Sourdough Creek

by Caroline Fyffe

  The liquid just leaked out the side of her mouth, and Cassie’s face clouded unhappily. The need to do something overwhelmed him.

  “Josephine, this is Sam. Sam Ridgeway,” he said briskly as he stroked her hair.

  Cassie looked up at Sam’s persuasive tone.

  “I want you to start minding your big sister!” He cleared his throat and then began again, using his sternest voice. “Drink this tea. She’s only asking you to take a couple sips, and you’re being headstrong and ornery. Mulish, even.”

  “Ummm.”

  Josephine’s eyes were still closed but this time there was no denying she’d made a sound.

  “Sam!”

  “I heard it. See if she’ll take some tea.”

  Grace hovered close behind, and Annabelle, who was the quietest woman Sam had ever encountered, waited with a cloth ready to dab the child’s mouth.

  “Cass…” The partial word was wobbly. “Cass…,” Josephine began again, and then slowly opened her eyes. When Josephine saw her big sister, she began to cry.

  Sam leaned in close. “Shhhh, honey, shhhh. You’re going to be fine, now,” he whispered into her ear as Cassie hugged her.

  A fragile hush descended as they watched Josephine take another sip from the spoon Cassie held to her lips, spilling more down her chin than she got in her mouth. “You’re going to get better,” Cassie said, smiling into Josephine’s face. “Here, take a little more.”

  A banging at the back of the house made all three women jump. Something heavy dropped onto the porch.

  “That’ll be the coffin,” Sam said, looking at Grace. She rushed away and returned, followed by Jonathan. The young man hurried to Annabelle’s side.

  Sam signaled Grace. “Can you take over here?” he asked, looking down at Josephine’s body cradled in his arms. She took the child from him as Cassie continued spooning in the warm liquid.

  Sam opened the door to Annabelle’s bedroom, “Jon?”

  Jonathan stepped away from Annabelle and followed Sam. Sam closed the door.

  Both men stared for a few moments at the sheet-covered body lying motionless on the bed. When Sam pulled the covering down the doctor’s face was a mass of dark black and blue bruises. It was a shame Annabelle would remember her father like this.

  “Those sorry excuses for human beings,” Jonathan said between clenched teeth. “He wouldn’t stand a chance against a flea, let alone a gang of outlaws. It’s disgusting, is what it is.”

  Sam pulled the sheet back up. “You go up and grab some clean clothes. And be quick. No telling when those outlaws are going to make their move.”

  “You think your plan will work?” Jonathan asked, still looking at the body of the doctor motionless under the sheet. His face had lost a little of its color.

  “Has to.” Sam jammed his hand through his hair in frustration, hoping that what he said was true. He himself wasn’t a killer and didn’t want to become one, if he could help it. But their options seemed limited. “Those men are cold-blooded murderers.” He tipped his head toward the body. “Proof’s right here. They’d just as soon shoot you as say hello.”

  Sam went to the window on the opposite side of the bed and pushed the curtain to the side. All was quiet. He caught a glimpse of Jasper and Pug coming down the boardwalk. They opened the door and went into the Blue Bell Café.

  He turned back to the bed just as Jonathan was about to leave the room. “I’m relieved we got all the things down at the jail put into place. I’ll feel a whole lot better when the farmer returns with the logs. How far out is his place?”

  “About half an hour,” Jonathan mumbled. “Depending on how long it took him to find something suitable, he should be getting back anytime now. I’ll keep my ears open. He’ll pass by here on his way down the street and I’m sure he’ll make a racket.”

  “Good. Now, off with you. I’ll have the doctor’s body ready when you get back with his clothes.”

  Jonathan left and for a moment Sam listened to the quiet conversation coming from the examination room. He thought he could distinguish Cassie’s voice amid Grace’s southern drawl and Annabelle’s soft, high tones. Josephine had come around. The thought brought a rush of happiness. When had those two girls become more important than his dreams?

