TO CATCH A WOLF By Susan Krinard

“You… want revenge,” his father panted, opening one red-rimmed eye. “You want to see me die slow, don’t you?”

Morgan hung his head, the emotion so choked up inside him that he thought he would strangle on it. “I don’t hate you, Pa.”

“Then help me!” Aaron moaned. “Have mercy. Mercy.”

The sun rose higher, promising another warm day. It traced all the tendons and veins standing out in Aaron Holt’s neck and hands. Nothing in its caress could comfort Morgan’s father, now or ever.

Morgan got up. He walked to the pile of rocks where Aaron had concealed his revolver, and shoved the stones aside. The gun felt heavy and awkward in his hand. He had never carried one; he didn’t need it, being what he was.

But Aaron Holt was human.

“Bless you, boy,” he whispered. “God… bless you.”

With the gun loose at his side, Morgan stood over his father and stared up the hillside where rows of evergreens marched upward to the sky. “Is there anything you want me to tell Mother and Cassidy?”

His father only closed his eyes. “The head,” he croaked. “That’s the fastest way. I won’t… feel it. No more pain. Blessed… peace.”

Morgan hated him then, more than he had ever done. He lifted the gun and thought of all the times he had dreamed of facing Aaron Holt and making him wish he were dead.

Aaron Holt wished he was dead. That was all. He had nothing to give, no amends to make, no regrets. Only one last demand from the son he had abandoned.

“Please,” he whispered. “Damn you. Damn you.”

The sun wheeled madly overhead. Morgan’s hand began to tremble. He made a fist. The trembling stopped.

“Now. Do it… now.”

Morgan raised the revolver and took aim with exquisite care.

“Thank… God,” Aaron whispered.

Morgan fired once. Between one moment and the next, Aaron Holt’s pain was over. The echo rang across the hills, and crows rose up from a nearby pine with raucous cries.

An old miner and his mule emerged from the underbrush. Morgan was distantly aware of the man’s frightened face and the way he glanced from Morgan to the body and back again.

“You kilt him,” the old man said.

“He was my father,” Morgan said. There were no tears. No feeling at all.

The old miner gripped his mule’s halter as if for dear life. “We was comin’ to check up on ‘im. Hadn’t heard in a week. Now he’s dead.” He narrowed his eyes. “You were his son?”

Two other men came up behind the miner, both in rough garb and weathered with years in the mountains. “Hank! You all right?” one of them said. He stared at Morgan. “We heard the shot. What the hell?”

“Aaron’s dead,” Hank said. “His own son shot him.”

The newcomers started for Morgan and stopped at the sight of the gun. Morgan let it fall from his fingers. One of the men circled him cautiously and darted in to snatch the gun.

“He’s dead, all right,” the second man said grimly, bending over the body. “You saw him do it, Hank?”

“Well, I…” The old man chewed the frayed ends of his moustache. “I heard them quarrel afore, back in March during the thaw. Didn’t know the boy was Aaron’s son. But…”

“We got to take you to town, boy,” the man with the gun said, aiming it at Morgan’s chest.

“I did hear Aaron tell him to do it,” the old miner stammered. “He looks in a bad way. Maybe it was a mercy.”

“That’s for the law to decide.” The first man nodded to the second. “Get some rope, Bill. Can’t take no chances with a man who’d murder his own pa.”

Hank opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly closed it again. Morgan waited quietly while Bill tied his hands behind his back. He welcomed the discomfort when the men dragged him back to their claim a mile away and talked of how they would get him to town and hand him over to the law. He could have escaped them easily, but he did not.

He didn’t defend himself when he went to trial. Old Hank spoke of what he had heard, how Aaron Holt seemed to beg to be killed, and the local doctor testified that Aaron had been in the grip of fatal gangrene poisoning and must have been suffering unbearable pain.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *