by John Legg
“Comes natural,” Coffin said quietly. “All I know is that’s the way I am. Can’t figure out why I’m that way. Just that I am.”
Enoch nodded. “Now, let me tell you a little about the job.” He leaned his bulky body back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “Beryl here, being the marshal of Madison handles most of what comes up in town here. He can usually get some help on the spot, if he needs it. Our job—me and you, Joe—is to handle everything outside of town.”
Coffin whistled. “That’s a handful, I expect,” he commented.
“It is that. I try’n help Beryl when I’m around, which ain’t too often these days. Maybe that’ll change with you around, though. I might be able to stick around Madison more.”
Coffin nodded.
“Any questions, Joe?” Enoch asked.
“Supplies?”
“Get ’em at Rosencrantz’s next door. Or at Williams’ over on Fourth Street. Just have ’em put on our tab. Pay’s three dollars a day—ninety a month.”
Coffin nodded again.
“Anything else?” Enoch asked.
“Why don’t you work out of Virginia City? It’s a much bigger place.”
“I hate that festerin’ sinkhole. Marshal McAllister don’t give a damn where I operate from, just as long as I do my job. And, this way, Beryl and I can help each other when the need arises.”
“I was just wonderin’.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Where’re you stayin’, Joe?” Enoch Pembroke asked as they walked down President Street.
Coffin pointed. “Blake’s. Why?”
“Well, we got us enough room in the house, if you want to light and tie there.”
“I don’t want to put you out none.”
“You won’t. And it seems foolish to be payin’ rent on a place that you ain’t gonna be in half the time.”
“You did say I was gonna have to spend a lot of time huntin’ down outlaws, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“You sure it won’t put you out?”
“Not at all.” Pembroke paused. “Tell you what. Come over for supper tonight. You can see how things are goin’.” Coffin nodded.
They continued on their tour of town, with Pembroke pointing out places, including his house. They stopped in a store now and then, where Coffin would be introduced to the store owner. It took a good portion of the day.
Then Coffin and Pembroke went back to the office, where they went over what maps they had of the surrounding countryside. Coffin would need a good working knowledge of the area if he was to hunt outlaws like Cady Merkle.
“When do I leave?” Coffin asked as he folded up the maps.
“Tomorrow mornin’s good enough, I suppose. Go on and have yourself a nap or somethin’,” Pembroke ordered politely. “You’re lookin’ mighty beat.”
Coffin nodded, agreeing not only with the suggestion but the reasoning behind it.
“Be at the house about five.”
Coffin felt considerably better when he woke from his nap. He checked his pocket watch. He still had a half hour. He washed up in the small basin and changed his shirt. He even shaved. At fifteen to five, he left the hotel and took his time getting to the Pembrokes’ home, enjoying the sunny warmth of the day. He arrived at one minute to five, by his pocket watch. He rapped on the door.
When the door opened, Coffin was certain he had taken one too many blows to the head in all the fights he had had over the years. Nothing else would seem to explain this vision of loveliness standing before him, holding the door open. She was also saying something, he finally realized. He blinked a couple of times. The vision did not disappear, but at least he could hear now, too.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said quietly. “I was some taken aback by your appearance.”
“Why?” the woman asked, a little baffled.
“I didn’t know Enoch or Beryl was married. They never said anything about it, except that Enoch said he lost his Netty a while back.”
The woman laughed, a deep, merry sound that struck right at Coffin’s vitals. “I’m Amy Pembroke,” she said with the laughter still bubbling around the words. “Enoch and Beryl are my brothers.”
“Ah,” Coffin said with a nod. “That would explain it, wouldn’t it?”
“It better had explain it,” Amy said, her voice endlessly cheery. “Now, come on in, Mr. Coffin. Please. Supper is almost ready.”
Still suffering a severe case of befuddlement, Coffin entered the foyer and stopped. Amy shut the door behind him and then said, “Follow me, Mr. Coffin.”
Coffin was happy to do so.
Amy led him to a sitting room. “Mr. Coffin’s here.” She stepped out of Coffin’s way as he walked into the room. Then she left.
