Grave Circumstances by Julie Egar

“WHAT’RE YOU SO SKITTISH about?” Will Fletcher studied Jasper Clintock.

“Steady boy, you’re cooling down real nice.” Jasper kept his voice low as he wiped the frothy sweat from his horse with a wet rag.

Will couldn’t help but notice a trickle of blood ooze down the back of Jasper’s hand. Just then a thundering of hooves broke open the quiet day.

“It’s little Mary and Lacey, the Dalton twins. Why, the two of them put together—it’s hardly enough to make one whole girl,” Will said as a huge mule galloped past them, two girls glued to its bare back, their blonde hair flying, dresses hiked past their knees, bare feet pounding against the animal’s ribs. Mary had her head buried in her sister’s back, arms wrapped tight around a waist no wider than a fence post. Lacey clung to the mule’s stiff mane with both hands, leaning forward with her chin bouncing along the side of its neck. She pulled hard on the mane and rounded the mule toward the jail.

“Whoa, Jack!” she called out.

Will Fletcher took off running, his rifle held tight to his side. “Now what has Dunbar Dalton done? Drinkin’ again, I bet. It’s bad enough he thinks his old mule talks to him and his rooster tells him when to plant corn.”

Lacey pried her sister’s fingers from her waist. “Stay put, Mary. I got to talk to the sheriff.”

Lacey slid down the side of the spent mule, tears streaming down her dirty face. She sucked at the dusty air, arms pumping at her sides as she ran up the steps of the boardwalk. She banged both fists on the jailhouse door. The sheriff poked his head out, his eyes taking in the scene before him, the tips of his handlebar moustache pointing toward the clear Sunday sky.

“Lacey Dalton?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, what’s the matter, girl?” The sheriff knelt and gripped Lacey’s arms with his leathery hands.

“Pa went to do the milking while Mary and me set the table for supper. Mama went to fetch Pa. After a while Pa came in. Mama didn’t come back, so I went to fetch her. I found her—sitting next to the water trough—soaking wet. I quick fetched Pa. He scooped up Mama, carried her in and put her on the bed. He set to slapping her hard across the face, said it would wake her up.”

Lacey sobbed so hard she could scarcely finish. “Pa was still slapping her when me and Mary left. We jumped on Jack to come get you, fast as we could.”

News traveled fast in Mandan City. Men poured out of the saloon, the church, the mercantile, and ran toward the jailhouse. Jasper Clintock was at the front of the line.

Mary Dalton’s eyes scanned the men from her perch on old Jack’s back, her little fingers digging into the faithful mule’s sweaty spine as the sheriff jumped to his feet.

The sheriff shouted out to everyone within hearing distance, “Saddle up boys, we’re heading to the Dalton place.”

Lacey tugged at the sheriff's sleeve. "Pa's got his big gun."

Sheriff Bridger swore under his breath.

Lacey tugged again. "Doc Hawley?"

Just then, Doc sprinted around the corner of the livery with his black bag in hand. Will Fletcher was hooking Doc's horse to his buggy.

“All set, Doc,” Will said as he helped Doc up and threw the reins in the old man’s lap.

Doc called out, “Lacey, git on over to my place. Martha will take care of you and Mary until we get this sorted out.”

By the time Doc smacked the reins on the horse’s back and took off after the makeshift posse, the sun was setting low in the sky.

When the posse arrived at Dunbar Dalton’s spread, they found Dunbar there, standing knee deep in a freshly-dug grave. There was no shovel in sight. In fact, no shovel was ever discovered. Dunbar’s shotgun was propped against the rail fence. All Dunbar had to do was reach out and grab it.

Sheriff Bridger, at the front of the posse, tipped his hat. “Howdy Dunbar, what’re you doing?”

“Old Jack has gone and dug a grave for two from this family, and it’s my job to fill it.”

“I see.” The sheriff looked around. “And where might Ester be?”

“Yonder.” Dunbar tipped his head toward a long, low building.

Doc climbed down from his buggy and headed into the cabin. He came back and shook his head.

Dunbar snatched up his shotgun, quick as a rattlesnake, and aimed it at the sheriff. “You best leave here right now.”

In one easy motion Dunbar pulled back the hammer on the shotgun with his thumb.

Jasper Clintock drew his pistol at the same time Will Fletcher pulled the trigger on his rifle.

—

EVERYONE IN MANDAN CITY turned out for Ester Dalton’s funeral, she being a fine, upstanding woman in the community, always ready to lend a helping hand.

Pearl Beckwirth frowned in the direction of little Mary and Lacey, who were decked out in their best Sunday dresses, as she leaned in toward Mabel Barnes. “Did you hear? There were scratches under the water inside the trough—and blood. There were slivers of wood found under Ester’s fingernails from when he held her head under….” Pearl couldn’t go on.

Mabel glanced over her shoulder as she whispered, “Yes, I heard. What I don’t understand is why Dunbar said his mule had dug a grave for two, and Ester’s the only one in it.”

Pearl raised one eyebrow and gave Mabel a look that answered the question in a way she didn’t have to say anything..

Mabel gasped. “Ruby Baker said Dunbar’s rooster told him Ester was not to have any more children.”

“Seems Dunbar’s rooster forgot to mention that to Jasper Clintock. If Will Fletcher hadn’t figured it out everyone would have thought….”

“... Dunbar did it.”

“So that’s why, tomorrow, they’re lynching a wounded man.”

Julie Eger writes under the names Julie Eger, A.J. Lawdring, and Copper Rose, perforates the edges of the page while writing, and believes anything is possible for those who believe anything is possible. Julie lives in Wisconsin with her husband and a black Golden Doodle. She has raised two sons and has been accused of playing well with others. Her poem “Free Falling Eagles” won reader’s choice in “Cadence” the Clarendon House 2018 poetry anthology. Her sci-fi story “Special of the Day” written as Copper Rose was the winner of the author of the month prize in November of 2018. She placed in the top three stories for The Great Clarendon House Writing Challenge in 2019. Julie Eger’s credits (under her own name and her pen names) include eighteen anthologies at Clarendon House Publications and numerous online journals and other anthologies. She also understands there really is something about pie. You can connect with her at https://julieceger.wordpress.com.