Dan smiled. “That would be real nice, Mrs. Bright.”
Chapter Six
When Prometheus Mulrooney read the wire Jubal Green had Dan Blue Gully send him from Lincoln, his face turned a brilliant red and he bellowed loud enough to be heard on all three stories of his mansion in New York City.
“Ferrett! Ferrett!” he roared.
He stood up, his rage propelling him out of his chair like a rocket. He was so angry that his enormous belly quivered like the jellied aspic he had consumed at luncheon. He sat down again because he didn’t know what to do with himself once he was on his feet. Then he stood up once more, furious that Ferrett hadn’t responded to his command yet. Approximately ten seconds had passed since his first bellow.
When Ferrett pushed Mulrooney’s office door open and skidded to a halt in front of his boss’s desk, his own face was red from having run up two flights of stairs three steps at a time. Ferrett was Mulrooney’s secretary, and he looked like his name. He was a thin, small man with thin, small features that all squeezed together into a rodent-like point in front.
“Yes sir,” Ferrett cried in a nasal squeak. Then he saluted. Ferrett did not normally salute his employer, but he had been rattled by Mulrooney’s bellow and was scared.
Mulrooney glared at his secretary with malice. He shook the wire in his hand at him viciously.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Ferrett looked from the wire to Mulrooney’s face to the wire and back to Mulrooney’s face and blinked.
“Sir?” he asked in a reedy, tin-whistle voice. He was shaking.
Mulrooney stared down his bulbous nose, which sat like a lump of lard between his piggy eyes and above his quivering jowls, and pinned Ferrett with a contemptuous stare. Mulrooney didn’t respect his secretary. He didn’t respect anybody who quailed before him, yet he employed nobody who might possibly defy him. He was, therefore, in a perpetual rage.
“You repulsive, spineless creature. Did you see this wire?”
Ferrett gulped and his Adam’s apple jerked up and down. “Yes, sir.”
Mulrooney slammed the wire down and leaned forward over his desk, supporting his bulk on two meaty forearms.
“Then you know that Jack Gauthier failed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mulrooney sat back in his chair with a huge grunt. The chair groaned.
“Damn Jubal Green to hell,” he muttered savagely.
Although the words were barely discernible, Ferrett cringed at the venomous hate with which they were uttered.
Mulrooney scowled ferociously at Ferrett. “I thought you said this Jack Gauthier was the best,” he roared. “What the hell did he get himself shot for if he’s the best?”
Ferrett swallowed hard and then tried to answer his boss. “Well, sir, no, sir, actually, sir, it wasn’t me said that, sir. It was the agent from Texas, sir, who said that,” he stammered, and added another, “Sir,” on the end just to make sure.
Mulrooney’s pig eyes skewered Ferrett and the man seemed to shrink up even further.
“Disgusting toad,” Mulrooney said.
“Yes, sir,” Ferrett whispered miserably.
Mulrooney’s gaze left Ferrett to his cringing in front of the desk and he turned to stare out of his window. A baleful expression settled like curdled cream upon his face.
“Damn,” he whispered. “Just a week ago Gauthier sent a wire saying Green had been shot. I thought it was over then except for those damned Indians.” Mulrooney paused in his musings to whip his head around and glare at his secretary. He wanted to be absolutely sure that Ferrett was still cowering. He was.
“I thought Jack Gauthier would solve my problems this time for sure.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ferrett nervously. He never quite knew when his employer expected him to comment and when he did not.
Mulrooney squinted with palpable malevolence at Ferrett.
“Oh, what do you know about it, you ridiculous rat-faced worm?”
Ferrett gulped again. “N-nothing, sir,” he stammered.
“Damned right,” Mulrooney said with a nod that squished several of his chins together.
He glared at the wire again. Then he shuffled through the messy pile of papers on his desk until he found what he was looking for, picked it up, and glared at it. It looked to Ferrett as though he were comparing the paper he had just picked up to the wire.
“It says here,” said Mulrooney, shaking the newly picked-up paper, “that a Miss Maggie Bright is nursing Green in her farm in Lincoln County in the Territory.” He paused to think. Then he glared once more at Ferrett.