Coffin sat, still trying to get over his amazement. Enoch brought him a glass of whiskey. “Looks like you could use this, boy,” Enoch said with a laugh.
Coffin nodded dumbly, took the glass and drained it. He held it out. “More,” he said flatly. Enoch filled the request, and once more Coffin downed it straight and fast. “One more time.”
“Hell, boy, you’re gonna get drunk on another,” a highly amused Enoch said.
“I must be drunk already,” Coffin said solemnly.
“Why?” Enoch asked in surprise.
Coffin pointed vaguely over his shoulder.
“Amy?” Enoch asked, still surprised. Coffin nodded.
“Why?”
“You never said ... never told me ...” Coffin squawked.
Both Pembrokes laughed heartily. “Reckon we didn’t,” Enoch said. “I guess we just sort of expected you to know about her, though there was no way you could know, now that I think about it. My apologies.”
“Nothin’ to really apologize for,” Coffin said in a more normal tone of voice. “Nothin’ that is except trying to make my heart give out on me from the shock and surprise.”
“Well, in that case, I reckon you do need another drink,” Enoch said laughingly.
Coffin sipped the shot of whiskey and then set it down. He began rolling a cigarette. “What’s she doin’ here?” Coffin asked when the smoke was going.
“Our parents died, I guess it’s been about a year ago now. Within a month of each other. Me and Beryl went out there for Pa’s funeral, and we was still there when Ma went, too. Beryl come back straight after that, while I stayed back there to see to everything. Amy didn’t have no place to go really except with some relatives none of us was particularly fond of, so I brought her out here to keep house for us, at least until she marries.”
Coffin nodded. “She got anyone lined up?”
“For what?”
“Marryin’.”
“Not that I know of,” Pembroke chuckled. “You, Beryl?”
“Nope.”
Coffin’s mind was racing, thoughts of the lovely Amy Pembroke going round and round. Then the vision was in the doorway and announcing that supper was served.
The three men filed into the small dining room and took seats. Enoch sat at the head of the table, as was his right, being the oldest. Beryl had the foot of the table. Coffin and Amy were directly across from each other. Amy said grace, and then the plates and bowls and platters of food went around the table.
Coffin didn’t want to seem like a hog, but he was hungry. He was that way a lot, and rarely, if ever, apologized for it. So he piled his plate high with elk steak, white potatoes and fresh green beans. He also grabbed three thick buttermilk biscuits when they came around, and slathered them in butter.
“Where’n the hell’re you gonna put all that, Joe?”
Enoch asked with a laugh.
“Watch your language at the dining table, Enoch,” Amy scolded mildly.
“Yes’m.” Enoch looked a little sheepish. “Well, Joe?” he said. “You never did answer.”
Coffin just glowered at him. The two Pembroke men laughed. Coffin took a bite of everything on the plate and chewed appreciatively. “Whoa, now I k
now why you said Terwilliger’s was the second best place to eat in Madison.”
“It’s all Amy’s doing,” Enoch said.
Amy beamed in pride, but lowered her eyes lest she be considered vain.
“Well, ma’am, I can say in all honesty that this’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”
Once more Amy’s face pinked up in happy pride. Knowing that everyone was looking at her, she knew she had to say something. While she liked the comments about her abilities as a cook, she did not want them to get out of hand. She brought her eyes up and looked at Coffin. “What happened to you, Mr. Coffin?” she asked quietly. “Your face, I mean.”
“Please, ma’am, call me Joe.” When Amy nodded, Coffin said, “My face got in the way of somebody’s fist a couple of times.”
“You men,” Amy chided, though she did not really sound angry. “All you do is fight.” Then she smiled at Coffin, who suddenly found he couldn’t breathe all that easily.
Coffin did get more accustomed to Amy’s presence as the meal progressed. After the main course was done, Amy brought out an apple pie. She cut it into four pieces, giving the three men very large slices. She took the small piece for her own.
Finally they all were done. Coffin rolled a cigarette and puffed on it while sipping another cup of coffee.
