Caught Between Love And Duty

by Clarice Mayfield

  James’s heart started to beat heavily in his chest. “What did she look like?”

  “Pretty. Auburn hair.”

  “Shoot!” James said.

  A man came running from the direction of the Sutton Hotel and James recognized him as the maître d’ from Sunday.

  “Sheriff, you better come inside quick. It’s your Aunt Martha, she’s been hurt.”

  James turned to his deputy. “Ben, have someone get the Doc over to the hotel right away. Then, round up the posse as soon as you can and meet me there. I’m gonna go see how Martha’s doing first.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Ben said.

  The maître d’ and James broke into a run for the Sutton, burst through the door, and found the old lady unconscious on the floor of the tea room. She looked very pale. A young woman, the waitress, was holding her hand.

  Kneeling down beside her, James saw that Martha’s breathing was shallow. Two feathered darts were lying on the floor, both with bloodied tips on them. He felt for a pulse and was relieved to find it beating strongly. Emotion welled up within him. “It’d take more than a Comanche dart to take you out, Auntie,” he whispered.

  Doc Simmons entered the room and put his medical bag on the table. He removed a stethoscope from it and knelt down beside James. “How’s she doing, Sheriff?”

  “Good pulse, doc. Breathin’ awfully shallow though. She got hit with an Indian dart like David was.”

  Simmons knelt down and placed the end of the scope on Martha’s chest. “Yes, heart rate is very good.” He felt for any broken bones in the old lady’s neck and body, and examined the puncture wound in her arm. “C’mon, let’s get her up on the table so I can treat this dart wound.”

  James and the maître d’ pushed two tables together and cleared away the chairs. As they placed Martha gently onto the tabletop, Arthur Richards came sweeping in. “Oh, my goodness, I just heard what happened! How is she doing?”

  “Comanche dart, Arthur,” said Simmons. “But she’s a tough old bird. Hangin’ in there.”

  “Good. Thank goodness!” Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Where were you when this happened?” James asked gruffly.

  Richards was taken aback. “I was out on business and came as soon as I heard the news, James. I just saw both of the ladies in here a half hour ago having tea. Everything was fine.”

  James already knew the answer but he had to ask: “Was she in here with Georgia?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, haven’t you heard? They took her away with them.”

  “It was an Indian, Sheriff,” the waitress said. “I saw him drag the young lady out of the room. She was passed out.”

  James exhaled a short, tight sigh of grief and turned toward Simmons. “Please stay with Martha, Doc, and make sure she’s okay.” The doctor nodded. “We’re going after them.” He leaned over, gave his unconscious Auntie a kiss on the forehead and put his hand over hers. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Out on the street Ben had their posse assembled and his boss’s horse ready for him. James swung into the saddle.

  “How’s Martha doing?” the deputy asked.

  “She’s gonna be okay. Which direction, Ben?”

  “They headed west.”

  James felt his blood rising in anger. First they took David, now they attack Auntie and Georgia at the same time. Enough of this! He felt the hair on his neck bristle as a cold, determined rage settled in.

  “We’ll make for their hideout first, boys,” he said loudly. “Let’s move it!” They kicked their horses into a fast gallop and headed west.

  * * *

  Georgia lay unconscious on the earthen floor of the cabin bedroom. The outlaws had not taken the time to tie her hands, figuring that like David McCloud she would remain passed out for many more hours. After their arrival at the hideout, Blue Shadow had ridden on and left the woman in the care of Smokey and Jessie.

  “Don’t let her get away like you let the sheriff’s brother get away last time!” Smokey growled to his companion.

  “It weren’t my fault, it was both of us done it! Why are you angry all the time, Smokey?” Jessie said. “At least we got some grub here now.”

  Smokey ignored him.

  Jessie began to laugh. “Ha-heee! I done just figured out why they call you Smokey. It’s ‘cause you always get so mad there’s smoke comin’ out your ears!” He began to snort and guffaw loudly, which irritated his companion even more. Smokey glared at him murderously and reached for a steak knife that had been left on the table.

  He stopped mid-reach. “Shut up, Jess. Quiet! Listen close for a minute...”

  A voice called from outside the cabin: “This is the Sheriff of Sutton County. Leave your weapons inside and exit the building immediately. We’ve got your horses and there’s a posse out here.”

  “Dammit! How’d they find the place? Nobody told us the law found it,” Smokey said.

  “What’re we gonna do, Smoke? We’re done for if they catch us!”

  “Ha! I knew you’d get something right, sooner or later, kid. Yep, this is Texas: we’ll hang if they take us. We gotta make a break for it.”

  “Mama said it’d come to this one day,” Jessie sniffled, realizing that their chances of getting away alive were next to zero if they tried to shoot their way out. “Lordy Smoke, we’re done for!”