“Lincoln County’s always being written about in the papers because of its violence and feuds, isn’t it, Ferrett?” He roared the question. He liked to keep his people off guard.
He succeeded well with Ferrett, who jumped a yard in the air and whimpered, “Yes, sir,” pathetically.
Mulrooney tapped a bloated finger on the arm of his chair for several seconds and pondered. A smile began to curl itself up in his fat lips as he thought. He peered at Ferrett and gave him that smile. The smile did not lessen Ferrett’s nervousness.
“I don’t like it when people aid my enemies, Ferrett,” Mulrooney said conversationally.
“No, sir,” agreed Ferrett.
Mulrooney’s gaze strayed out the window again. The smile didn’t leave his face. His finger stopped tapping.
“Still, even though Jubal Green lives, something good was achieved by this Gauthier fool,” Mulrooney mused. “Jubal Green is the last of his line now since Gauthier wiped out his brother and his family. Dan Blue Gully, of course, has no family. Nor does Four Toes Smith. The army helped me there.”
A chuckle that sounded nearly jolly rumbled out from between Mulrooney’s fat lips. Ferrett dared to produce a tiny little smile. The smile lasted only long enough for Mulrooney to turn his head and glare at him. Then it died fast.
“This is not funny, Ferrett, you miserable wad of slime.”
“No, sir.”
“His father ruined me, you piece of scum,” Mulrooney added, still stabbing Ferrett with his razor-sharp gaze.
“Yes, sir.”
“He stole the woman I was to have married.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stole her, Ferrett. Like the miserable thief he was.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mulrooney’s glared transferred itself once again to the window and his fat finger resumed its tapping.
“Marianna claimed she didn’t want to marry me,” Mulrooney commented.
“Yes, sir.”
“Said she wanted to marry Benjamin Green, of all people. My partner! Usurping villain.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Said she wouldn’t have married me even if Benjamin Green wasn’t around. Said I was unpleasant to be around. Me! Unpleasant! Can you feature that, Ferrett?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ferrett looked startled when his boss’s head whipped around and he found himself withering under the furious scowl of Prometheus Mulrooney once more. Then he realized what he had just said, and stammered out a quick, “I mean, no, sir. No, sir, I certainly can’t.”
Mulrooney’s piggy eyes stayed squinched-up and he glared at Ferrett for another few seconds, until the secretary thought for sure he was going to disgrace himself and wet his drawers. Fortunately, Mulrooney’s glare transformed from one of fury to one of contempt once more before that happened. Ferrett sighed with relief. He was accustomed to contempt.
“Miserable twit,” said Mulrooney at him.
“Yes, sir,” Ferrett agreed.
“It was twaddle, of course,” Mulrooney continued. “Marianna was a silly girl and didn’t know her own mind. I explained that to her, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“No, sir,” said Ferrett, sure of his ground again.
“The foolish girl married Benjamin Green anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
A slithery smile again took possession of Prometheus Mulro
oney’s face. “But I got them,” he said softly.
Ferrett shuddered.
“Yes, sir,” he said. His voice shook.
“They left New York for Texas. Took the profits Green had made with me and bought himself a spread near El Paso.” Mulrooney stopped talking and his smile broadened, as if relishing a cherished memory.
Ferrett didn’t say anything.
“They forgot all about me,” Mulrooney continued, his voice dreamy.
“Yes, sir,” Ferrett whispered.
Mulrooney turned to glare at his secretary again.
“Shut up, you foul, disgusting frog,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said Ferrett, and clamped his teeth together.
“I didn’t forget about them, though,” Mulrooney continued, his smile having returned once his reminiscences resumed. “I got them, Ferrett.”
Mulrooney paused. Ferrett remained silent. Mulrooney turned and his fists crashed down upon his desk.
Again, Ferrett jumped. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
“Are you listening to me, you absurd excuse for a human being?” roared Mulrooney.
“Yes, sir,” Ferrett whimpered.
