Vengeance Was Hers

Prologue

From time immemorial, virgin lands yet unplowed, untamed, and unsettled have served as irresistible magnets for hardy men and women wanting to peer over the next horizon. Undeterred by reports of outlaws, violence and hardship, many of these pioneers came to Texas while it was still part of Mexico: more came after the Texas revolution. Eventually, some of these venturesome folks infiltrated the Indian Territory, later called Oklahoma.

The early settlers of the Southwestern United States were generally brave and strong-willed; some disregarded warnings of lawlessness, while others arrived woefully misinformed concerning the dangers and pitfalls awaiting them in the new land. Many settlers came because of an unquenchable thirst for a piece of land they could call their own. Others came to escape justice for their crimes. Nevertheless, the vast majority of the early pioneers adjusted to the hostile land and soon established farms, ranches, towns, businesses and churches throughout the mountains, hills, valleys and prairies of the Southwest.

These early pioneers were mostly law-abiding, church-going, penniless, determined and diverse people representing every occupation and lifestyle known during those times. In the early days of the settlements, they had to deal with murderers, cattle rustlers, bank robbers and petty thievery.

Eventually, for the most part, the settlers became successful and they achieved peace and prosperity in the wide-open spaces of the Southwest. Unexpectedly, the tranquility of one small town and its surrounding community is suddenly disrupted when the citizens have to face the fact that a local ranch family stands accused of a string of hideous crimes dating back for years.

In this western novel Vengeance was Hers, evidence of unthinkable crimes is revealed to the law-abiding and peace-loving citizens of Deadman Falls. The rape, torture, and attempted murder of a rancher’s daughter awaken the citizenry to the stark reality of the harsh land they call home. Then investigations lead local officials and U.S. Marshals to a ranch house where merciless crimes of rape, torture and murder took place. The revelation of these horrendous crimes strike fear in the community, leaving an outraged citizenry, distrustful of each other, and demanding action from the authorities.

The violated daughter—Susan Boatwright—survives the degrading abuse and mental anguish inflicted by her rapist and his attempt to murder her. During her nightmarish ordeal, she vows to avenge the crime committed against her body. The rapist’s vile and hateful acts shatter her heart’s desire to present her future husband a precious and intimate gift. She feels soiled and ruined for life. Much later, she learns that her rapist, his brother and deceased father used their ranch as a hangout for outlaws and a place to violate and kill women. This revelation, and the ever-mindful wanton killing of her father, intensifies her quest for justice. She renews her vow that vengeance would be hers.

In her quest for vengeance, Sue Boatwright experiences many harrowing events and narrow escapes on the Owl Hoot Trail. The outlaw killers place a bounty dead or alive on her head. To

protect herself, she practices shooting at targets until she becomes an expert sharpshooter with both a rifle and pistol. Then, on more than one occasion, she proves her fast cross-draw is equal to the best gunslinger’s practiced slick draw. She is fearless when facing danger and sometimes must rely on her pistols to save her life. Against the advice of the U.S. Marshals and her friends, Sue Boatwright tenaciously pursues her quarry and, to her chagrin, oftentimes comes close to the line dividing lawful versus unlawful actions. She tries to avoid conflict and confrontations, sometimes at great risk to her own life. Only she knows of her inner turmoil: a mind torn between yearning for peace, a husband and bearing children; yet a deep, abiding hunger for revenge. At times, she thinks the devil himself is driving her down a path of self-destruction. Yet she stays on the trail, determined to one-day track down her tormentor and bring him to justice. Only then will her thirst for vengeance be satisfied.

1

A Dastardly Crime

The raging storm, with its gale-like winds, torrential rain, and two-inch hailstones, buffeted the small one-room log cabin located in an isolated cove of a rapidly swelling river. Storms of such great intensity rarely struck this part of Southwest Texas so late in autumn. It would be several hours before this storm would pass.

In the cabin, on a makeshift bed, hands tied to the wooden headboard, the unclothed and beautiful twenty-year-old Susan Boatwright stared bravely at her rapist. His mistreatment, and her efforts to resist, had consumed her energy to protect herself, leaving her mind in a fog. She longed for death. She was not aware that her legs remained spread. The physical pain racked her body. She gritted her teeth, stared at her rapist with all the hate and revulsion she could muster. Then she quietly sobbed. With her inner strength long since spent and her nerves shattered, sanity seemed to fade away. Now she felt completely exhausted and beyond embarrassment; while despair and a feeling of emptiness engulfed every fiber of her being. The rogue had temporarily destroyed her sense of privacy and modesty. Her dreams were shattered within the space of a few hours, she closed her eyes and the awareness of loneliness, of being soiled, disgraced and dirty, came flooding in and overwhelmed her will to live.

