by Clari Dees
“The tracks’ll be washed out, but show me where you trailed him so I can get an idea of where he was and where we lost him.”
“Sure ‘nuff. We’ll go right through the area Barnaby was plannin’ on workin’ when he left this morning. If he’s still there, we’ll stop and chat.”
They did meet up with Barnaby and several other hands moving cattle to another area for fresh grazing. Wyatt was impressed with the graying, quiet-spoken man, but again didn’t learn anything new. Barnaby promised to keep his men alert to anything that might be of interest to the marshal. He also told Jonah to ride in with Wyatt and stay in town where he could keep an eye on the Boss man and Miss Meri.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and Wyatt got a feel for the land. It was beautiful mountain-valley country, and he was impressed with the way the land was being utilized to its fullest potential. Every time he saw the strange-looking woolly red cattle, the memory of a laugh rang through his thoughts.
The McIsaac ranch lay west and slightly north of Little Creek and the bandit had ridden out of town heading east. The trail herd had bypassed the town on the west before veering northeast toward Denver.
“Do the trail herds always go this direction?” Wyatt asked. “Seems like it’d be shorter to go around the east side of town.”
“We don’t have as many now that the railroads are getting more accessible, but a few still come around the west side and across a portion of our range because McIsaac allows them access. There are more farmers on the east side now, and they don’t appreciate their crops getting torn up. Most of the trail bosses do their best to ensure they do the least amount of damage possible,” Jonah replied.
Wyatt studied the land. “When we first lost the tracks, we continued east in the direction he’d been traveling. We followed the trail herd until we caught up to the drovers, then we backtracked and had almost made it to where you’re showing me he cut out before it began to rain. If we’d come this direction first, we might have found his trail before it rained and been closer to catching him.” Wyatt was frustrated. “Why did he circle back around the town and stay in the area when he knew a posse was after him? Why didn’t he get as far away as he could, as fast as he could?”
“Maybe he did. By coming this way, he did the unexpected and bought himself more time,” Jonah mused.
“This is definitely not an auspicious beginning to my job as Little Creek’s marshal, and if I don’t catch him and get the bank’s money back, it’ll be a very short-lived job. The good citizens are understandably nervous about that money,” Wyatt groaned.
“Well, there is someone we can talk to who’ll be able to point us in the direction we need to go for you to catch him,” Jonah said, turning his horse to face Wyatt.
“Who?” Curiosity filled Wyatt’s voice.
“Him.” Jonah glanced up briefly before bowing his head, and Wyatt felt peace descend and frustration melt away as he listened to the former master sergeant bend his knee before the Master of Heaven, asking for God’s wisdom and guidance in the task before the marshal.
He echoed the prayer in his heart and uttered a hearty Amen when Jonah finished. “Thank you for realigning my perspective, Sergeant. You were always good at that, if I recall.”
“I did straighten out a few smart-mouthed lieutenants in my time. Although I must say, I had less polishing to do on you then some I ran across. Your mother’d done a pretty good job already.” Both men chuckled as they headed back.
Riding into the ranch yard, Wyatt cast a glance at the lowering sun. “Miss McIsaac is going to be champing at the bit to get back into town.”
“If she hasn’t already left.” Jonah grinned.
“I told her to wait—that I’d ride back with her. I don’t want her, any woman, out on these roads alone, at least until we catch this fella.”
Jonah snorted. “I’ll be much surprised if she waited around more than a few minutes after you threw that order at her.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier? Stop her from going in alone?”
“Figured it was about time you learned you can’t bark orders at a woman as if she’s a soldier. It just don’t work. Besides, Boss man has a standing order. When someone sees her ride out, which is frequently, they are to let the bunkhouse cook or Ms. Maggie know and then follow Meri to make sure no one bothers her. Boss man couldn’t cure her of riding alone, something he loves to do himself, so he makes sure someone is always keeping an eye on her. I think she figured out his little scheme a long time ago, but as long as they stay out of her way, she tolerates it.”
The men stopped their horses in front of the main house and a sturdy, dusky-skinned woman, black braids wound in bands around her head, stepped onto the porch carrying a tray with a pitcher and several glasses. “Thirsty? I have fresh lemonade here,” she said in a lightly accented voice.
“Yes’m, Ms. Maggie! Sounds great! Captain Cameron, meet the real ramrod of the McIsaac ranch, Maggie Running Deer, the McIsaac’s housekeeper.” Jonah took the tray and set it on a table between several comfortable-looking rocking chairs. “Ms. Maggie, the new marshal of Little Creek.”
Wyatt doffed his hat and bowed slightly to the woman. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Is Miss McIsaac ready to head back to town?” He took the glass of lemonade Jonah handed him and swallowed half of it in a single swallow, choking when he heard the woman’s answer.
“She left a couple of hours after you rode out. Barnaby rode in, and after talking with him, she tossed a bag on Abe and took him and Sandy back to town.”
A sly grin appeared on Jonah’s face, but he refrained from saying I told you so.
Wyatt hastily swallowed the last of the tangy drink before setting the glass down. “Thank you, Ms. Maggie. That hit the spot.”