“I said, ‘I got them,’” Mulrooney repeated, glaring at Ferrett, who looked very much as though he might faint.
“Yes, sir,” he squeaked.
Mulrooney sat back in his chair again. “I waited until they were established and happily ensconced in their little kingdom, and then I went after them, Ferrett. Through my agent in Texas, I began to buy up all the land around them. They didn’t know my plan. They didn’t know it was me.” He chuckled in satisfaction.
Ferrett swallowed. “Yes, sir,” came out feebly.
“I toyed with them at first. Diverted water. Poisoned cattle. I wanted them to suffer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But that got boring. Besides,” Mulrooney said querulously, “that dratted Green was smart. He figured out what was happening and intervened. Every single time. Damn his soul to hell.” Mulrooney’s furious glower was still directed at the window, a fact that Ferrett appreciated.
Then Mulrooney heaved a sigh that was as fat as his body.
“So I killed them,” he said simply, as if that made perfect sense.
“Yes, sir.” Ferrett’s tiny whisper barely left his lips before it died.
“But by that time they had sons,” Mulrooney said as though the Greens’ sons were a personal affront to his dignity.
“Yes, sir.”
“But I’ll get them, too, Ferrett,” Mulrooney said with a fat smile. “Already got one of them.” He sounded downright cheerful about that.
“I’ve dedicated my life to this pursuit, Ferrett,” he murmured, as though he were talking to himself. “They took away my happiness. She gave my sons to that usurping criminal Benjamin Green. They should have been mine, those sons, Ferrett. They should have been mine.”
Mulrooney had turned to face Ferrett again, and both his intense smile and his tiny, protuberant eyes held the fervor of a crazed fanatic. Ferrett trembled.
Mulrooney’s smile faded and he glared at his underling once again.
“Get my agent, Ferrett. He’s got to contact my man in Amarillo.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ferrett. He waited for further instructions.
Mulrooney continued to glare at him.
Ferrett continued to wait.
Mulrooney’s bellow hit Ferrett full in the face and backed him clear across the floor to slam up against the wall.
“Go, you imbecile!”
Ferrett didn’t waste time on another “Yes, sir,” before he opened the door and raced to do his master’s bidding.
Mulrooney’s agent was every bit as terrified as Ferrett of Mulrooney. His name was Pelch.
As Ferrett took Pelch up the stairs to their employers’ office, the two men commiserated with each other.
“He’s in a rare mood today, Mr. Pelch,” said Ferrett.
“Ain’t he always,” muttered Pelch.
Ferrett sighed out a, “That’s so.”
When the two men got to Mulrooney’s office door, they both had to steel their nerves before Ferrett dared venture a small, clickety knock upon the varnished mahogany. Ferrett and Pelch both winced as Mulrooney’s screamed, “Get in here, you idiotic fools!”
Nobody ever left Mulrooney’s employ voluntarily. Mulrooney would occasionally fire people, but nobody ever left voluntarily. It was either stay and take his abuse or be fired. People who tried to quit invariably seemed to meet with unfortunate accidents. Mulrooney didn’t like quitters. Neither Ferrett nor Pelch dared even try to quit.
Ferrett hovered outside the office door for poor Pelch to emerge. The two men often tried to bolster each other’s lacerated spirits, although it was a useless task.
Pelch’s eyes were downcast when he finally emerged from Mulrooney’s office. Ferrett patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of consolation.
The sigh that Pelch heaved seemed to have been torn from an exhausted soul. He looked as though he wanted to cry as he peered sadly at Ferrett.
“How many does this make, Mr. Ferrett?” he whispered miserably.
Ferrett gave a disconsolate shake of his head. “I’ve lost count,” he admitted.
Pelch shuddered. “I’m no better than a murderer,” he murmured.
Ferrett patted his shoulder once more. “It’s not your fault,” he consoled.
Pelch didn’t look convinced. He jerked his head toward the top of the staircase. “That man’s the devil,” he whispered.
Ferrett cast a frightened-rabbit look up the stairs. “That he is,” he whispered back.
