Chapter 1A

Realizing that she had been staring, Carmella Casey averted her gaze. He had been on the stage only a short time before she had recognized the young man sitting across from her. He had boarded at the last station, tipped his hat, and seated himself. He seemed intent on the scenery, and paid little attention to her. She chanced another glance and felt relief that he had apparently not noticed her rather rude behavior.

How long had he been gone? It must be seven or eight years. Carmella had to admit that he had certainly matured and was now the sort of man that would not, could not, go unnoticed. What would Carmella's daughter, Maria, say when she realized Emerson Trask had returned? What about his family? Could they know?

Considering this, Carmella felt it was unlikely. Of one thing she was certain. Emerson's return would create a stir in Morgantown.

He was almost six feet tall with broad shoulders. His shirt pulled tight across his chest. He wore his dark hair short and his eyes were a gray-blue. He was without swagger, but his demeanor was one of complete confidence.

Carmella had lived in New Mexico her entire life and could not recall another man that had made such an immediate impression on her. There was something about Emerson Trask that set him apart.

Emerson had recognized Carmella Casey the instant he entered the coach, but he had been unable to greet her with more than a nod. As he sat in the stage coach, acting interested in the empty landscape, Emerson realized he should have expected to come across people he knew as he traveled to Morgantown. From the way she had been looking him over, he was positive she had identified him.

Did she share her daughter's hatred of him? Had all his childish attempts to upset Maria caused the mother to dislike him as well? As he remembered back to the fool he had been eight years ago, Emerson knew Mrs. Casey, and everyone else in Morgantown, would hold him in contempt. He had seen to that!

For the next several hours, both passengers rode in silence, each with their own thoughts. Emerson gave the impression he had fallen asleep, thus avoiding any need for conversation. For her part, Carmella was recalling the Emerson Trask that had grown up on her home range. Walt Trask, Emerson's father, had been a rugged man, but not overly ambitious. Those who had worked hard to make something for themselves and their families, were considered by Walt to be lucky, while he was not. It had come as little surprise to the citizens of Morgantown when word reached them that Walt had died in a Mexican Cantina, fighting over a losing hand of poker.

Left behind were a young widow and a twelve-year old son, and very little else. Carmella knew that Emerson had learned from his father to resent the success and even the happiness of others. He also came to share his father's dislike of all non-Anglos. That took in a large part of the population of New Mexico. Carmella, was a granddaughter of a Spanish Don, who had owned a large land grant a few hundred miles South of Morgantown.

Walt Trask's prejudices were not uncommon in New Mexico. Many Anglos resented the heavy influence those of Spanish descent carried in the territory. Many others, however, lived and worked with people of many varied backgrounds without discrimination.

Emerson had been a bitter, unhappy child. His only pleasure seemed to come in tormenting the other youth of the area. Carmella's own daughter, Maria, often was the focus of Emerson's anger. Maria always fought back, but more than once Carmella had discovered her crying in her room after an encounter with Emerson.

Carmella thought back to the day Emerson had left the basin. Maria had been miserable. It took a couple of weeks before she returned to normal, but Carmella suspected Maria still thought about Emerson. When his name came up in a conversation, Maria seemed to perk up. She would do her best to appear unconcerned, but Carmella had picked up on the trend. If there was news of Emerson, Maria would have as many questions as it took to learn everything the speaker knew.

Faking sleep, Emerson was also thinking back to his life on this range. He had given his mother nothing but trouble. Then it had gotten much worse when Miguel Hernandez started courting his mother the summer Emerson turned sixteen. Pat Casey had offered Emerson a riding job. Looking back, Emerson realized Pat had done so in an effort to help both his mother, and him. He had been filled with pride and swagger riding for the KC.

He also came to know and respect Carmella Casey. Her kindness to him, and her almost regal manner had begun to make him question some of his beliefs. She was still a very attractive woman. Her Spanish blood was apparent. She was dark and, Emerson always felt, mysterious looking. He remembered the kindness and tolerance she had demonstrated toward him and others. Whenever Emerson heard the word "lady" used, he automatically thought of Carmella Casey.