“Well, Joe, now that you’ve seen our humble home,” Enoch said, “what do you think about stayin’ here instead of at a hotel or boardinghouse?”
Coffin studied his thoughts a little. Finally, he said cautiously, hoping he was not overstepping any bounds, “I ain’t sure.” He paused, and then decided to just say it and see what the consequences were. “It’s probably mighty presumptuous of me, but I’d...well, I’d like to court Amy.” Figuring that he would get a lot of argument, he hastened to add, “I know I just met her and only seen her this one time, but I am powerful attracted to her...”
“Whoa, boy,” Enoch said with a laugh. “Slow down, boy and give a body room to speak.” When Coffin had clapped his mouth shut and sat there feeling a trickle of worry in his midsection, Enoch said seriously, “I know you to be an honorable man, Joe. Unless you’ve gone and changed a hell of...”
“Your language,” Amy warned.
“...hell of a lot in the past few years,” Pembroke went on just for spite. “And as such, I have no problem with you courtin’ Amy.” He glared at Coffin. “Unless you’re just tryin’ to take advantage of...”
“I’ve killed men for such insults,” Coffin said evenly. Enoch stared at Coffin, and liked what he saw in those hard blue eyes. He smiled just a bit. “No, you wouldn’t do somethin’ like that,” Enoch said. “My apologies, Joe, for havin’ said such a thing to an old and trusted friend.” Coffin nodded, accepting the apologies.
“As I said, I ain’t put out by you courtin’ Amy. How about you, Beryl?”
“Amy could do a lot worse for a suitor,” Beryl said. Coffin could feel the excitement rushing through him. It had been only three months or so since he had lost Edna Yarnell, but it seemed a lifetime ago. He thought he would never get over that, but Amy Pembroke, just by being here, was enough to make him almost forget Edna. If he hadn’t forgotten her yet, she was very far back in his mind.
“I guess the real question,” Enoch said, “is whether Amy wants your attentions. She don’t and you come around to bother her...”
“That’s twice, Enoch,” Coffin said flatly. “Don’t do it a third time.”
Enoch nodded. He looked at his sister. “Well, Amy, what do you think of all this?”
Her smile fairly lit up the room—at least for Coffin. “I’d be mighty proud to have you call on me, Mr. Coffin. Joe.”
Coffin’s heart felt like it would burst right out of his chest. Then reality hit him, and he sobered. “That might put a hitch on plans for me to stay here, Enoch,” he said.
“It will?” Enoch was surprised, but mostly because he was watching his sister’s reaction to Joe Coffin. He looked at Coffin.
“Are folks gonna talk poorly of Miss Amy if I’m courtin’ her and livin’ in the same house while I’m doin’ it?”
“That they might,” Enoch said. He was of a mind to blast anyone who made a fuss over such a thing, but he knew that was totally foolish. People were bound to talk about it, and Enoch Pembroke did not want any of that dirt to touch his sister.
Finally Enoch sighed. “I expect it’s an imposition on you, Joe, but it might be best if you was to stay elsewhere. At least for the time bein’.”
“No!” Amy objected vehemently. “I don’t care what others say.”
“You should,” Enoch said. “Such talk’ll drive a wedge between you and Joe. Maybe even between you and the two of us. People’re like that. It ain’t right, maybe, but it’s a fact.”
“I agree with Enoch, Amy,” Coffin said. “I’d not want anyone to go around soilin’ your name or your reputation. Besides, I’d be in a fight every ten minutes tryin’ to protect you.”
“I still don’t like it,” Amy pouted.
“Tell you what, Amy,” Coffin said slowly. “Let me stay at the hotel, or maybe even at a boardinghouse, at least for a while. Enoch says I’ll be on the trail a lot anyway. We’ll see how things go that way for a spell.”
Amy didn’t like the idea, but she acquiesced.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Coffin was just a tad annoyed as he rode out of Madison the next morning with a pack mule in tow. He figured it ridiculous that he had just last night asked to court Amy Pembroke, all the while knowing that he would be gone this morning. He should’ve known better than to have opened his mouth.