  Sam went to the water pitcher and splashed some water into the bowl and dipped in a cloth. Wringing it, he noticed Cassie, or someone else, had put her old hat and a few of her things atop the polished mahogany dresser along the wall. Next to the piece of furniture, on the floor in a heap as if thrown down in a hurry, were both his and Cassie’s saddlebags.

  For just an instant he felt the old pull of the gold claim. His gaze stayed on the leather bags as he listened to Jonathan in the upstairs bedroom. But the pull was faint, and he barely noticed it. Other things were more important now. Like Cassie. As he’d held her in his arms last night all time seemed to stop. He longed for that again. Her goodness. Her smile.

  And, of course, there was Josephine. That tough little angel who’d sneaked her way under his skin. It would be some time until she was well enough to actually sit her pony, but the thought of her smiling up into his eyes was enough to make him dance. And, he didn’t even know how to dance—had never learned.

  Sam shook himself out of his thoughts to get back to things at hand. He stripped the torn shirt from the doctor’s body and washed his face and arms. Looking around, he spotted a comb. He contemplated the hair a moment, then swept it over to the right and curled some long stands around the doctor’s ear. That was as good as it was going to get. Moreover, though he could hardly believe it himself, he was also concerned for all the people he’d met in this town. They were depending on him to figure out how to bring the outlaw in the jailhouse to justice without anyone else having to be buried alongside the good doctor and the sheriff.

  Jonathan burst into the bedroom. “Brox is back with the logs. And they’re big ones. Come on, he’s just coming around the corner.”

  Outside, the farmer came around the bend of the street where a little one-room business called The Knitting Basket stood. Long reins trailed behind him as he slapped the horses’ sides. “Get up, Samson. Haw, Delilah.”

  Danny walked behind, intently watching the straps that held the harness to the logs. The horses strained forward, their black coats glistening with sweat. Brox pulled them to a halt.

  Sam went out to meet them. “These are huge,” he said with satisfaction, patting the mare on the neck. Great streams of air bellowed from her flared nostrils. “Just what I envisioned. Place one here at the crook of the street where it can’t be seen from the bend?”

  The farmer nodded and relaxed his shoulders. Danny walked up to his side.

  “Put the other on the opposite side of town where the road leads to the sheriff’s office. Around the corner of First and B Street, so it’s not visible until you make the turn.”

  Broxton and Jonathan smiled, having caught on to what Sam was planning.

  “Frankie and Bill?”

  “They’re in place,” Jonathan answered.

  “Good. All we can do now is wait. I’ll be here at the doctor’s if you need me, Brox. Can you take care of placing the logs?”

  “Sure ’nuff.”

  Sam and Jonathan finished dressing Dr. Hershey while Grace set a table with cold meat and bread for their noon meal, although few felt like eating. The time crawled by. At three o’clock Sam felt hesitant about leaving Cassie while the rest of the town went out to the graveyard next to the church.

  “We’ll be fine,” Cassie assured him as she held Josephine’s hand. Josephine was awake now, but weak. “Bill assures me he’s a good hand with a gun. Besides, how long will you be—fifteen minutes or so?”

  “I’d just feel a lot better if we had this whole business over with. As much as I hate leaving you here, I don’t want to abandon those town folks out there like birds at a turkey shoot. I have to go.”

  “Of course you do.” She shoved him toward
the door. “Go on, now. If you don’t hurry they’ll be done with the funeral before you get over there.”

  ***

  Arvid Angel exited Miss Hawthorn’s deserted boarding house and slammed the door so hard the walls rattled and the welcome sign hanging above the door clattered to the porch. Broken Branch was a ghost town. “Where the devil did everyone go?” he spat angrily. He descended the steps and walked out into the vacant street. “It hasn’t been more than three weeks since I was here.” And hid the deed in Cassie’s drawer for safekeeping, he thought. Now the town was all but empty and his two nieces were nowhere to be found. If that older gal had gone and lost it, there’d be hell to pay.

