Page 92 of West Wind

Withers turned away from him. Shelley watched through hooded eyes, ready to draw his Colt if he had to, as the woman stood and turned around.

Woman was a questionable word. He dropped his hand to his side. Sarah Jane Withers didn’t look to be much more than sixteen years old. She placed a hand over her swollen belly and smiled sweetly.

“Is this gentleman staying for supper, Billy?” she asked with a gentle Southern drawl. “It ain’t fancy but we got plenty.”

The bank robber took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “No, honey. He’s… he’s takin’ me in.”

Sarah Jane’s smile evaporated; her eyes widened as she looked at Shelley in horror. “What for? He didn’t do anything. Those men, they made it sound so simple, but Billy didn’t draw his gun, and he didn’t take a penny of that money.”

“He was there,” Shelley said coldly. “Tell it to the judge. I’m just interested in the reward.”

“He’s a bounty hunter, Sarah Jane,” Withers explained in a surprisingly comforting voice. “He caught me fair and square, and I reckon he’s right. I’ll tell the judge what happened and…”

“We’re going back to the farm, sir.” Sarah Jane broke away from her husband, ran a few awkward steps, and grabbed Shelley’s arm. “There ain’t no gold on the ground here, like they said there was. We was just desperate, what with the baby coming and all. That’s the only reason Billy agreed to ride with those men. But he didn’t hurt anybody. We just want to go home. Billy ain’t no criminal. Please, mister. Please.”

Shelley turned his back on her. He couldn’t stand to have her stare up into his face with those wide brown eyes, paler than Annie’s, more scared than Annie’s had ever been. A couple of damn kids. In all his years of hunting wanted men he’d never been swayed by a story, and he’d heard them all. He’d had offers of money, double and triple the offered reward. He’d listened as stories of ailing mothers and pregnant wives and hard times went in one ear and out the other. He’d never even considered letting a wanted criminal... a bank robber... go on his way.

“Where is this farm?” he asked, his words clipped and coarse.

“Kansas,” Sarah Jane answered. “It’s Billy’s pa’s farm, and he always said we could stay there.”

“Ever been to Ellsworth?” Shelley asked, his back to the couple as he rummaged through his saddlebags.

“No, sir,” she answered seriously. “That’s a right wild cow town. My mama wouldn’t allow me to…”

She snapped her mouth shut when Shelley spun back around to face her. “I’ve done some stupid things in my life, and it looks like I’m about to add to the list.”

Sarah Jane paled; her honey brown eyes widened. She took her husband’s arm and backed away two tentative steps.

Shelley would’ve reached for her arm, but that would only terrify her more. “I’m not goin’ to hurt you, darlin’. I’m not goin’ to take your husband in, neither. Dammit. Gettin’ soft in my old age.”

Sarah Jane grinned and held Billy’s arm even tighter. “Do you mean it? Are you really goin’ to let us go?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind. But if you expect to make it all the way back to Kansas you’re goin’ to have to make some changes.”

“What kinda changes?” Bill asked.

Shelley grimaced as he held the wanted poster in front of the young man’s face. “This is a damn fine likeness, wouldn’t you say?”

Withers took the poster and studied it closely. There was no hiding the fact that he was the man in the sketch. The shoulder-length red hair, the sparse mustache, even the shape of his narrow chin was nearly perfect.

“I’m not the only bounty hunter between here and Kansas, and you’re gonna have to stop now and again for supplies. Shave that dang mustache for starters,” he snapped. “Poor excuse for a mustache, anyway. And cut your hair. Short!” he commanded. “Damn red hair,” he muttered under his breath, circling around the confused couple. “Boil yourself up some strong coffee and rinse it through your hair. Let it cool first,” he said, leaning closer to Billy’s face. The boy was obviously not too bright, and he couldn’t have this kid cooking his scalp. “And for God’s sake, if someone walks up to you and asks if your name is Billy Withers, tell them no!”

Sarah Jane threw her arms around her husband’s neck and began to sob, long wracking sobs that tore from her fragile body.

Shelley looked beyond her head to Withers’ face, who stroked his wife’s hair and held her close. “What’s she doin’ that for?”

“She cries a lot lately,” Billy said, clearly not quite understanding his wife’s outburst, but accepting it just the same. “When she’s sad, when she’s happy, sometimes for no reason at all.”

Shelley let them convince him to stay for supper, after Sarah Jane dried her tears. He was still disgusted with himself for deciding not to turn the boy in, but he wouldn’t change his mind. The kid was no criminal. What if someone had turned Annie in before the truth had come out?

He told them that once they crossed the Sierra Nevada they’d probably be safe. Withers’ name and the posted reward were known within the state, but he wasn’t big enough to warrant a country-wide search.

“We don’t even know your name, mister,” Sarah Jane said as she handed him a cup of strong coffee.

“Most folks just call me Shelley,” he said, raising the tin cup to his mouth.

Billy sat a few feet away, shaving as directed. His eyes went wide. “I heard of you.” It was clear that he was now even more surprised about his reprieve, given Shelley’s reputation as a bounty hunter.