Born to Hang

Book 4: Jeremiah Halstead Western

by Terrence McCauley

Genres: Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

WANTED FOR MURDER:
DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL JEREMIAH HALSTEAD

From critically acclaimed and commercially successful author Terrence McCauley, the action-packed Jeremiah Halstead historical western series set in Montana territory continues.
 
Jeremiah Halstead knew it would be hard to uphold the law in a buckwild boomtown like Silver Cloud, Montana. He also knew it would be easy to make some dangerous enemies. But he never counted on a foe as flat-out evil as Ed Zimmerman. This cold, conniving cutthroat may be awaiting trial, but the outlaw bounty he placed on Halstead’s head is still in effect. Warrants have been issued for Halstead’s arrest—and even his once-close friends are looking to put the blast on him. Forced into hiding in the harsh Montana wilderness, Halstead has no choice but to trust a group of friendly trappers. But as he quickly learns, some friendships come with a price. And sometimes that price is comes high—with death.
 
Alone. Desperate. Hunted like an animal. Deputy U.S. Marshal Jeremiah Halstead is about to face his day of judgment. But he won’t do it alone. He will reach out to the last person he can trust—his  former partner—and greet that fateful day with blood and agony.
 
Praise for Terrence McCauley and his acclaimed westerns
 
“A first-rate storyteller . . . nonstop action.”—Roundup Magazine

“The bullets whiz by close enough to make the reader’s hair stand on end.”
—Booklist (starred review)

“One wild, entertaining ride.” —Johnny D. Boggs

Release date: September 26, 2023

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Aaron Mackey balled up the wanted poster and threw it across his office. “Seeing Jeremiah Halstead’s face on one of those turns my stomach.” The United States Marshal for the State of Montana was furious. “And Judge Owen added that five-thousand-dollar reward on his head just to spite me.”

Deputy Marshal Billy Sunday allowed cigarette smoke to drift from his nostrils. “He surely did.”

Mackey remained angry. “He knows Jeremiah shot those men while he was arresting Zimmerman. It was legal and they weren’t real deputies. They were just hired guns, and everyone knows it.”

“Knowing it and proving it are two different things,” Billy said. “And getting angry and tossing paper around won’t change much. You held up sending out those posters for as long as you could. Now Judge Owen is threatening to hold you in contempt. If you delay it any longer, he might just throw you in jail for your trouble. Jeremiah wouldn’t want that, not on his account.”

“Judge Owen.” Mackey said the name as if it was a curse. “That crook isn’t fit to shine Halstead’s boots, much less accuse him of murder.”

Billy flicked his ash in the tray on Mackey’s desk. The black man had heard his old friend make the same argument many times in the several weeks since they had let Halstead flee Helena. And it always came down to the same fact. “You can’t control what a judge does, only what you do. And you gave Jeremiah several weeks to get clear of here. That’s more than anyone else would’ve done for him.”

Mackey did not think it was much. “It was either that or have him rot in jail all this time.” He got up from his chair and looked out the window. The sky had been a dark gray for days as snow moved in. A thin blanket of white covered the ground, boardwalks, and roofs of the city.

And he knew that if it had snowed here in Helena, it would have snowed even more up in the Flathead Mountains. That was the direction Halstead was last seen heading with supplies Mackey and Billy and arranged for him.

But Mackey had not heard from Halstead since the day he had left town. He had no idea of where Halstead was or if he was still alive. Several small settlements were scattered around the base of the mountains. They were used by trappers and miners looking to ride out the winter, but no one had reported seeing him there. Mackey knew Halstead was tough and resourceful, but no man was tougher than the elements or the terrain. Especially when they were riding alone in unfamiliar country.

Mackey looked up at the framed map of Montana on his wall as if it could find Halstead for him. “Where is he, Billy?”

The black man tucked his cigarette in his mouth as he stood and went to the map. “I’ve been giving that some thought.” He tapped on the dot representing Helena. “We know he set off from here several weeks ago in the direction of the Flatheads. He doesn’t know this land as good as we do and since he’s not much of an outdoorsman, I figured he’d look to play it safe. He’d stick to the last place he’d think anyone might look for him or find him. That means he’s probably gotten himself to the high ground and hopes to find an old mine or cave where he could hole up and ride out the winter.”

That was what Mackey had thought, too. And feared. “The supplies we gave him won’t last that long. I should’ve told him to just ride straight west into Idaho.”