  Anger and frustration scalded him. He slammed his fist into his palm. “Same ol’ stinkin’, rotten story of my life!” If it hadn’t been for Sam Ridgeway trailing him so closely, he’d have ridden straight through to Coloma, and filed the papers on the claim before Sam could get there. Now he had to keep clear of him andfind the girls.

  The ring of metal on metal split the air. He looked down the street at the shops and buildings, but didn’t see anyone. Again the sound disrupted the silence and Arvid started off toward the livery. At least the Sherman brothers were still in town.

  He stepped into the smithy and took stock. Bristol held a horseshoe in a clamp as he heated it in the forge. Klem was slumped in a chair, his feet propped on a stool, watching.

  “Boys,” Arvid said as hospitably as he could muster.

  Both looked up surprised, unaware of his approach. Bristol’s eyes narrowed as he straightened to stand. He wiped his hands on the towel draped over his belt.

  “I’m looking for Cassie and Josephine,” Arvid continued.

  Klem stood quickly but not before Arvid noticed the decrepit condition of his boot soles. He’d be hard pressed to scratch a match without burning his feet.

  “You stole my watch,” Klem accused, his face turning red.

  Arvid began to sweat. He thought Klem was too dumb to notice. “What’re you talking about? I did no such thing.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  Klem stepped forward, but Bristol caught his arm. “It was broke, Klem, and not worth a plugged nickel. You can fight if you want, but I ain’t tendin’ you later.”

  Arvid wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’m just concerned for my nieces’ safety,” he said, nimbly changing the subject. He needed to find out if Sam Ridgeway had come this way.

  “That girl is the last person who needs lookin’ after. She ain’t defenseless. She shoots better’n Klem here.”

  “That’s horse manure and you know it!” Klem retorted heatedly.

  “I wish I did know it,” Bristol said, “then maybe you’d be of some use to someone.”

  Arvid felt pretty sure he wasn’t going to get any further, but he had to try. “Did a man named Sam Ridgeway come this way?”

  “You’re jist full of questions, ain’t ya?” Klem sneered, settling himself back into his chair.

  “Shut up, Klem!” Bristol barked. “If information is all you want, Arvid, this store is closed.” He went over to the forge and picked up the hammer and began banging away.

  Arvid walked back down to the boarding house, stewing. He knew little more than when he rode in. He searched the girls’ room from top to bottom, making sure Cassie hadn’t hidden the claim before leaving, with the intention of coming back for it later. He was going to find Cassie and the claim if it was the last thing he did. He’d risked his life stealing it from Ridgeway’s saddlebag, and then spent every other dime he owned staying three steps ahead of him. In a sense, he’d earned the claim—it belonged to him! And all the gold in it, dammit!

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The sun was low on the horizon when Jonathan barged through the hallway and into the examination room. “They’re coming!”

  The women jumped to their feet and Josephine struggled up to her elbow, her eyes big with fear.

  “How many?” Sam asked.

  “Just saw two. From the upstairs window. They’re sneaking down the hill behind the livery, on foot.”

  Sam pushed everyone from the room and herded them into the kitchen. “Cassie and Annabelle, you know what I want you to do. Jon, you go over to the saloon and tell whoever’s there to take their places. Go on, all of you. And be quick.”

  “Come with me, Grace,” Sam said as he went back into the examination room. He picked Josephine up easily and bounded up the stairs. He placed her on the doctor’s bed. “You be good and mind the adults,” he said to her. “No shenanigans.”

  Back downstairs everyone hustled about. Sam jammed his hat onto his head and moved to the door. Cassie met him there.

  “Be careful,” she said, standing close, her hair falling softly around her face as she regarded him intently.

  There it was. The light. The warmth deep in her eyes he’d seen before. And something else? Was she starting to feel this attraction that had begun to hound his thoughts? He looked away to keep himself from pulling her into his arms.

  “You be careful, too. If you’re faced with a choice, go on and shoot.”

  “You know I will, Sam. I can take care of Josephine and myself. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  As he opened the door to leave a shot rang out, the bullet sinking deep in the floorboard between them. Sam dove behind the water trough as Cassie slammed the door. Sam drew his gun.

