a man,” he said, his voice gritty despite the cool water. He approached her, loosely holding the horse’s reins. “Have you seen any strangers around here?” Eliza tensed, tightening her grip on the gun. “There are no men here. There’s nobody here but me.” He spat from the side of his mouth, squinting. “Is that a fact?” Eliza realized her mistake, her heart skipping into double-time. “Except my husband, of course.” He pulled a thin cigar from his saddlebags, chewing on the end as he spoke. “Where’s your husband? Perhaps he knows who I’m looking for.” Eliza hesitated, understanding she had made her second mistake when his eyes drifted past the house to the barn. “What’s in there?” he asked. “Nothing,” she answered quickly. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I take care of my horse? It’s been a long ride for both of us.” His eyes dared her to turn down his request. She nodded, taking up his challenge. “You’re welcome to feed and water your horse. He looks tired.” Eliza led him to the barn, trying to force her heartbeat to return to normal. It wasn’t just fear that made it race; there was something in the stranger’s eyes, in the way he looked at her. He was a starving man—starving for food, for companionship, and for something else. Perhaps the man he sought had something to do with the hunger that lined his face and clouded his eyes? “I think I’ll have a look around,” he announced once his horse was safely tethered. “No.” Eliza pointed the gun at his chest, waiting until he had his hands in the air before continuing. “Now, you’ve got your food and you’ve got your water. I told you there was nothing else here.” He smiled, a sour yet amused action. Without warning, he drew his gun and shot the wall above her head. Eliza didn’t even have a chance to blink before he replaced his gun in his holster. “That’s your warning shot.” Eliza slowly lowered her gun. “Why didn’t you just shoot me?” “I’m not here to kill random women,” he said, eyeing the ladder. “I’m looking for a man. If he’s here, then I’ll leave without further trouble.” “And if he’s not?” Eliza asked, watching him climb to the loft, her heart now in her throat. She had promised John that she would keep him safe, hide him from the bounty hunters, even at the risk of her own life. But now she stood there, helplessly, trying to gather the courage it took to shoot a man in the back. “I’ll wait.” She held her breath as he moved around the narrow loft, bent low at the waist to keep from smacking his head against the beams. The only sound in the barn was his boots against the thick wood planks. Even the horse seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the stranger’s ultimate discovery. His fingers rested on the butt of his gun, a warning and a defense. Eliza had no doubt that if she leveled her gun in his direction again, he would turn and fire without thought, guided by instinct. When he reached John’s hiding place—and she understood now that it would have been smarter to hide him anywhere else, even in the house—he stopped, gripped his gun, and kicked the man hiding under the hay. “Stand up,” he ordered. Eliza watched as John straightened, his brown eyes wide with fear. She kept the tears at bay, but she couldn’t stop the bile from rising in her throat. “Come on, let’s go,” the stranger said, drawing his gun and waving it toward Eliza. John didn’t speak. He hurried down the ladder, then put himself between Eliza and the stranger. Eliza knew that he probably wouldn’t kill John—the bounty was higher if he returned the escaped slave alive—but that didn’t alleviate the terror slithering in her stomach. “What’s your name?” the stranger asked. “John Brownstone.” “Do you know a man that goes by Corbett?” John shook his head. “Never met a Corbett in my life.” The stranger looked to Eliza. “What about you?” “No.” The stranger still pointed the gun at them, but he seemed to relax. “Has anybody been here, looking for water and a bed? He’s a bit taller than me, rides a black horse, wears a beard.” “Nobody matching that description has been in these parts,” John answered. Eliza nodded. “We haven’t had any visitors in…months, I’d guess.” He holstered his gun, looking pleased. “Then I’ll be staying. If he hasn’t been here yet, he will be soon.” “How…how do you know?” Eliza asked. “This is the only bit of water in fifty miles, going any direction. He’ll be passing through. And when he does, I’ll be waiting.” He walked to his horse, pulling the saddle from its back and draping the saddlebags over his shoulder. Eliza and John watched him without moving, both still uncertain about the man’s plans