  “What’d you expect, partner? Retire rich to California one day? We’re outlaws. C’mon and man up now.” Smokey turned his head toward the front door and yelled out: “We’re comin’ out, Sheriff. We ain’t armed and don’t want no trouble!” They both drew their revolvers and checked the loads. With fumbling fingers, Jessie put a few bullets into his Colt, slipped it back into the holster and then picked up the shotgun on the table. Smokey held a six-shooter in each hand.

  Then they slowly stood up from the table together. “You ready?” Smokey asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” his partner replied, voice quavering. “Who’s going through the door first?”

  “I’ll go. Reckon I owe you that much after the way I groused at ya so much, kid.”

  “Forget it. Ain’t nothin’ that Pa didn’t do all the time.”

  The two men walked to the door and Smokey put his hand on the latch. “All right, pard, on the count of three: one...two......three!”

  9

  Leary was covering the cabin with his Winchester when the door flew open and Smokey charged outside with a Colt in each hand. The deputy’s first shot caught the outlaw in the chest and killed him outright. James was standing beside the door when Jessie burst through holding the shotgun. He kicked it out of the young man’s hands. The kid went for his revolver and the sheriff shot him through the throat.

  “Oh God, I’m dyin’,” Jessie said, lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

  James stood over him. “Where’s the woman?”

  “She’s inside. We never hurt her, Sheriff.”

  “I’m sorry you got in with the wrong crowd, son. Is there anybody you want us to notify?”

  “Tell my Ma in Kentucky that I love her. And she was right.” The young man was dead within seconds.

  James stepped over the body and went inside where he found Georgia still unconscious from the Comanche’s dart. He knelt down beside her and checked for a pulse. Relieved to feel a heartbeat, he returned to the other room, cleared off the table and covered it with a blanket.

  Leary entered the cabin. “Is she here, Boss?”

  “In the back room. Still unconscious but has a pulse. Help me get her up on the table, Ben.”

  The two lawmen carefully picked Georgia up, placed her on the table and covered her body with a blanket. James took off his jacket, rolled it up for a pillow and gently placed it under her head.

  “Send one of the boys into town and get Doc Simmons out here with a wagon as soon as possible. I don’t want to move her until she comes to and the Doc has a look at her. I’ll stay here and wait.”

  Leary nodded and went outsid
e. James took off his hat, pulled a chair up to the table. He gave Georgia a kiss on the forehead and took her hand. “You hang in there, darlin’,” he said quietly, “The Doc’s on his way and we’ll get you home soon.”

  * * *

  Charles Warton stood behind the stagecoach driver and asked gruffly: “Where is the sheriff’s office?” In the pouring rain Sam Kimball was untying the luggage at the back of the coach. He was annoyed.

  “If you just hold your horses for half a minute I’ll get your luggage, give you the directions, and you can be on your way,” Sam replied without turning to look at him. He continued untying the ropes and cussed underneath his breath.

  Charles had arrived in Sonora after dark, a very tired and very impatient passenger. The rough two day journey from San Antonio was a punishing schedule for anyone, but especially for an older man. Most drivers, Kimball included, only stopped for a change of horses and a quick, hot meal if one was available.

  Charles turned away from the stage and went into the post office. A minute later he came out and called to Sam: “Never mind! Just leave it here and I’ll get the luggage later,” then he popped open an umbrella and hurried off down the street.

  A spring thunderstorm had descended on the town, pouring barrels of rain onto the dirt streets, turning them into a quagmire of sticky mud. Sam carried the baggage into Tony’s office and dropped it on the floor. “This here belongs to the old gent who just stormed off down the street. Says he’s comin’ back for it later.”

  “Yeah I know, Sam,” Tony said, “I gave him directions to the sheriff’s office. That’s James’s future father-in-law from Boston, Massachusetts.”

  “You don’t say,” Kimball replied. “Well, that old feller is fit to be tied and grumpier than a grizzly. I reckon the sheriff is in for more fireworks than just the lightning tonight.”

  “Hah!” Tony laughed. “How’s that for the pot callin’ the kettle black? Sam, you’re the grumpiest stage driver in west Texas. Everybody knows that.”

  * * *

  Charles was heading for the Sherriff’s office. Just a block away, James sat in his office working late. They had brought Georgia and Aunt Martha safely home to the ranch the day before. Both of them were resting as comfortable as possible as they recovered from the attack. That evening James was poring over maps of the county – trying to identify any areas where the outlaws may have established another hideout – so that the gang could be broken up and the attacks stopped.

  Charles walked into the office without knocking. He saw an oil lamp burning on the desk, another on the wall, and the sheriff seated with a large map spread out before him.

  “Can I help you?” James asked, surprised by the sudden visitor.

  “Are you the Sheriff of Sonora?”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied. “James McCloud. Who are you?”

  “Charles Warton from Boston. I’m looking for my daughter, Georgia, and I have information that she may be in this area.”

  “You’ve come a long way, Mr. Warton.”