  “If you set our man free no one will die!” called a voice.

  Sam looked up and down the sidewalk. All was clear. He tried to make out where the voice was coming from.

  “You hear me?”

  The report of a gun blast was followed by the splintering of the wooden plank directly above his head. Sam rolled to the side to avoid the stream of water.

  The voice had come from an alley two buildings over and across the street. Sam knew Walter was over on the boardinghouse rooftop by the jail and Mr. Fennimore, with his one leg, directly across the street. He’d instructed them not to shoot until, and if, he gave the signal. He needed to get farther up the street for a better view of the alley.

  Sam dived, rolling across a narrow side street. He dashed into the building that housed the Padua Press, a monthly newspaper, and a leather shop. Inside, he took the stairs two at a time, then crept up to the window. With his back against the wall, he peered out to the street below. Seeing nothing, he unlocked the latch and swung the window wide, stepped through the tall opening and crept to the edge of the roof. When he jumped to the next building, a gun discharged several times and bullets scattered around him. With his pistol, he broke out the pane of a window in the new building and reached inside to unlock it. He was back down the stairs in a moment and onto the boardwalk, shielding himself with the wide banister from the barbershop. He gave a birdcall and heard one in return down by the jail.

  All of a sudden Spencer’s voice shouted from his cell, “Hurry up, you dung beetles. I’ve been rottin’ away here for too long. Get me out!”

  Two men emerged from the alley directly across from Sam and looked around. “This here town is full of women, is all,” one said to the other. “There ain’t a man between ’em. Look, they’s all scairt ’n run away.”

  “Zat so?” Chester’s unsteady voice called out from his assigned hiding spot. “We’ll just see about that.”

  He fired two shots and the outlaws darted back to where they came from.

  Sam shook his head angrily. Until now, he’d been the only target. “Darn you, Chester,” he hissed.

  A horse nickered. Then a barrage of bullets hammered the face of the small bank where Chester was hiding. When the shooting stopped, a long whistle pealed through the air followed by two short ones. That was the signal letting Sam know more riders were headed to town from the north end.

  Now that Sam knew which direction the outlaws were coming from he felt a bit more confident. The road would bring the gang right past the two outlaws holed up in the alley, and end up in front of the jailhouse
. It was a good two blocks from where he was and if he didn’t hurry all could be over in just a few moments.

  He holstered his gun. Grabbing the reins of a horse at the hitching rail, he took hold of the saddle horn with both hands and swung onto the animal’s back. A barrage of firing erupted as Sam galloped toward the jail, some shots narrowly missing him, while others went wild.

  Sam rode straight into the livery stable opposite the jail. Without slowing, he leaped from the saddle directly onto a ladder, scrambling up to the loft. From the barn window he saw the leader on the piebald galloping pell-mell toward the town. Two mounted outlaws followed close behind.

  Just as he’d hoped, the three riders hit First Street at a dead run. When they rounded the corner at B Street the bulky logs lay solidly in their path. The piebald was quick, sailing over easily, but the other two horses sat down on their hocks, sliding to an abrupt stop and flinging their riders over their heads. The men landed with a thud. Across from them, Sam covered Walter and Broxton as they ran out and clobbered the outlaws on the head with their pistols and dragged them back into the building where they’d been hiding.

  “Get this over with! What’s takin’ you so blasted long?” Spencer screamed from his cell.

  From the corner of his eye, Sam saw a man in the alley crawl behind a watering trough and lie flat. The leader, still mounted, was in front of the jail. He pulled his rope from his saddle, expecting cover from his friends who were no longer there. He tossed the rope to the window and Spencer grabbed hold. Sam aimed and fired, hitting him in the shoulder. The outlaw jerked and slumped forward, spurring his horse into the safety of the livery, directly below where Sam was hiding.

  All was quiet again except for the hysterical commotion by Spencer. A string of curses filled the air as he demanded yet again for his men to set him free.