Free Justice by Larry Watson Page A

going to be on the rampage,” Frank said.
    Wesley didn’t answer. He wondered if he was getting sick. He was so tired. His throat was dry and raspy, and he didn’t think it was only from breathing in wood smoke. His jaw ached as if the cold had gotten deep into the joints. His head felt heavy and full and warm. He pulled off his glove and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. He didn’t know if he had a fever, but then his mother said your hand couldn’t tell—it was always cooler than your forehead. If he told her he didn’t feel well, she would hold him gently by the shoulders and put her lips, soft and warm, to his brow, the test she had used since he was a baby to determine if he had a fever. Wesley decided he wouldn’t say anything to her.

Julian Hayden
    (1899)

    J ULIAN Hayden came to Montana in 1898 with two vows: he was determined, first of all, to prove out his claim to a quarter section of land. To do that, according to the terms of the 1862 Homestead Act, he had to settle on the land in a more or less permanent dwelling (a sod house or railroad shack would qualify) and make improvements on the land for five years. Although Julian was only sixteen and homesteaders were supposed to be at least twenty-one, land was so plentiful in the region and the government wanted settlers so badly that homestead officers didn’t check anyone’s age too closely.
    Julian Hayden’s second vow was simpler in its terms but larger in its demand: he was determined to do a better job than his father of caring and providing for the family.

    Julian brought his mother to Montana with him. She had a brother in Wolf Point who had promised to help them get started on their claim. As it turned out, his help consisted of giving them directions on how to build a tar-paper shack and advising them that if they paid more than twenty dollars for materials they were fools. Julian and his mother paid eighteen
dollars and seventy-five cents.
    Julian’s sister Lorna, older by a year, stayed behind in Schofield, Iowa. High-strung and fearful, she was ill suited for life on the frontier. Before Julian and his mother left Iowa, he made certain that Lorna was comfortably situated by talking the Methodist minister, Reverend Willard West, into giving his sister a job. Reverend West had three young daughters and a sickly wife. In exchange for room, board, and a small monthly wage, Lorna would help care for the children. That was to be her only duty, Julian emphasized; he did not want his sister working like a slave in the minister’s home. Reverend West agreed emphatically and reassured Julian; they had a hired girl to do housework—Lorna would simply watch the girls.
    Once they were settled securely in Montana, Julian would send for his sister. But not before. There were depths of melancholy that Lorna constantly skirted, and Julian worried that the harshness of life on the plains might push her off the edge.
    Julian also left his father behind, buried in the Schofield town cemetery. George Hayden had been killed outside his own barbershop and in full view of many of the local citizens. Including his own son.
    A farmer was in town to buy supplies, and his horse, a big bay, was skittish from the moment they arrived. At every loud noise—a window slamming or a dog barking—the horse threatened to bolt. Finally, something happened—perhaps no more momentous than a white curtain suddenly blowing out through an open window—and the horse broke free and
began to gallop down Main Street. Julian remembered thinking that the horse’s hooves clattered so loudly on the cobblestones that it sounded as though a wagonload of logs was being dumped on the street.
    Julian had been standing in the doorway of the harness shop where he worked, and as he followed the horse’s progress he saw his father step into the street.
    When Mr. Hayden finally saw the horse charging at him, he froze in