Then there was Maria. At the time, he would not admit to himself that he wanted to work for the Caseys because of Maria. Seeing her every day was almost more than he could stand. Two years younger than Emerson, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had her mother's dark hair, with a slightly fairer complexion. Emerson recalled how she had been a bit of a tomboy, but her beauty would never allow anyone to mistake her for a male.

An indication of his foolishness was his treatment of the girl he had come to worship. The only way he was comfortable with her was insulting and hurting her. Emerson had been unable to accept or understand his emotions. He even felt guilt for being so drawn to a girl of Spanish blood. Recalling his actions, Emerson had often wished for the chance to change the past.

How would Maria react when she saw him? It probably wouldn't be pleasant. He had been foolish and cruel to a girl that was as sweet as an angel. Was she married now? It certainly was possible, even likely. She would be twenty-two now, and beautiful. She was eight years ago.

Emerson thought back with some pride to the day he had come to Maria's aid. It was that same summer. He had stopped in town for some supplies.

Entering the general store, Emerson had come upon Maria and Len Hogan. The clerk was no where to be seen. Maria had tears running down her cheeks as she faced Hogan from a corner. Hogan was speaking as Emerson walked through the doorway. Apparently, Hogan had not heard Emerson, as his attention remained solely on Maria.

Emerson and Len Hogan had been frequent adversaries as teenagers. Len was two years older than Emerson and much stronger. He possessed an animal cruelty equal to his prodigious strength. He delighted in beating smaller and younger boys. Emerson had felt the pain behind Hogan's punches on several occasions. Still, he had been one youth in the entire area that would not allow Hogan to bully him. Hogan had learned to expect a fight when their paths crossed. As a result, Len Hogan often left Emerson alone.

"You're a nervy little Mex," Emerson heard Hogan say. "Do you think you're too good for me because your daddy has a big ranch? I know how you Mexican girls are. I want-"

"A lesson in manners," Emerson finished Len's sentence. "You must be feeling pretty tough today, Len, to abuse a girl."

Maria gave Emerson a look he had never forgotten. He realized just how frightened Maria was and how very glad she was to see him.

Hogan turned to face Emerson, still keeping Maria cornered. "Why don't you mind your own business, Trask? You have no use for Mexicans either."

Emerson could see the fear in Maria's face. It was obvious that Len had done more than hurt her feelings. He had terrified Maria, and Emerson could only guess what Len intended,. if given the opportunity.

An uncontrollable anger swept over Emerson. Maria's terror caused him to forget the beatings he had received from Hogan in the past. Without another word, Emerson swung.

Emerson was a big, strong boy of sixteen and the punch had power behind it. Hogan staggered back as Emerson's fist connected with his chin.

Len Hogan had fifty pounds on Emerson and he used it. After shaking his head clear, he charged Emerson. The collision sent Emerson falling backward into the street. Hogan was sprawled in the dust near him. There the two stood up and went toe to toe.

Emerson was faster and hurt Len several times. That only seemed to increase Hogan's fury and strength. Eventually, Hogan's strength and weight proved too much for Emerson.

Hogan beat Emerson to the ground, but Emerson would struggle to his feet and go back after Hogan. Emerson remembered how Hogan seemed horrified as he would knock Emerson down, only to have him come back for more.

"Stay the Hell down," he screamed as he hit Emerson again and again. Finally, the time came when Emerson could not get up. Hogan stood over him, his breath coming in great gasps. He was bloodied and shaken. Seeing that Emerson would not rise again, Hogan had turned and lurched to his horse, slowly mounting and leaving town.

Emerson was conscious, but badly beaten. Maria came to his side with a wet cloth and began to wipe the blood from his face. Emerson remembered the shame he felt. He had taken a terrible beating in front of Maria. That knowledge hurt more than the many places Hogan's fists had landed.

He tried again to get up, but couldn't. He lay back down, his head somehow ended up in Maria's lap. It was then Carmella Casey came upon them.