Growing up, she took great pride in caring for her natural blonde hair. Now, despite the chill in the cabin, perspiration saturated her once beautiful hair, leaving no sign of its normal golden sheen. Sue’s hair hung matted about her shoulders. Her breasts bore the assailant’s teeth marks inside of bruised flesh. Pain, humiliation and extreme sadness racked her hourglass body these last several hours, reaching unbearable levels. She struggled inwardly to be brave. Chet Brode, her tormentor and brutal rapist, sat on the edge of the bed, calmly pulling on his expensive whipcord trousers.

The rapist glanced at his victim’s beautiful legs, jutting small well-formed breasts, body with perfect thighs and felt a twinge of remorse. He scolded himself mildly for ruining any possibility, ever so remote, that he could have enticed this beauty to be his toy for a lifetime. With his brutal and weird sexual fantasy sated for the moment, he gazed at her ravished body, realizing that he had never laid eyes on such a perfect female. He shook his head and again chastised himself for being so weak to consider saving her for future enjoyment. During the last several hours, he discovered she had a steel and unbending mindset. No, she would never be his under any circumstance. Now he must destroy the evidence that could put a noose around his neck. His pa had taught him and his brother to destroy all evidence of their crimes.

He continued to dress, pulling on his trousers and then his boots. During most of the day, and now into early evening, he had subjected his latest victim to continuous shame, sexual abuse and inhuman indignities. Brode had demonstrated, in his sick mind, great sexual prowess, which he thought caused the

most unwilling female to reach great heights of ecstasy and enjoyment while begging for rougher treatment and abuse.

During his many forced sexual encounters, he convinced himself that his own personal gratification reached greater heights when his victims lay helpless. All this had become part of his fantasy world. He would never admit it, but none of his victims had ever begged for anything except mercy. This violator possessed no compassion for anyone. He was a close second to the devil himself.

After pulling on his colorful hand-made boots, he slowly strapped on his gun belt on which two pearl-handled colts rested in their well-oiled holsters. Sue thought, This idiot thinks he is a real fancy dude. When he had finished tying his low swung holsters to his legs in the fashion of a gunfighter’s fast draw, he opened the cabin door, looked out into the increasing rain and wind, and noticed that the floodwaters had reached above the cabin steps and was lapping into the cabin. He felt satisfied with his plan to kill the uncooperative raving beauty. Had his pa lived, he would say let the river have her.

He remembered warning his brother, Chad, that the spring rains would wash the cabin down river. Nevertheless, Chad disagreed and had the cabin built late last fall. Chad seldom listened to any of his brother’s comments, but feared his recklessness and unquenchable thirst for violating young women. Chad realized that his brother’s habit of careless risk taking made him a walking bundle of trouble.

Chet closed the door and returned to the bed. Through her tears and anger, Sue could just barely make out his evil sneer like grin, which revealed a mouth full of buckteeth. She heard him say, You don’t stand a chance in hell of getting out of this cabin before you drown. The water will be over the rooftop within the hour. The cabin will be destroyed when it hits the falls.

You hateful bastard! Why not just kill me and be done with it?

No, your contempt for me earned you a ride down-river. I think you may have about one hour left before the cabin hurls down stream. You may live to experience the ride over the falls onto the rocky shoals, but the cabin will be splintered, wood and all, and you, my unwilling heifer, will not die of thirst. I could let you live, or even take you to the cellar under our house and let Chad play with you a few times before placing you under that big manure pile behind the barn. But with your attitude, you would just cause us a lot of trouble.

You are nothing but an animal! No, I take that back, even animals treat each other better than you treated me today. You don’t deserve to live and, God willing, I will kill you with my own hands.

How you do carry on? If you had shown a little affection, I would just make it easy for you and end your life with a bullet, or choke your beautiful throat until you die. Since you have not been a good sport, spit in my face and bit me several times, I want you to carry my words to your watery grave and the knowledge that what happened here today is your fault.

