Read Online Effigy by Alissa York - Free Book Online

wondering how much his best colt would fetch, or whether a promising mare or even a stallion would catch his eye. It’s been five years since he felt moved to buy a new horse. Last night he slept like a stone.
    Ink stands waiting, kitted out. Mounting up, Erastus feels a familiar rush at assuming her height, a pride that encompasses both the horse and the springing strength extant in his fifty-twoyear-oldthighs. Once seated, he nudges out a stately, long-legged walk with his knees.
    At his back, Lal opens the corral gate, cursing as he organizes the young horses in their string. When he finally takes his seat, grunting, the palomino paws and blows. Erastus gnaws at his lip, keeping himself in check. Ink trots up at his signal, the track disappearing before him as they leave the waking ranch behind. They’ll do fine today, just fine. Lal manages well enough in town—it’s in the wild that he’s no earthly use.
    Erastus used to let him tag along on hunts or roundups from time to time, telling himself the boy would harden into something worthwhile. It must be three years now since he last spun himself that particular line—yes, three, because Eudora had lately come to stay. In that case Lal would’ve been sixteen, old enough that Erastus should’ve been able to count on him. He shakes his head, recalling how his eldest son blanched at the sight of blood on that stark morning.
    Erastus had heard talk of horse thieves at work in the region. Twin brothers, once good Saints, now apostates, were headed out the back door of the Territory, grabbing what horseflesh they could on the way. It was the Tracker who brought word that they were cutting favourites from the herd on the far pasture.
    Erastus rode out at a gallop with the Indian clinging to his waist, while the boy floundered along behind them, kicking the palomino’s ribs in to keep up. He drove Ink hard, but running was a joy to her, and before long the herd hove into view. Or what he understood to be the herd. What he saw was a particoloured, shifting copse. As they drew closer, he could make out a pair of forms that jutted above the canopy, wheeling to and fro.
    The brothers fancied their odds. They held their ground and started shooting. Erastus turned loose on their wavering forms,his revolver bucking in his hand. The brown arm that swung up from behind him worked its weapon like an extra digit. Gesturing with muscular precision, it picked one twin, then the other, out of the panicking herd.
    If the boy got off a single shot, Erastus didn’t hear it. Chances are he had both hands around the saddle horn, hanging on like a slip of a girl.
    The twins’ own two horses were full-blood trotters, a chestnut gelding and an iron-grey mare, both welcome additions to the herd. The brother who fell first had a set of saddlebags tooled all over with a western vista—jagged peaks, trees clustered along a riverbank—the neatest bit of leatherwork Erastus had ever seen. The bags were wet with blood, enough so it ran in the many licks and hollows that made up the scene. To let the colour sink and stain would’ve been a shameful waste. Having quieted the spooked horse, Erastus worked the buckle loose and hailed his son.
    There were dirtier jobs going than rinsing a pair of saddlebags in the nearby creek. Dragging a pair of matching bodies to a single grave, for instance—the Tracker didn’t need telling, he was already breaking ground with his pick. You wouldn’t know it, though, to see the look in Lal’s eyes. It wasn’t like Erastus to justify his actions—especially not to one of his own issue—and yet he found himself muttering something about sins beyond saving, apostasy being at the top of the list. Had the boy never heard of blood atonement? Didn’t he know there was only one substance that could wash those brothers’ souls clean? Brother Brigham himself had asked the question—
Will you love that man or woman well enough to shed their blood?
    In the end the boy