The two men scurried away to do their master’s bidding.
# # #
Maggie felt as though she had died and gone to heaven during the next few weeks.
All danger had passed, at least momentarily, and Dan Blue Gully and Four Toes Smith spent their days helping out around the house since they didn’t need to be protecting themselves and her from murderers. They repaired broken door hinges, fortified stalls in the barn, fixed the wagon axle that Ozzie Plumb had been meaning to get around to fixing for six months now, and Four Toes even put up a fence around the little cabin’s yard.
Even her monthlies held no terror for Maggie, now that she had Dan Blue Gully’s magic bark to cure her headaches.
“Maybe I can whine about cramps along with Sadie now,” she giggled to herself. Maggie had often thought she’d trade her shattering, debilitating headaches for cramps any day.
Annie and Four Toes had taken a strong liking to each other, and the young Indian spent hours playing with the little girl, a circumstance that freed Maggie’s time up amazingly. Besides the building-brick set, Four Toes fashioned wooden toys for her. Annie loved playing with her carved horses, cows, mountain lions, and coyotes. He told the little girl wonderful, fanciful stories about the animals as they played.
Four Toes told Maggie he put up the fence for Annie, so that she wouldn’t wander away and get lost in the woods, and Maggie knew she would be eternally grateful to him for that alone. She had worried about what she was going to do when Annie began to walk around on her own. The possibilities, from the creek to wild animals to roving criminals, scared her.
“You like flowers, ma’am?” Four Toes asked Maggie one day after he had finished installing a gate to the split-rail fence he had erected.
Maggie had been hanging out the wash. The weather was getting on towards spring, and it was safe to hang wash out-of-doors once more without fear of it freezing on the line.
“I love flowers,” she sighed. “I’d like to have me a flower garden someday when I have time to tend it.”
Four Toes said, “Well, you got time now, ma’am. I can dig you a little border along the fence here. Then we can get you some seeds next time we go to the mercantile in town.”
Maggie’s eyes, no longer sunken inside a sea of black rings, got big with wonder.
“Oh,” she
breathed. “Do you mean it?”
“Sure,” said Four Toes, as if he were surprised at her doubt. “A few hollyhocks. Maybe some cosmos.”
Maggie’s smile could have warmed the coldest winter day. “Thank you, Mr. Smith,” she said softly. “Thank you so very much.”
Four Toes dug the toe of his boot into the soft earth. “It ain’t nothin’, ma’am. You’re two ladies here. Ladies like flowers,” he said bashfully.
Maggie glowed at him and went back to hanging her wash with a song in her heart. She was going to have a flower garden. She couldn’t believe it.
The song in Maggie’s heart didn’t take long to work its way out into the open. From his invalid’s bed, Jubal Green heard her pretty voice raised in tune. She was singing “Annie Laurie” as she hung out the wash, and Jubal lay on his back and fretted. He felt left out.
Since he had never felt a need to belong to anything, Jubal had never felt left out before. He didn’t understand the strange longing he felt of wanting to be a part of the odd little family that had been created around him. He chalked it up to his injury and it irritated him.
When Maggie came in to give him his lunch, he was scowling.
“Oh, my, Mr. Green, you look fierce. Are your wounds hurting you?”
Maggie was concerned, although she had mixed emotions about both Jubal Green and his injuries. On the one hand, she certainly wanted him to get better. On the other hand, he was a difficult patient. Not only that, but she was afraid that when he got better, he and his two Indian friends would go away again. Since Maggie had not only got used to them but liked having them around her, she didn’t even want to think about what life would be like when they all went away and left her.
Jubal frowned at her. “They’re not too bad.” He sounded very grumpy.
Maggie set his soup and corn bread on the table beside the bed and helped him to sit up. That remained a painful process yet, and Jubal grunted. He still looked unhappy when he was sitting up. Maggie stood back and peered at him critically, as if to assess the state of his health.
“Are you sure you’re not hurting, Mr. Green? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m all right.” He was a little mollified since she seemed to be concerned about him.
One Bright Morning Page 10