Only a vile, brutal person with a warped and sick mind could blame someone else for his crimes. Just tell me how any of this could be my fault.

He continued as if he had not heard her, Your big mistake was bragging to every girl within forty miles that you were a proud virgin and that caught my attention and really got my interest flowing. You see, I like virgins. You hung out the bait, and I tripped the trap.

Sue gritted her teeth, I hope the Lord strikes you down before you can harm another innocent person.

Again, he ignored her. Most of the girls don’t believe you anyway. Now I know they were wrong. Yes, I busted your precious maidenhead. You resisted every moment of our time together, spoiling my fun. This could’ve been real fun for you and me.

I pray that the Lord will silence your filthy tongue forever, she said.

He was enjoying this exchange and teased, Over the years I have busted several virgins. I am always on the lookout for ripe pickings. I’ve had to ride many miles to find some of the ripe untouched heifers. I remember one was a real young little thing, not much over fifteen. That day she learned to like me a lot. Since you won’t tell anyone, I’ve killed all the heifers that had a chance of identifying me. He enjoyed trying to scare her out of her senses. He took a sack of tobacco and papers from his shirt pocket and slowly rolled a cigarette, while leering at her with an evil stare.

Sue was shaken even more, but did not want to show it. She said, You can kill me, but I know that you will pay for all this with your no-good life. Unlike you, I am not afraid of death. You should be human enough to shoot me now.

He continued with an amused grin on his evil face. The young one is still quite happy with my performances and is not telling anyone about the good times she had with me. Unlike you cussing and kicking, she moaned with enjoyment. She can keep a secret. Maybe she can keep a secret because she never learned who I am or where I live. But you know me, don’t you? I can just hear you squealing out your sad story to a court. But you’re not going to get that chance. Well, have a good trip over deadman falls.

With hate and revulsion written all over her face, she peered through icy steel-blue eyes and managed to mutter through clenched teeth, You lousy, no-good, murdering bastard, I will see you burning in hell. You soiled me and I hope your cowardly, indecent actions get you a rope around your neck. You better shoot me now and make sure I’m dead, as you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll put a bullet in your evil brain, given half-a chance. You ruined my life today, but if I live, you’ll regret the sorry moment you were born. I’ll hunt you down like the dirty dog you are and show you no mercy. So shoot me now and get your cowardly carcass out of my sight forever. You’re revolting!

She tried to turn her body toward the wall and managed to curl up in somewhat of a fetal position. She realized she was very cold. Changing position seemed to give her a feeling of being more secure and hiding some of her nakedness.

He laughed and said, Squirm around all you want. You’re hog-tied. No, I won’t shoot you, as I’m certain you’ll drown and be washed down stream. No one will ever hear from you again. Besides, I have plans for your crippled father and your house. Think about that during your short ride to the falls. As you drift over the edge perhaps, then, you’ll finally experience a thrill. Today you acted like a cold stone. Such coldness is unforgivable. I’ll not miss you, that’s for sure.

You good-for-nothing piece of horse dropping. I hope you burn in hell for your crimes! Don’t feel too secure about me being dead, either. I’m going to live through this to make sure your miserable life is a living hell.

"I’d think someone in your fix, about to die, would be trying to talk me into turning them loose and make all manner of cozy

promises of living happily ever after." His evil smile made her sick to her stomach.

You would enjoy hearing me beg for my life. Don’t fret about my life. You had better be concerned about your miserable hide. I swear you will hear from me again.

Again, he sneered, laughed, turned and walked out of the cabin, closed the padlock on the door and waded through the rapidly rising water toward where he had tied his horse on high ground. When he reached his horse, he could see that the swift, muddy river water had already begun to flood the cabin. He mounted and rode up a steep bank, through some live oaks, and out to the open prairie. He urged his horse to a lope, hoping to cover the thirty-odd miles to his ranch house before the full fury of the storm struck. He was very content with what had occurred today: that is until he thought of her father, Jim Boat-wright, who might just be able to point an accusing finger in his direction.

He suddenly changed course and headed toward the Boat-wright house. He rode at an easy gait, while tunelessly whistling some made-up song. He was very proud of himself and his plans to cover up his crime, though he did not consider it a real crime.