“He’d know people would be expecting him to do that, which was why I think he stayed up in the Flatheads instead.” Billy frowned up at the map. “I’d wager the weather’s been mighty bad up there this past week or so and he’s probably down to the last of the supplies we gave him. If his horses are still alive, I think he’ll be riding down to the lowlands.”

That made sense to Mackey. “Go on.”

“Since he’ll be looking to stay away from the larger towns like Missoula and I don’t think he’s made it as far south as Butte, there’s a good chance he’ll be coming out somewhere in between them.” Billy’s finger come to rest on a sparsely populated part of the state near the Flatheads. “I’d say that’ll put him somewhere right around here.”

Mackey could not find any fault with his friend’s logic, but it was far from good news for Halstead. “That’s an area as big as some states back east.” The map painted an ugly picture for his deputy. His friend was out there somewhere alone, half-starved, and desperate.

Billy tried to take some of the sting out of his idea. “Jeremiah’s a good-enough shot to hunt for food but he’s probably running low on bullets by now. He doesn’t know the area, and that Texas mustang he rides isn’t meant for this kind of weather.”

Mackey sat back in his chair. “I never should’ve sent him out there alone, Billy. I should’ve kept him here while we fought this thing head-on with Judge Owen.”

“And then what?” Billy asked. “Let him rot in a cell for a crime he didn’t commit? Riker or Mannes would’ve paid a man to stick a knife in him before the trial got started and you know it.”

Mackey had known Halstead’s enemies would stop at nothing to end his life. It was why Mackey had broken the law by helping Halstead flee before the charges became official. “We could’ve made sure he was protected. Locked away where no one could get to him.”

“That wouldn’t have done any good,” Billy reminded him. “Jail’s still jail, Aaron.”

“He could’ve taken it. Weaker men have survived prison and thrived after it, too.”

“But Jeremiah’s already spent three years in an El Paso prison paying a debt he didn’t owe. Another stint inside would’ve either killed him or killed his spirit. You couldn’t do that to him and you were right to spare him from it.”

Mackey knew Billy was right. They had made the best decision at the time and there was no point in regretting it now. “All I know is that he’s somewhere out there in the wilderness. He’s alone and more scared than he wants to admit.” He tapped his finger on the large pile of wanted flyers on his desk. “And now that these have been sent all over the state, every nitwit with a rifle and a dream of getting rich will be looking to collect that reward Judge Owen put out on him. The poor kid just beat Zimmerman’s bounty only to have a judge pin another target on his back.”

“Sounds to me like you ought to think about sending someone after him.”

Mackey and Billy looked around to see Deputy Joshua Sandborne, Halstead’s friend and partner, leaning against the doorway of the office.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” Mackey scolded him.

“I grew up around cowboys and ranchers, remember?” Sandborne smiled. “I never got around to learning the ways of polite society.”

Mackey had been glad when the young man had fully recovered from the bullet wound that he had received in Battle Brook. Mackey noted the experience had robbed him of some of his boyishness, but at twenty-four, he was still the youngest deputy on his payroll. Halstead was only older by a few months.

Billy stepped away from the map. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know it sounds like Jeremiah needs some help.” Sandborne stepped farther into the office. “Help from someone who knows him and the country he’s found himself in.”

“You volunteering for the job?” Mackey asked.

“I’ve worked with him for almost a year, and although he’d be too stubborn to admit it, I know how he thinks. I can’t think of anyone who could find him faster than me.”

Mackey had never known Sandborne to be so assertive before. His wound had made him grow up some. The marshal knew pain had a way of changing a man. “What do you think about what Billy has been saying just now?”

Sandborne looked up at the map. “I’d say you’re right about him sticking to the Flatheads for as long as he could before the snow forces him down to the lowlands. He wouldn’t have gone to Idaho because he’ll be counting on you to fix his problems with Judge Owen for him. He’d want to stay close. All the more reason why you should send me out there to look for him.”

As much as he wished otherwise, Mackey knew that was a bad idea. “You’re still getting over being shot. You’re in no shape to go riding around out there by yourself in this weather. I’d be liable to be down two deputies instead of just one.”

