The crowd surged toward them, dragging a man and shouting. He struggled to make out any words. Except the ones that rose louder and louder until they couldn’t be ignored.
“Hang him. Hang him.”
Nash moved to stand in front of the pushing throng, his arms crossed, his legs wide. They stopped. “What’s going on?” His voice rang out, silencing the crowd.
A dozen men answered.
Nash held up his hand. “I can’t make out what you’resaying.” He pointed to the man who seemed to have the most to say. “You. Tell me.”
“This man”—he indicated the one held by half a dozen others—“decided to shoot everyone in sight.”
A roar of anger rose.
The spokesman continued. “He killed three and injured others. Look at her.” He indicated a woman with blood staining her dress at her waist, a little girl clinging to her, eyes too big for her face.
“They was claim jumping.” The accused’s shouts were silenced by someone’s boot.
Nash studied the angry crowd. Guilty or not, the man deserved to be allowed to speak. Not everyone was guilty because people said so. “Whatever this man has done, he will be dealt with lawfully.”
A dozen voices spoke at once. He knew their message without hearing the words clearly. “Who gives you the right to interfere?”
Crossing his arms and facing the angry mob without revealing the way his heart hammered, he answered. “Seems I’m the only one to show any common sense and self-control.”
“You’re not the only one.” A man in a black coat joined him. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Preacher Stone.”
Addie’s father. The end of the journey for her. And the end of his time with her.
“I’m of the same mind.” Another man stood shoulder to shoulder with Nash, and then four more joined them.
The crowd’s roar turned to angry muttering. Then, slowly, one by one, several men walked away.
He needed to act before the dozen remaining turned violent. “Is there someplace he can be locked up until a trial can be held?”
Preacher Stone answered. “There’s no jail. Just as there’s no lawman, but he could be secured at the livery barn.”
The men with Nash edged forward, turning the others in that direction.
Addie and Mrs. Stone stood by the stagecoach. The preacher called to them. “Take care of this woman and child.”
As Nash went to the barn, Addie and Mrs. Stone rushed to the injured woman. Another innocent victim of a murdering man.
Was it possible Addie would see the truth about the victims?
Would she allow the son of a murderer a chance to prove his innocence? His goodness?
Sixteen
Addie didn’t have time to study the town that would be her home. She and Mother rushed toward the injured woman and child.
Mother put her arm around the woman. “Come along. We’ll take care of you.”
When Addie tried to draw the child away, she shrank back, clinging to her mother’s skirts. Very well. She understood the fear consuming the girl. It was as familiar as her name.
“Where are we going?” Addie asked.
Mother stopped. “Why, I don’t know. Where does Mr. Stone live?”
From behind windows, they’d been watched. Perhaps seeing the confusion on Mother’s face, a buxom woman stepped from the nearest building. “I take it you’re the preacher’s wife?” At Mother’s nod, she continued. “That’s his house at the end of the street. The one with a white cross painted over the door.”