When he arrived at the Boatwright house, her father was sitting on the front porch, enjoying the damp wind and light rain still falling. He was chewing the last of his tobacco. He immediately recognized the rider, grabbed his crutches, and started toward his front door. He was alarmed at the snarl on Chet Brode’s face. The Brodes had never been good neighbors and they had the reputation of walking on the edge of the law. Some said that they had gained their wealth as outlaws, rustling cattle and holding up banks in distance towns. Other folks said those were just wild rumors. Chet Brode dismounted and covered the last few steps to the front porch in great haste, pushing Sue’s father through the door. Chet Brode followed him into the house, a six-shooter in his left hand, ready to kill anyone he came across. The house was empty, except for himself and the old man.

Jim Boatwright landed hard, almost blacking out, but managed to ask, What in the hell do you think you are doing Brode? Have you seen my daughter? She has been missing all day and I haven’t been able to catch a horse to raise the alarm. Please go fetch some help.

Your haughty daughter isn’t your concern right now. She’s dead! And you’ll be joining her directly. You have just a few minutes to watch as I start the fires. Oh, trying to strike me with your crutch is no way to spend your last minutes of your miserable life. Chet grabbed both crutches and slammed one of them hard against Jim Boatwright’s chest.

Jim Boatwright managed to ask, How did my daughter die, you murdering, no good skunk! Don’t think for one minute you’ll get away with killing us. When your time comes to die, just remember I told you so.

Shut your trap old man. You’re as good as dead.

The killer then took several rawhide throngs from his gun belt and rapidly tied Jim Boatwright’s hands and feet after gagging him with a dishtowel. He tied one of the leather throngs around the gag, holding it firmly in place. Sue’s father seemed to know his time had come and there would be no escape. The unwelcome visitor then went to the cook stove, which had a roaring fire going. He took a small shovel and scattered the hot coals and burning wood around the rooms of the house.

While grinning and showing his almost ugly buckteeth, Brode found a can of coal oil and doused Jim Boatwright. Jim

couldn’t say a word, but stared a hole through the outlaw with his piercing eyes. He knew this was the end of the road. He couldn’t expect any help. Jim watched Brode as he went about the house preparing to burn it down. He silently prayed that Sue was still alive and this culprit was lying. Somehow, he knew Sue was alive.

Chet made sure that the furniture and bedding was pushed together to fuel the fire. As an added touch, he carried in a dry bale of hay and threw the loose straw against the walls. When he stepped down from the porch, the interior of the house was blazing. He was somewhat concerned that it was still raining, but he knew enough about fires to know that the light drizzle would do very little toward containing the flames. There was far too much dry fuel inside the house for an intermittent light rain to have any major affect.

Chad Brode rode out in the opposite direction from his ranch, stopped under a large tree on a knoll, and turned to watch the flames break through the roof and engulf the entire structure. He thought, "Everyone would think the girl and her fatherdiedin the fire". He waited more than an hour, watching the burning house. The roof caved in and flames shot high in the dark sky. The house and its contents would burn completely before the rain lessened the fire. The lightning and thunder indicated that the storm was again gaining strength, which he was confident would wash away any sign of his horse’s tracks. Luck was still riding with him.

He finally turned and rode toward his ranch, feeling very proud of his caution today in tying up the loose ends. Yes, it paid to be cautious. He was hungry. He hoped there might be something good to eat left over from supper. He smiled when he thought how amused his brother Chad would be to hear the details of his latest conquest. He decided that it might not be a good idea to tease Chad about the cabin washing away. He would save that for another day. He enjoyed pushing Chad’s temper to the edge. Chad would like hearing about the girl and her reactions. They both enjoyed describing the reactions of their female victims. The brothers had vowed years before to be very careful and eliminate all possible witnesses. Lefty Brode, their father, taught them that without witnesses, judges and juries seldom ordered hangings.

Some years before their father got himself killed in a gun-fight, he and the boys dug a secret cellar under the floor of the backroom. When Lefty Brode wanted entertainment, he traveled to distant towns where he visited the saloons and bawdy houses, seeking out girls with no family connections. He usually promised them a good life on his ranch and enticed them to leave with him. He enforced one condition on all of them: they could not talk to anyone after he asked them to leave with him. His departures from the towns were always after dark.

Women brought back to the ranch immediately found themselves locked in the cellar, never to see the light of day again. Lefty Brode wanted his sons to enjoy themselves with the women. He always insisted that he be first with the new women. Then he personally demonstrated to the sons how to extract the most enjoyment from the various sex positions he required of the captive women. The three of them enjoyed watching each other during their efforts to entertain themselves. They sweet-talked the women while promising them money and assuring them that no harm would come.