“Except I wouldn’t need to ride much,” Sandborne said. “At least not all the way.” He took Billy’s place at the map. “I could get the train here in Helena and take it to Missoula. From there, I’ll head out to those trapper settlements you were talking about. Even if someone saw Jeremiah, we wouldn’t know about it here. The telegraph lines haven’t reached those towns yet and they don’t get regular mail in winter. There’s a chance they might not even know Jeremiah’s a wanted man until the thaw in the spring.”

“And if they know he’s wanted?” Billy asked.

“Then, when I find him, I’ll take him into custody and keep him from being strung up at the nearest tree for the reward money.”

Mackey could tell by Billy’s expression that he thought Sandborne’s idea might be a good one. The marshal was beginning to agree. “Taking the train would save you a lot of time. But as soon as you reached Missoula, you’d be right in the thick of the elements. You’d have a good day’s ride ahead of you before you reached one of the settlements. You sure that hole in your side is up to the trip?”

“It’s not just about what I want to do, boss. It’s about what needs to be done. It’s about what Jeremiah needs. Judge Owen was none too happy that you took your time sending out those wanted flyers. Sending me out after Jeremiah will prove you’re doing your job, even though you’re Jeremiah’s friend.”

Billy said, “The boy’s got a point, Aaron. The timing could work out in our favor, too.”

“Timing?” Mackey asked. “What timing?”

“One of our friends at the railroad tells me Mark Mannes is on the next train to Helena. He ought to be here in a couple of days.”

Mackey soured at the mention of the attorney who had started this mess. The man who had helped Zimmerman gain control of Valhalla and turn it into his own private estate. “He’s probably coming to deliver another payoff to his cousin Judge Owen.”

“Probably,” Billy agreed. “He also might be looking to raise a stink about you dragging your feet in the hunt for Jeremiah. Being able to say you’ve already got a man looking for him would take some of the starch out of him. It could buy us some time to find some other way to get these charges dropped.”

Mackey could see Billy was clearly working on something. Experience had taught him it would be a good idea to let it play out.

The marshal said to Sandborne, “You sure you’re up to it? There’s no shame in it if you’re not. I need Billy here with me, but I can send Lynch or one of the others instead.”

Sandborne said, “I wouldn’t volunteer for it if I didn’t know I could do it.”

He admired the younger man’s courage. At thirty-four, Mackey was far from an old man, but he was no longer young. A year ago, he would not have thought about sending Sandborne out alone, but a year was a long time. What the young deputy lacked in experience, he more than made up for in bravery and determination. His time with Halstead in Battle Brook had proved as much.

“Get yourself down to the stable and pick out the two strongest horses we’ve got. Then head over to the general store and load up all the supplies you can carry. Keep in mind that it’s not just for you, but for Jeremiah, too. I’ll want you on the next train steaming west. Send us a telegram to let us know when you’ve got him and wait for my orders. That last part is just as important as finding Jeremiah. You have to tell us when you find him. Do you understand me, deputy?”

“I understand, boss,” Sandborne said as he almost ran out the door. “I’ll get right on it.”

Mackey sat back in his chair as he watched Sandborne run to carry out his orders. “We were never that young, were we, Billy?”

“Younger,” his deputy reminded him, “and just as foolish. But we got the job done, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did.” Mackey remembered what his old friend had said earlier. “What do you have in mind for Mannes once he gets here?”

Billy took paper from his shirt pocket and began to build himself another cigarette. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”

Mackey was sure he would.

Cold.

Jeremiah Halstead used to think he understood the meaning of the word, but he had never experienced anything like this.

He had known the unrelenting heat of the furnace that was the west Texas desert. He had known what it was to be on a half-dead horse without a drop of water or a hint of shade in sight. Even now, as cold gripped him, he remembered how the heat could boil all the strength out of a man and make him beg for death.

But the ice and cold that had battered him on the Montana mountainside for a week was every bit as harsh as the Texas desert had been. Here, the water he needed to survive was all around him in the form of snow, but it was unfit to drink unless it was boiled first. With kindling for a fire in short supply, the mountain was worse than the desert. It was as if nature itself was mocking his plight.

After Mackey and Billy had allowed him to escape Helena before the murder warrant became official, Halstead had decided to hide among the nearby Flathead Mountains. He was unfamiliar with the terrain but had heard stories about how it offered many caves and mines where he and his horses could find shelter. He had been counting on the rapid approach of winter to have forced the miners and trappers off the mountain and down into the relatively warmer lowland areas.

