Part 24 (1/2)

The sheriff seemed to relax. ”Why?” he asked as he lifted his feet again.

Laramie could feel the anger flus.h.i.+ng his cheeks. He was annoyed with all the senseless questioning. ”Because, sir,” he said heatedly, ”she didn't belong in a camp with a bunch of outlaws. She had done nothin' to deserve it. She was innocent and good and G.o.d-fearing. An' there was trouble brewin'.”

He wondered if he had said too much. If he had become too vehement. He forced himself to cool down. He'd be getting the hangman's noose for sure with such action.

The sheriff looked at him steadily, then nodded, lifted his feet from the desk, and opened a drawer stuffed with papers. ”Don't recall seein' yer picture,” he mused.

”No, sir. Likely haven't,” said Laramie in a softer tone.

”Why not?” asked the sheriff, putting his feet up again.

Laramie shuffled his feet uncomfortably. ”WellaI reckon I haven't earned a poster, sir,” he replied. ”I was mostly left to hold the horses.” He flushed as he spoke the words.

”So,” said the sheriff, not looking up. ”You haven't killed a mana”you don't have a bounty on yer heada”ya don't even have yer face on a poster?”

Laramie nodded.

The sheriff's feet returned to the floor with a heavy thump.

”Don't look like I got any reason to hold ya, then,” he said simply.

It took Laramie a while to grasp the words.

”I don't understand,” he said when he could speak. ”I was a member of the gang. Ia””

”Now, how am I s'pose to prove thet?” demanded the sheriff. ”Ain't n.o.body claimed to have seen yaa”ain't no poster. Nothin'.”

”But I have admittedamy guilt,” declared Laramie.

The feet lifted again. The sheriff leaned back and looked at Laramie. He chewed on a straw that he picked from his pant cuff. ”So ya did,” he observed. ”They say thet confession is good fer the soul.”

He stared into Laramie's eyes as though his words carried some secret message.

”Son,” he said at last, ”ain't ever' day thet anyone comes to me tellin' me of past sins. Now I'm takin' from this herea”confessiona”thet ya ain't plannin' on being a part of sucha”actiona”agin. Thet right?”

Laramie nodded dumbly.

”Thet ole ganga”it's beena”what shall we saya”dismembered. An' from our little conversationa”I don't think thet you'll be pickin' up with another one. Right?”

Laramie nodded again.

”Thena”I suggest thet our conversation is closed.”

At the stunned look on Laramie's face he went on, pointing one long finger at Laramie's chest. ”But let me tell ya this, son. You mess with mea”you're gonna swing. Ya got thet?”

Laramie stood to his feet nodding. He swallowed again.

”There's one more thing, Sheriff,” he managed.

The sheriff nodded, but he looked impatient. ”Make it fast,” he said. ”The coffee's gittin' cold over at Evita's.”

Laramie lifted the little leather bag. ”Money,” he said simply. ”This is stolen money.”

”Stolen from where?” asked the sheriff.

”I don't rightly know. Here an' there. Most anywhere. Iahave no idea. It was always divided up evenly. I don't know where this came from.”

The sheriff swore. ”Then how'm I to know where to give it back?” he said gruffly.

”Wellawhat am I to doa”?”

”Look,” said the sheriff testily. ”Thet's yer problem. Not mine. Ya don't know where to take it backa”then it's yer burden. You figure it out. I dunno.”

He walked away muttering to himself. ”Outlaws,” fumed the sheriff. ”Got no business gittin' religion. Makes more trouble then it's worth.”

Laramie, holding his leather pouch of gold coins, watched him go and then stepped from the office. It took several minutes for him to realize that he was a free man.

Carefully Laramie counted out the money he had earned honestly as a ranch hand. He had already been giving his t.i.the to the little church where he had attended. Now the small pile of coins that were left did not look like much. Laramie sighed. They'd never put a down payment on his own spread, that was a sure thing.

He had seen a little church just down the street. He made his way to it now. A surprised minister answered his knock.

”Do youado you help out poor people and the like?” asked Laramie.

”We help when we can, son, but our funds are limited,” said the man. ”Don't know that we can do much buta”what can I do for you?”

Laramie lifted the leather bag and poured its contents out on the wooden desk. ”I'd like to make a donation,” he said simply. The s.h.i.+ning gold pieces glimmered in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. The man stood and stared.

”It was not honest money, but I've no way to git it back to those it was taken from,” Laramie admitted. ”Maybe you can undo a bit of that by puttin' it to good use.”

The man still stared.

Laramie tipped his hat in respect and moved toward the door. ”May the Lord bless youa”an' yer church,” he said with deep feeling, and he was gone.

Ariana moved about the schoolroom, cleaning the chalkboards, tidying the small desks, and putting the few books they possessed back on the one makes.h.i.+ft shelf.

She was finally able to hum again. It had taken many months for her to feel that the song was back in her heart. But the months had lessened her pain and disappointmenta”though she still prayed fervently for Laramie. G.o.d was in control. He had brought good from her ordeal. Never had she seen such eager students. And their enthusiasm for learning carried over into her Sunday school cla.s.s, for most of them returned again on Sunday to have their Bible lessons in the same little building.

Ariana moved to put the last books on the shelf. It was a pleasant eveninga”with many promised hours of sunlight yet. She would have time to saddle the little roan and take a leisurely ride before Aunt Molly's supper was served.

A firm rap on the door brought Ariana to attention. She was not used to callers at the schoolhouse. Momentarily her heart began racing. She had not forgotten the men who had visited her over two years earlier and carried her captive. Ariana had a hard time finding her voice. She was not quite sure if she could bid the visitor enter.

The door openeda”just a crack at first. Ariana watched with her breath caught in her throat.

Then the door pushed open farthera”and there stood Laramie.

He was clean-shaven with carefully trimmed hair. His clothes were not new but were clean and well kept. His eyes, which held a spark, seemed to look right into her soul.