Carmella had been in the hotel. She heard the commotion outside and went out to see what had caused it. As she stepped into the sunlight, she saw Len Hogan riding by the hotel, his face covered in blood. Turning down the street, she saw Emerson struggle to sit up, only to fall back down. Her daughter caught Emerson's head in her lap and was wiping blood from his face.

Cameral hurried to help Maria and Emerson. Maria was crying as she worked on Emerson's swollen, bloody face.

"Did he fight with Len Hogan again?" asked Carmella. "Why would he do that when he gets hurt so badly?"

Maria sobbed, "It was because Hogan-"

"Pushed me too far, Maria," Emerson croaked. "I thought I'd be able to take him this time. Thanks for helping me. I guess I took a real beating this time."

Maria sensed that Emerson didn't want Carmella to know why they fought. She was silent as her mother helped her get Emerson up and out of the street.

"Emerson, you have to stop fighting with that animal," Carmella had told him. "You are much too nice a boy to have this happen. Look how upset Maria is."

Maria was crying again as she watched Emerson try to walk. She had seen him take a terrible beating to protect her, and she felt responsible. The two women helped Emerson on his horse and rode back to the ranch with him.

Emerson remembered how long that ride seemed. Two women had to help him on his horse and take him to the ranch. Once there, he practically fell off his horse and staggered into the bunk house. Although it was early afternoon, Emerson crawled into his bunk and slept. It was the next morning before he woke.

His face was purple and swollen. He could not touch it without pain. When he sat up his head started spinning and he became nauseous. Pat Casey came in to see him as he lay on the bunk.

"You'll have to lay in bed another day or two. That must have been some fight! What set it off this time, Emerson?"

"Boss, he was saying things I couldn't take, and he thought I would be afraid to stand up to him. Maybe, I should be. He sure gave me a beating."

"Emerson, I have a hunch Hogan isn't feeling too good this morning, either. I hope this ends it between you two. Your handsome mug can't take much more of this."

Emerson fell back asleep. The next time he opened his eyes, Maria was placing damp cloths on his face.

"Maria, I rather you didn't see me like this. I'll be as good as ever in a couple of days," Emerson told the girl as he squinted through one eye.

"I brought some soup for you. I didn't think you would be able to chew very well. I also wanted to thank you for keeping that brute Hogan away from me. I will never let myself be alone with him again. He was like an animal! I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come in. Then I was so afraid you would leave when he told you to."

"I wasn't much help," Emerson replied. "He beat the stuffing out of me." Then Emerson added, "I think it would be better if you don't tell your Dad about Hogan. He might shoot him or something and get in big trouble."

"Emerson, you were great. You gave him something to remember you by. I don't think he will be eager to try you again," Maria answered.

Looking back, Emerson knew that was the friendliest he and Maria had ever gotten. It was only a couple of weeks later, Emerson earned Maria's hatred.

How clearly he remembered that fateful day in September. It was a Saturday and most ranchers were in Morgantown enjoying dinner at the hotel, as was the custom. It was the only social activity most of them had. Riding into town, Emerson saw Maria. She obviously had something she could not wait to tell him.

"Have you heard the news? Your mother and Miguel are going to get married!" she gleefully told Emerson as he dismounted. This was something that Emerson had seen coming, but had never accepted. He felt the need to hurt Maria, simply because she had been the one to voice it, and because she enjoyed telling him something she should know would devastate him.

Emerson remembered how Maria's laughter disappeared when he turned on her and snarled, "You people think you can become Americans by marrying one, but nothing you can ever do will make you one of us!"

These memories were really painful for Emerson. What was he thinking when he decided to return to Morgantown? Although he had tried, he could not forget how he had charged into the hotel dining room and attacked Miguel as he sat with Emerson's mother, eating dinner. Miguel never attempted to defend himself and Emerson had sent him crashing over backwards in his chair. Sam Cook, the town Marshall, and an occupant of a nearby table, had grabbed Emerson and dragged him from the room. Emerson spent that night in jail and the next morning was placed on a stage headed East.