Still, he had had much of last evening with Amy. Granted, they were in the sitting room with Amy’s two brothers right in the next room, but they were alone together. That was all he could ask, at least at this point. They were, of course, uncomfortable since neither knew the other, but they had talked a lot.
Coffin also knew now that Amy would be waiting for him when he returned, however long that would be. Worrying about it now wouldn’t do him any good anyway, and might even do some harm. If he allowed his mind to rest too comfortably on thoughts of Amy, and on his regrets of having to leave her just as he met her, he could become easy prey for the many outlaws in the land.
Helping him, though, was the picture of Amy in his mind’s eye. He could conjure it up easily enough; it was harder to put that mental picture away.
He sighed as he hit the trail leading east out of Madison and then northwest toward some of the other mining towns. He didn’t expect to find much about the outlaws this soon, but he would have to be alert.
Late in the afternoon, he pulled into Busted Shovel, a mining camp with no amenities and a lot of paranoia brought on by gold fever. A man named Lemuel Partridge seemed to be the closest thing to a leader in Busted Shovel, and Coffin sought him out.
Partridge quit shaking the sifter box and looked at Coffin. Over the roar of the Beaverhead River, he asked, “Where’s Marshal Pembroke?”
“Back in Madison. I’m his new deputy.”
Partridge shrugged. “You’re awfully small for a lawman, ain’t you, boy?” He stared evenly at Coffin.
“Nobody told me I had to have big feet—or a big mouth—to wear this badge,” Coffin said.
Partridge shrugged again. He pointed to Coffin’s bruised face. “Looks like you ain’t a very good lawman.” Coffin grinned tightly. “Took four of ’em, all of ’em big, ugly fellers like you, too.”
Partridge stared at Coffin a few more moments. Then he nodded and laughed. “I just bet it did,” he said firmly. “Now, Marshal, what can I do for you?”
It took Coffin a moment to realize that Partridge was addressing him as marshal. “You have any trouble hereabout lately?” he finally asked.
“A couple claim jumpers come through the other day.”
“Where’d they go?” Coffin asked.
Partridge pointed. Coffin followed the man’s finger until his eyes lit on two wood crosses.
>
Coffin nodded and smiled. “That’ll keep ’em from jumpin’ any more claims, won’t it?” Coffin commented. “That was the idea,” Partridge bellowed.
“Anything else?” Coffin asked. “Somethin’ you might need me to look into?”
Partridge stroked his hard, square jaw. He was unsure whether he should say anything, seeing as how he didn’t know Coffin at all. Then he shrugged. If Coffin wasn’t a marshal like he claimed to be, it wouldn’t cause much more trouble than a man had any right to expect in a place like Busted Shovel.
“Some folks caught Jasper Daniels headin’ for Madison a few days ago. Killed him and took his poke—our poke. He was comin’ on down to get some supplies.”
“You know who done it?”
“Cady Merkle.”
“You sure?”
Partridge nodded.
“You or someone else see him?”
“Didn’t need to. Marty Hardings found the body. There was a note stuck to Jasper’s chest with a knife.”
“A note?”
“Yeah.” Partridge pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and held it out.
Coffin took it and opened it. The paper, coated with dried blood, crackled. “Obliged for the stake, pilgrim. Cady Merkle,” Coffin read. Coffin looked up at Partridge. “This happened before?” he asked, holding out the paper.
“At least once I know of. Around other camps...” He shrugged.
“Mind if I keep this?” Coffin asked.
“I got no use for it.”
Coffin nodded. “You got a place I can spend the night?”
“Jasper’s tent”—he pointed to a sagging canvas tent a few yards from the river—“ain’t bein’ used but for some storage. I expect you can find a little bit of room in there.”
“Obliged.” Coffin turned and walked off. He unsaddled his horse and unloaded the mule and tended to both animals. Still tired, he picked up firewood and started a small blaze near the front of Daniels’ tent. By the time dark covered the camp, he was chowing down on bacon and beans. Not his favorite meal, but it filled the hole in his belly, which was all that mattered.