George held his hands up in an attempt to pacify Wade.
“You know as well as I do those agents are coming to town. His brother’s death was cause enough for alarm. You go and kill this man right here, right now, what do you think will happen?”
Wade spat his response practically into Prentiss’s ear: “Do I look like a man who cares?”
Prentiss was lifted nearly off the ground. He could not believe the strength of the man, whose arm was wrapped so tightly around his neck that his tongue writhed in his throat against his will.
“Consider the very real chance,” George said, “that they decide to make an example out of you. Glass might be an ally, but these fellows coming don’t give a hoot how many buildings you own, or how much money you have. These bastards on their way have it out for men just like you. They will relish the chance to punish the most powerful they can. Think about it. For the sake of your business. For August.”
Prentiss figured George’s words might well be pure inventions, but they did the job. Wade released him, his body unclenched, and he fell to the ground in a heap, gasping for air. Before he could gather himself Hackstedde was at his back, placing irons upon his wrists. He grabbed Prentiss by the hair at the back of his head and yanked him up. His head was still ringing—the world still dizzy.
Wade took a deep breath and wiped the spittle from his face. His son looked on with such hatred that Prentiss thought he might come for him just as his father had. Yet he said not a word.
“Put that boy in a goddamn hole in the ground,” Wade said. “I want a judge sent for. By tomorrow.”
“Only judge they got circulating is Ambrose,” Hackstedde said. “He was hearing cases in Chambersville last I caught wind.”
“If I pay, how quickly can I get him here?”
“I imagine as soon as the money touches his palm.”
“Get word to him. I’ll cover the expenses. I want this boy charged and I want it done by the law. Anything less than a hanging would be a travesty. Make sure Judge Ambrose hears I said as much.”
Prentiss exchanged a glance with George, and in the hollow of the old man’s cheeks, the strain in his face, he found a look of disappointment so profound he had to turn away.
Wade fixed his collar, and as if this was a signal, the coachman came forth and opened the door for him and August.
“Now we have a wedding to attend, if you do not mind.”
Morton, still atop his horse, faced Wade with remorse in his eyes, his hat in his hand.
“Before you go off,” he said, “might I just lend you my apologies for that boy’s spitting? I take responsibility seeing as he’s the issue of my land. The Lord himself can attest to the fact that he ain’t never committed such a unholy act before, not toward me nor anyone in my home.”
Under the spell of his anger, Wade’s entire body appeared engorged, and his head, equally swollen with rage, the color of a tomato, swiveled to face Morton atop his horse.
“I imagine he was waiting for someone worth the effort. Good afternoon.”
And with a single whip from the coachman, the Weblers were off.
It was an uncomfortable moment before Morton nodded at Gail to follow him down the lane.
“Me and Mr. Webler get along rightly,” he said, fixing to leave. “He’s just in a bad mood is all.” He directed a terse command at his horse, and the two departed themselves.
This left the sheriff and his deputy. Hackstedde pulled a length of rope from his saddlebag, tied one end to the horn of his saddle and the other to Prentiss’s already shackled wrists.
George could only shake his head at Prentiss in a show of defeat.
“You were so close to being gone,” he said. “Why?”
There was no means sufficient to explain the pleasure: how fantastic it had been to gather the courage, to step forward, to give in for the first time ever to a forbidden act of protest. The joy of standing before Wade as if he had power—just for that one second—was ineffable.
“It felt good,” he told George. “That’s all I know.”
The tug of the rope, yanking him toward the horse, produced a piercing stab at his side where he’d been struck. He had the urge to vomit, but he would stay upright, no matter the pain, until he reached wherever they meant to take him. The horse settled as Hackstedde mounted him.
“We’ll figure something out,” George said.
“Let it be,” Prentiss said. “Let your family rest.”
George opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. Perhaps he realized there were no words.