Feeling the stage halt, Emerson opened his eyes, and met those of Carmella Casey looking at him. He knew that he would have to face the people of Morgantown at some point. Emerson decided Carmella Casey would be a good place to start.

"Mrs. Casey, I fear I have been rude. It has been my pleasure to share this coach with you, although I have been poor company. Can I help you down?" With that Emerson opened the door, stepped out and offered his hand to the smiling Mrs. Casey.

"Thank-you, Emerson, and since we still have a ways to travel, you shall have the opportunity to make it up to me." With that she walked to the way station in the warm spring sun. Emerson crossed to the horses and helped the driver switch to a fresh team. Emerson could read approval in the old man's eyes as they quickly completed their task.

Thirsty, he then walked to the station for a drink. As he entered, Emerson saw three men standing at a plank bar with an empty bottle close at hand. They were directing their attention to Mrs. Casey, who was seated at the only table.

The tension on Carmella Casey's face told Emerson these men were not friends. They were obviously under the influence of the whiskey they had been drinking. They gave Emerson a quick glance and again turned their attention to Carmella.

"Why don't you come over and have a drink with us?" A big, dirty red-headed man, and the apparent leader of this ragtag group, was lurching toward Carmella as he spoke.

"Can't stand an uppity Mex. Maybe you'll enjoy the company of some real men, once you get off your high horse!" With that he crossed in front of Emerson to reach Mrs. Casey.

Emerson had seen men like this often. He realized that a man that would accost a lady could not be dealt with in a civil manner. Through out Red's tirade, Carmella had remained seated. The only indication that she had heard Red was a coloring of her neck and cheeks.

Emerson placed his hand on the man's chest. "Mister, why don't you go back and sit down? We'll be leaving shortly, and you can run your mouth all you want then."

Red looked at Emerson, understanding slowly sinking in. "Run my mouth? Run my mouth? I'll show you who's running their mouth!" Red then sent a big right fist at Emerson's chin.

Blocking it with his left arm, Emerson brought his own right around. It started by his shoulder and traveled about a foot, but everyone heard it connect with Red's face. Red dropped to the floor and did not stir again.

Emerson turned to face the other two. They were looking in disbelief at Red's unmoving form. A graying man in his fifties, the next closest man licked his lips and stared at Emerson. He would present no problem. Emerson quickly dismissed him and faced Red's other companion. A slight smile spread across the face of the third drinker as his hand started for the Colt tied at his right side.

Unarmed, Emerson saw the man's intentions and remained still. The smile suddenly evaporated from the gunman's face. Emerson heard the old driver in the doorway as the gunman's gaze was directed that way.

"I don't mean to interrupt anything, but the stage has a schedule and it's pulling out right away." He cradled a scatter gun in his arms as he spoke. Emerson realized this old timer had probably saved his life.

The would-be gunman found his voice. "Fella, you just made a big mistake. Red Gately sure isn't the forgiving type, and you won't be able to sucker punch him next time. When he's finished, I'll have to shoot you just to end your misery. Nobody bucks the lazy T."

"Red needs manners. You boys are lacking in that area as well. I'll be around Morgantown for awhile and be giving lessons out to gents like you. There won't be any fee, except for how Red may be feeling when he wakes up from his nap."

With that Emerson offered Carmella his arm. She gracefully stood, stepped over the prone shape on the floor, and walked to the stage tightly gripping Emerson's arm. The old driver followed and as he climbed up to his seat Emerson gave the man a nod. They both understood how close things had been.

"Young fella, you'd better be able to back your talk with more than fists. That was Stan Mosher and he's kilt more than one man with that .44"

Emerson climbed into the stage, as the driver snapped his whip. The team headed on the last leg of his journey home. Mrs. Casey was gazing intently at him as he took his seat.

"I must thank you for your assistance, but I fear you may be in some danger now. Red Gately is considered a tough man, but the real danger will come from that little weasel, Stan Mosher. He is a gunman in the employ of Mr. Tom Taylor, who controls a good portion of this range."