and John’s future. He must have sensed their unease, because he added over his shoulder, “I’m not interested in the n***o. Corbett’s the man I’m after.” “Go on back to work,” Eliza said softly. John hesitated, clearly unhappy with the thought of leaving her to fend for herself against the stranger. “I’d like to stay here.” “I’ll be fine, John. That garden won’t weed itself.” He glanced at the stranger, then back to Eliza. She nodded with a forced smile, trying to assure him that she would be fine. He finally sighed with a slight tilt of his head. “Yes’m. I’ll get right to that.” “Why don’t you come to the house, Mr…?” “You can call me Ford.” “I’ll have supper on the table soon, Ford.” He nodded, falling in step behind her as she hurried across the yard to the house. She felt slightly better—she did believe him when he said he wasn’t interested in John. But the apprehension hadn’t completely departed. Who was this Corbett? Why was the stranger…Ford…tracking him? What would happen to her and John now that they were effectively trapped in the middle? * * * * “I’ll take some coffee if you have it,” Ford said, settling at the table, the bags dropped at his feet. Eliza nodded. “Yes, there’s still some warm from lunch. Unless you’d like a fresh pot?” Ford waved his hand. “Whatever you got.” He looked around the richly decorated kitchen, whistling softly. “Where did you get all this finery?” “England. I brought it all with me.” Eliza finally had a chance to study his face when he removed his hat, setting it on the table beside his hand. His hair, bleached almost white from the sun, was slick against his skull, giving his thin face a rather severe appearance. His face was marred with wrinkles, but it wasn’t from age—she could see the sun, wind, and rain on his leathery skin. His cheeks and chin were covered with at least a week’s worth of dusty, sweaty hair. His eyes were a steel gray, his mouth a thin line, his nose crooked from countless fights. “And where’s your husband? Did you forget to bring him?” Ford asked, accepting the coffee from her. She noticed his hands were as rough as his face, lined with hard calluses and scars. She watched him sip the hot liquid, oddly fascinated by each small movement. “Dead. A riding accident. It’s been a year now.” “So it’s just you and the n***o?” “John,” Eliza said sharply. “What?” “His name is John.” Ford nodded. “So it’s just you and John? Why not sell? Go back to your people?” Eliza stirred the stew simmering in the pot over the flames. Her face and arms burned, but it wasn’t the heat from the fire that made her skin turn red. For the first time since her husband died, she realized how much she missed him…how much she missed having him in her life and in her bed. She had thought that she was over such nonsense. “There’s nobody to go back to. Would you like a bath? You look about the same size as my husband, if you’d like a change of clothes. I have a razor as well.” “Perhaps after I eat.” Eliza dished up a large plate of stew, adding a thickly sliced piece of bread slathered in butter. Once she set the food in front of him, she refilled his coffee, then settled in the chair across the table. “You gonna watch me eat?” Ford asked, though he didn’t seem annoyed. He dug into the stew with enthusiasm, using his spoon and the bread to shovel food into his mouth. “I have some questions for you.” “Ask, if you think it’ll do any good,” he said around a mouthful. “Are you a bounty hunter?” Ford shook his head, but didn’t offer any more details. “Then what are you?” “Just a man.” “A man hunting another man. You tracked him this far, and you think he’ll show up here…” “He will show up here,” Ford corrected. “What’s this man to you if he doesn’t have a bounty on his head?” “Oh, I never said he didn’t have a bounty.” Ford sipped his coffee, leaning back in his chair. “He’s got quite a price, wanted dead or alive, but I’m not interested in collecting money.” Eliza laughed. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? The sheriffs pay in gold. Everybody is interested in gold.” “Oh, I’m not saying the money won’t be nice. But that’s not why I’m looking for him.” “Then why?” “He’s a very bad man, and you’re lucky I got here first.” He pointed to his empty plate. John stepped into the kitchen then, his eyes immediately drawn to Ford. “The garden’s done, Ms. ‘Liza. Doesn’t grow nothing but weeds and rocks.” “Sit down, John. I’ll get your supper.” John took the seat Eliza vacated, clearly uncomfortable in Ford’s presence. Eliza wished there was a way she could reassure him, reassure herself, that the stranger wouldn’t harm them.