Cast the First Stone

Cast the First Stone

         "String him up, boys!" Sheriff Carl Morton shouted to the other three members of the posse.

         A rope was yanked from a saddle, and a hangman's noose began to take shape in the rough hands of Jeb Jacobs. Cal Bartlett and Dewey Mason tied the hands of Bret Tatom securely behind him with strips of leather, then boosted him, struggling, up onto the back of his shivering, frothy-mouthed horse. After two days of hard riding through nearly two feet of snow in pursuit of Tatom, none of the men were in a good mood. Now, a short distance from town, they'd found a tree stout enough and high enough from which to hang the murdering drifter.

         Jacobs, owner of a small ranch, completed the noose and tossed the free end of the rope over a limb twelve feet above the ground. Sheriff Morton caught the end of the rope and tied it tight around the trunk of the tree with cold-numbed fingers. Older, and given to fat, the pursuit and capture of Tatom had worn him down. He wanted only to be done with the task at hand and be home in time for Christmas dinner.

         Bartlett, a drover with sad eyes and big ears, reached up and grabbed the front of Tatom's vest and pulled him sideways in the saddle so Jacobs could slip the noose over Tatom's head and secure it around his thick, grimy neck.

         Mason held the reins of Tatom's horse, steadying the nervous animal. As proprietor of the town's general store, he was unaccustomed to outdoor activities, and his face and hands were nearly frostbitten. Too, his storekeeper's rear was blistered and bleeding from the days in the saddle.

         "Any last words?" Morton asked Tatom.

         Tatom's cruel, sunken eyes squinted and his paper cut slit of a mouth curled at one corner. "Yeah, I got somethin' to say. Untie my hands and take this noose off'n me you fat bastard, and I'll kill your sorry ass where ya stand."

         "You're done with killin' and rapin', Tatom. That little gal weren't but fifteen years old. Pretty gal 'fore you got a'holt of her," Bartlett said.

         Tatom spat in Bartlett's direction. "Pretty and pure. Best I've had in some time. She hadn't a'started screamin', I wouldn't had'ta use my fists and knife on her," Tatom said without any sign of remorse. "And if her old man hadn't tried to stop me, he'd still be breathin'."

         "Enough! Go to hell where the likes of you belongs!" the sheriff exploded, raising his hand, preparing to slap Tatom's horse on the rump and send the animal running.

         "Wait! Stop!" a voice called out from behind the hanging party.

         They turned to see John Perkins, the young town preacher, reining his horses to a snow-flinging halt. Perkins set the brake on the buggy, swung down, and approached the men from town. They all tipped their hats in respect. "You come out to say a final prayer for this buzzard, Preacher?" Sheriff Morton asked.

         "No. I came out to stop you. This man hasn't had a trial. Your vigilante justice will give our town a bad name, and pave the way to hell for all of you," Perkins said.

         Mason scratched at his sleet damp neck. "But we know he's guilty, Preacher. Old Tom in town seen him shoot Sally May's father, and he found the girl all cut up and vi'lated in their cabin. Don't need no trial."

         Over six foot tall and powerfully built, Perkins elbowed the men aside and took the reins of Tatom's horse from Mason. "I just returned from a five day trip to Shotgun City -- haven't even been home yet. As soon as I got to town they told me what you were doing out here. You men sit in my church every Sunday. Does nothing I say get through to you? What gives you the right to act as judge, jury and executioner? Remember 'Do unto others'? And 'Thou shall not kill'? Or 'He who is without sin, let him cast the first stone'? What you're about to do makes you no better than the man sitting on this horse."

         Bartlett's sad eyes became even sadder, and his big ears reddened as blood raced to his face. "You sayin' if'n we kill Tatom here we'll be damned to hell?"

         "I am. Let the law handle this. The circuit judge is due in two weeks. Lock Tatom up until he can have a fair trial, then let the judge decide his punishment."

         "After what he did, Preacher?" Jacobs asked between clenched teeth.

         "Yes. It's true, horrible things were done, but still no excuse for hanging this man without a trial. He will, in the end, be judged only by God -- as will we all."

         "You tell 'em, preacher man," Tatom snorted. "I get a trial. It's the law."

         The four posse members twitched and shuffled, eyes on the dirty white ground. Finally, Sheriff Morton spoke, "Guess we can wait two weeks for the judge to come through. Might be easier on our consciences to take care'a this after Christmas."

         Perkins smiled, knowing he had saved Tatom's life and the souls of four members of his flock. "Bow your heads with me, men, as I give thanks to the good Lord for His guidance, wisdom and mercy."

         Chins dropped, and eyes closed as Perkins began. "Heavenly Father, we thank You today for showing these men the way and the truth, and preventing them from making a mistake that would keep them from entering Your glorious kingd . . ."

         The neighing of an approaching horse interrupted Perkins' prayer. Josh Kilkinney, one of Jacobs' ranch hands, rode up and reined in beside Sheriff Morton. "God, Sheriff, ya gotta come quick! I was just out at Preacher Perkins' place, checking on his wife, 'cause no one had seen her in town for a few days. She - she's dead, Sheriff! Cut up and -- well, you know, same as Sally May. And the baby! How could he do that to a baby! Tatom's the devil himsel . . ."

         Kilkinney choked off his words when he saw Perkins, half hidden behind Tatom's horse.

         Perkins, his breath caught in his chest, jacked his head upward until his eyes met Tatom's. Tatom shrugged. "She weren't as good as the young gal, but passable."

         The preacher grimaced. Tears flooded his blue eyes, and he screamed his pain. "Dear God, nooo!" Releasing his hold on the reins, he sharply slapped the flank of Tatom's horse and watched in silence as Tatom dropped, kicked, and jerked briefly, then was still.

The End

DM