Halstead had thought the lack of civilization would be perfect for a man on the run from the law. He had planned to stick to the high ground, to scrounge whatever he could among the abandoned mining camps he expected to find on the mountainside.

But Halstead learned too late that he had been wrong. There were no mining camps—abandoned or otherwise—among the Flatheads. The few structures he had found had long since been splintered by crushing snow and ice. He and his horses had no choice but to sleep in whatever caverns they found.

The constant cold dampness had made it impossible to get warm. The ceaseless howling wind made it difficult to sleep or keep a fire lit. Then the snow came in force.

Despite careful rationing, his supplies quickly dwindled, and hunting became a necessity. Despite being an excellent shot with a rifle, he had never been much of a hunter. He had accidentally fouled the meat of his early kills by cutting into the wrong organs with his Bowie knife. The deer and elk meat he had butchered proved difficult to cook over the weak fires he had managed to build with damp wood. Even his mustang Col and his pack horse had been hungry enough to eat meat, which he knew was bad for them, but reluctantly gave them. He had lost track of how many times he had vowed to give himself up in the next town he found in exchange for a warm bed and some hay for his weary, starving horses.

He had cursed himself for fleeing to the mountains instead of seeking refuge in Silver Cloud. He had friends there who were still grateful to him for saving the town. They would have gladly harbored him if he had asked.

But he cared too much for his friends to put them in such danger. Someone would eventually try to collect the reward he undoubtedly had on his head by now. He would never be able to live with himself if he was responsible for one of his friends getting hurt because he was a fugitive.

After waking one morning to find his pack horse had frozen to death, Halstead knew he had no choice but to come down from the mountains in search of better shelter and food. His stubborn mustang had to bear the weight of his few supplies as they trekked to the lowlands. Fortunately for the mare, the burden was light.

The constant wind on the open range grated his skin and cut into his bones with every gust. The glare from endless stretches of snow and ice made it difficult to see.

Every step was fraught with danger. Col struggled to find her footing as Halstead led her through the waist-deep snow and thick ice beneath it. He had draped his bedroll and every blanket he had across the mare’s back to keep her warm on their journey, but he knew it was not enough to protect her from the unforgiving cold. Horses were susceptible to pneumonia, and Halstead was concerned for her life, not to mention his own.

Halstead felt the ground begin to level out and thought he might be seeing things when he spotted the outline of a crooked roof in a clearing just ahead. The pines in this part of the lowlands were thicker, and the snow beneath them was only knee-deep.

Branches of bare bushes poked up from the field of white, giving Halstead hope that dead grass might still lie beneath the snow for Col. Even dead grass was better than nothing. If he could just get some food for her and some warmth for himself, they might have a chance of surviving.

Halstead pulled Col behind him as he trudged closer to the clearing. The small shack was built out of odd sizes of misshapen planks of wood. A small barn stood next to it, and the roof was in good condition. Col quickened her pace at the sight of shelter.

He pulled the mustang inside, then lifted the small sack of supplies from her back, followed by his Winchester and saddle. She had carried her burden too long and had earned a good rest. Despite the cold, he pulled off his coat and piled it on top of the blankets and bedroll on her back. He hoped the layers would help her own body heat keep her warm.

“There you are, old girl,” he whispered to her. “We’ll get ourselves fixed up in no time.”

He spotted a pile of damp hay piled in the far corner of the structure. He led her over to it and wrapped her reins around her foreleg to keep her from wandering off. The horse lowered its head to the hay and began to eat. He was glad at least one of them had found food.

He looked back at the shack and noticed the snow had drifted high against the door. The lack of smoke rising from the stovepipe told him the place was likely abandoned, but likely didn’t make it so.

Halstead pulled the Colt Thunderer from the belly rig slung on his left side and slowly approached the door. He reared back and gave it a kick, but it didn’t budge. He had to put his shoulder against it three more times before it finally opened.

He swept the shack with his pistol, looking for any movement. He had endured too much cold and hunger to be careless now.

A single window on the left wall allowed just enough gray light for him to see that no one had lived here in quite a while. Iron-jawed traps hung from nails on the walls, confirming this place had once belonged to a trapper. Dust and cobwebs coated the canned goods on the shelves and the stove in the corner beneath it. A lanky white spider scurried into the small cord of wood stacked beside it.