  “Yes indeed, Sheriff. She has been missing from home for some time and I am very worried about her.”

  James glanced at Warton’s finely cut, expensive clothes. “There is a Georgia Warton in this area, sir, but she’s a seamstress and the daughter of a poor family in Boston. Is it possible that you got information about the wrong woman?”

  “She’s got green eyes and auburn hair,” Charles said, “about 5’ 5, very pretty, twenty five years old.” He saw James’s eyes widen in recognition. “You do know her then?”

  James was confused. “Yes, I know her, sir. But she told us she’s a seamstress by trade.”

  “Impossible!” Charles exclaimed. “Georgia hasn’t picked up a sewing needle in years. Why would she lie to you about that?”

  James was silent for a moment. “I don’t rightly know...but I think we should start from the beginning with this.” He beckoned toward a chair. “Please pull up a seat, Mr. Warton.”

  “Thank you,” Charles said and sat down heavily in a plain wooden chair in front of the desk. He was relieved to find Georgia at last, yet felt confused as to what – and who – she was claiming to be in Sonora.

  “Now tell me,” James began, “when and why did your daughter go missing from Boston?”

  Charles shifted in his chair, thoughts conflicted as to how much he should reveal to the sheriff. It would be embarrassing to admit that Georgia had fled an arranged marriage – especially one that was arranged to save her father from financial ruin.

  “She left in the middle of April, Sheriff. I don’t believe it’s of any consequence to our present discussion as to why she left.”

  Maybe to you it ain’t any consequence, James thought. “She arrived here a month later, so the timing seems about right, Mr. Warton. But if your daughter ain’t a seamstress then who is she?”

  “Georgia is a debutante, McCloud; some say a spinster debutante – still single at twenty-five years old. She was raised a Boston deb and this is no place for her out here in the West.”

  James winced a bit at the insult to the great state of Texas but decided not to make an issue of it. “Well, I did wonder sometimes why a seamstress would have such fine manners. She seemed to fit in all right though; mighty smart girl and has a lot of spunk.”

  “Yes,” Warton replied, “very headstrong; that’s why she’s had trouble finding a husband in Boston.”

  “We appreciate women with gumption out west, sir. It comes in mighty handy in this country.” He noticed that the older man looked tired. “There’s coffee on the stove. Can I get you a cup?”

  Charles sighed gratefully. “That would be good, Sheriff. It’s been a long couple of days on the stagecoach.”

  James stood up and filled two cups with the black liquid. He brought one to Warton, then sat down at his desk again. Thunder rumbled outside the window and the sound of rain hitting the roof could be heard.

  “Can you tell me why she left a fine family back east?” James asked.

  Charles sighed. “I wish I could say it was none of my doing, Sheriff, but that would be far from the truth.” He took a sip of coffee. “When our family business ran into trouble because of a shipwreck, a friend stepped forward to help us stay in the black. He bailed us out – no pun intended.”

  “Sounds good so far,” James said.

  “Yes. However, he bailed us out on the condition that we give him Georgia’s hand in marriage. Our dear girl agreed just for the family’s sake, but loathes the man so much she couldn’t go through with it. That’s when she ran away.”

  James gazed at Warton over the top of his coffee cup. “Some friend,” he muttered, taking in the news of Georgia’s Boston engagement with stunned dismay. “And what’s the situation now?”

  “They’re not married yet, Sheriff, but Mr. Bishop – Georgia’s fiancé – insists that she be found and returned to him immediately. Can you believe it? As if my daughter is his property: lock, stock, and barrel! We had no idea the man is such a cad.”

  The hint of a smile played at the corners of James’s mouth as a ray of hope cut through his disappointment.

  “Mr. Warton, running away from an arranged marriage isn’t the only reason your daughter came to Texas.”

  “Oh?” Charles looked puzzled.

  “Yes, sir. Georgia answered an ad in the paper from a man here who was lookin’ for a wife. That’s why she came to Sonora. And wonder of it is, the two of ‘em ended up falling in love.”

  Charles was stunned into silence. His jaw dropped open.

  “I wouldn’t tell you this if it weren’t true, sir,” James said.

  Warton’s body leaned over to one side and it looked as if he might fall out of the chair.

  “Are you okay?” James asked.

  “Good God,” the old man muttered. “And who is this man she has fallen in love with?”

  “You’d better hang on to that chair,” James smiled, “because it’s me.”

  Charles stra
ightened up abruptly. He had a confused, quizzical look on his face like a bird that had chased his own reflection – smack! Right into a window pane. He looked like he didn’t know what hit him. James stifled an impulse to laugh at the sight.

  “I had no idea she was runnin’ away from anything. Like I said, we all thought she was a seamstress.”

  Charles began to recover from the shock. He considered the implications of what James had said as the two men stared at each other across the desk. After a long moment the older man announced, “I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done, McCloud. Georgia and Bishop are already engaged to be married. I’m sorry.”