The cellar had held girls at various times until the Brodes tired of them and wanted new amusement. Then the abused girls ended up under the huge manure pile out back of the barn,

always buried at night. They thought the bodies would rot much faster under the manure.

Riding along, Chet thought how great it would be if Chad had someone in the cellar to amuse him tonight while telling about what happened to Jim Boatwright and his daughter. Well, perhaps that would be asking too much. He laughed and yelled while spurring his horse to full speed into the rain and darkness. One thing for sure, Chad would manage to buy Boat-wright’s ranch. The price for the land should be very cheap. That would make his brother happy. However, it might be a couple of years before taking control of the land. It would have to go through the courts.

While back in the cabin on the river, Susan Boatwright had tried not to panic. She knew her predicament was serious. Nevertheless, she couldn’t keep her mind from rapidly recounting the events of the day. She had been startled that morning when she was awakened with a strong, rough hand over her mouth. The man whispered that she should remain quiet if she wanted her crippled father to see the sunrise. She was terrified.

He quickly gagged her, tied her hands and feet with rawhide strings, rolled her in a quilt and carried her out the backdoor. It did not take him long to free her feet and place her astride his horse and then tie her hands to the saddle horn. She looked at the house and experienced a sad feeling that she might never see it again. She shuddered and closed her eyes. Then she resolved that somehow she would return home where her life first started.

Her captor said, We’ll ride double, and you can get warmed up before we reach my cabin. I promise you we’ll have a fun day. His evil giggle sent chills through her body. She tried not to panic. Her mind was racing, trying to find a way to escape.

She was terrified. While being placed on the horse, she had managed to get a good look at his face. Sue recognized Chet Brode: she had seen him briefly at the county racetrack earlier that year. She had heard from many sources that his family had a ranch in the valley near the great river. She remembered that her acquaintances often mentioned that the Brodes were outlaws, while others praised them as good neighbors. As in most prairie communities, rumormongers engaged in portraying some of their neighbors as outlaws, or at least mean and untrustworthy. It was sometimes difficult to determine fact from fiction.

In the Brodes case, some of the strongest gossip indicated the brothers were the only remaining survivors of what was once a large outlaw family: although there apparently was no evidence that the Brode family held up banks and stole cattle for their drives to market each year. Word kept circulating that when old man Brode died, the brothers started hiring gunslingers instead of cowpunchers.

After hearing the evil stories about them, she remembered just looking at Chet Brode at the racetrack sent cold chills down her spine. His silly grin and use of his riding crop on his horse was revolting. She learned from her friend that the rest of Brode’s family had died of natural causes or been killed in gun-fights. Her friends warned her to stay away from both brothers because of their reputation for drunkenness and rowdy indecent conduct. Almost everything she had ever heard about the Brodes was mixed up, some good and some bad. Now she knew some of the bad things must be true: she felt intense fear. However, her mind would not let her come back to the present and the possible death awaiting her.

Sue Boatwright’s next thoughts concerned Chet Brode’s accusation that she had bragged about being a virgin. Sue could only remember the subject coming up one time, and that was with her best friend Sally Moore, who told of her experience with the boy she intended to marry.

Sally’s explanation of the pain and shame she felt by surrendering herself to her betrothed future husband did not come with a recommendation as being enjoyable. On the contrary, Sally had explained how unhappy and hurtful it had been. She explained her great effort to hide from her mother what she had done. Sally would be married during the July 4th celebration. She did not think Sally betrayed her confidence. The bastard was lying.

She remembered promising herself that she would be chaste on her own wedding night. With this thought, she choked up and felt she was going to faint. Sue’s anger boiled up and she knew that somehow, somewhere, she would meet that vile man who had ruined her life and made her unfit for marriage to a decent man. Her anger jolted her back to the present. She told herself to worry about getting out of this situation alive, and then there would be time enough to settle the score with Chet Brode later.

Her fury gave her new strength and served to increase her determination to live. Then Sue suddenly realized that her dangerous predicament was increasing by the minute. She knew the water level in the cabin had reached the bottom of the bed. The storm and wind was rocking the cabin. She struggled with the rawhide ties, only to learn that the ties got much tighter with each effort to