Halstead fought the urge to rush to the stove and start a fire as he continued to sweep his pistol to the right.

He spotted the corpse of a man on a straw mat on the floor against the far wall. He was beneath a thick pile of blankets and pelts. His long gray beard and hair reminded him of Warren Riker, but he knew this man was not him. He had left the older Riker boy dead back in Battle Brook months ago.

This man he took for an old trapper had clearly died peacefully in his sleep. The freezing winter had turned his skin gray but kept his body preserved.

Halstead slid the pistol back in its holster and slowly approached the remains. Even in death, he saw the man had a thick, sturdy frame that had undoubtedly served him well for many harsh seasons in the wild.

Halstead regretted what he had to do next. “Sorry about this, old timer, but I don’t have a choice. Life is meant for the living, and I need this place more than you do.”

He grabbed hold of the corpse by the shoulders and began to pull it free. Three large rats scurried out from beneath the blankets and pelts before running outside.

His strength sapped by unending cold and a lack of food caused Halstead to struggle as he dragged the body out into the snow to the far side of the shack. He had hoped Col would not be frightened by the sight of the dead man, but she continued to chew at the hay without notice.

Halstead grabbed his rifle, saddle, and bag of supplies. He carried them into the shack and heeled the door shut before dumping his belongings on the floor. He quickly began to load wood into the stove, found a dry match in his pocket and thumbed it alive. His hands shook as he tried to get the fire started.

It was almost as cold inside the shack as it was outside, so he took the dead man’s pelts and pulled them tight around his shoulders. The stench of death and rat droppings did not bother him. He sat on the floor in front of the stove and welcomed the growing warmth of the fire.

Halstead knew he should have counted himself lucky for having found this place, for managing to remain free despite the warrant out for his arrest. But the struggle to survive the harsh Montana winter had dulled any sense of gratitude. Not dulled it. Frozen it in place.

He was certain that word of the warrant must have reached most of the state by now. Mannes had probably talked his cousin, Judge Owen, into sweetening the pot by offering a reward for his arrest. Every lawman, bounty hunter. and fortune seeker was probably looking for him now. Halstead had survived those who had tried to collect the ten-thousand-dollar bounty that Ed Zimmerman had placed on his head, but this was different. This reward would be backed by the government. And unlike Zimmerman, they would gladly pay on delivery.

Halstead would have no choice but to treat everyone he met like a potential enemy.

Fortune had helped him find this trapper’s shack, but he knew his luck would run out eventually. He would soon have to risk going into a town, but he would worry about that later. For now—today—he had a roof over his head and hay for his horse.

He rubbed his hands in front of the stove to get warm. At least Abby was not enduring this hardship with him. She was safe back in Helena in the home they had once dreamed of enjoying together.

The thought of her warmed him now. Abigail Newman, the dark beauty who had captured his soul on the train to Battle Brook. The woman he had rescued from the clutches of a low-account gambler. The woman who had managed to save Halstead from himself when his fight against Zimmerman had almost destroyed him.

He had been forced to leave Helena without so much as a goodbye. He hoped Mackey or Billy had made her understood why. He hoped she had not grown to hate him. Such hope had sustained him through the many long and lonely nights on the mountain.

Halstead began to feel better as the fire in the stove grew warmer. He nodded off but snapped awake and pulled the blankets and pelts tighter around himself. He could not sleep yet. He had to stay awake and eat something.

But he needed warmth more than food. His mind drifted back to a recent time when he thought life would get simpler once Ed Zimmerman was dead. He had never taken joy in seeing a man hang, but the outlaw had been an exception. He had chased Zimmerman across Montana for more than a year and had begun to doubt he would ever bring him to justice. He had allowed that pursuit to consume him and drive him close to madness. But Mackey, Billy, and Joshua Sandborne had pulled him back from the brink, and he had finally seen Zimmerman dance at the end of a rope.

Halstead had never believed much in ideas like goodness and evil before but he believed in such things now. If a man could ever embody true wickedness, it had been Ed Zimmerman. There was no way to kill true evil for it always found a way to survive the grave to continue its dark work. Zimmerman had proven that when, even after his death, his attorney Mark Mannes had gotten his cousin Judge Owen to sign a murder warrant against Halstead for killing Zimmerman’s men at a train station in Wellspring.

Halstead knew he had been well within his rights. He’d had a warrant for Zimme. . .