“Sit down, Captain, and take a load off.” Jonah disposed of his own glass. “I’ve got to put a few things in my saddlebags before we head to town.” Thanking Ms. Maggie, he headed for the barn leading the two horses.
Wyatt quelled the urge to rush back to town and slowly sat down. Miss McIsaac had, by now, probably already arrived back in town, but his hands itched to give her a good shaking—the little scamp. Instead he controlled his impatience and accepted the refilled glass Ms. Maggie handed him before heading back to her baking.
One of the cowhands he had met earlier ambled up leading the horse he’d ridden from town, along with another saddled horse, and tied them to the rail in front of the house. “Jonah’ll be ‘long direc’ly.” The man sauntered away.
The minutes dragged by as he gazed unseeingly at the tidy ranch yard, fingers drumming on the arm of the rocker. Flower beds sported a few early delicate blooms, a kitchen garden boasted rows of emerging greenery, and neat fences spread out and away, delineating pasturage. All lent a well-cared-for air to the place, yet they failed to register beyond a vague awareness as Wyatt turned the day over in his mind. He needed to separate the few pieces he’d found and examine them thoroughly; see if, and where, each piece fit into the puzzle of the bank robbery.
“You gonna sit staring into space all day, or do you want to ride in with me?” Jonah laughed at his blink of surprise when he looked up to see the sergeant already mounted.
Wyatt hurried off the porch and swung into the saddle. “Don’t get uppity, Sergeant, or I’ll put you on report!”
Jonah’s laugh rang as they turned their horses toward town.
* * *
Meri imagined the look on the marshal’s face when he realized she was gone, and grinned. She’d eaten lunch while Ms. Maggie fussed about the holdup and Boss man’s injury and had just finished packing a bag when she’d seen the marshal and Jonah riding out. Planning to ride with them and speak to Barnaby herself, she’d instead been ordered to stay put. She’d tried to argue they could get back to town quicker if they combined their tasks but had been completely ignored as the overbearing man had ridden away at a lope. She’d nearly gone back to town then and there but had curtailed the imp
ulse. The job she’d left her wounded father’s side to do wouldn’t be completed to her satisfaction until she’d spoken with Barnaby.
Time had crawled as she’d prowled the barns and grounds, repeatedly answering the question, “How’s Boss man?” from worried ranch hands who wanted the information straight from her. Impatience had finally gotten the best of her, and she’d been saddling Sandy to go find the foreman herself when he’d ridden in. Having already heard the latest update on McIsaac from Jonah and the marshal, Barnaby had quickly filled her in on ranch happenings. He had things well in hand and had promised to send a rider in frequently with news of the ranch and to check on Boss man. Faither would be pleased, but not surprised, at Barnaby’s capable management in their absence.
Thanking him for his diligent care of the ranch, she’d tied her bag to Abe’s saddle, shoved her .44-40 Winchester carbine into the rifle boot, mounted Sandy and left the annoying marshal to fend for himself. The nerve-rattling tension was absent on this leg of the journey, and Meri smugly congratulated herself on getting back to town on her own terms. She shoved away the ridiculous notion that the trip seemed rather dull in comparison to the ride to the ranch.
Heavenly Father, please heal Faither so we can return home and life can get back to normal…without that bossy marshal.
The silent prayer evaporated before she finished, and the peace she’d tasted earlier was nowhere to be found. All the joy she normally experienced when riding her lovely palomino failed to materialize, and even the satisfaction at having outsmarted a certain lawman tasted stale.
The unexpectedly disappointing ride finally neared the end, and Meri breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the edge of town. Pausing, she heard echoing hoofbeats behind her. Spying a suitable hiding place in the brush alongside the road, she situated herself and Sandy, tied Abe’s lead rope around his neck and tapped his hip to send him on down the road. She was rewarded shortly when the cowboy who’d been surreptitiously following her rode into view. He pulled his horse up short when he saw Abe grazing along the roadside alone. He glanced around suspiciously.
“You can head home now, Shorty. Tell Barnaby and Ms. Maggie I made it to town in one piece,” she said dryly, nudging Sandy out of hiding.
Shorty touched the brim of his hat and turned his horse, a sheepish smile at being caught on his face.
Meri grinned at him. It had become a game to see if she could spot the rider tailing her. Some were better at staying hidden then others, but she knew someone was always within earshot on her “solitary” rides.
There had been Indian trouble in several areas of the newly formed state, but they hadn’t had a problem in this area for many years. She felt so safe on the ranch, she often forgot she lived in what Easterners called the “Wild” West and took off alone on Sandy. Her father allowed this, as she was always armed, but quietly arranged for additional protection. Meri suspected her father, himself, followed her from time to time and was one of the riders she felt but never saw or caught.
Faither.
Her throat ached with a sudden tightness as she remembered him lying so still, blood pooling on the bank floor. She couldn’t handle losing him, too.
Meri turned her head in the direction of the cemetery where her mother’s body lay. The burial ground sprawled along a high slope a little over a half a mile from the western edge of town, out of danger of any floodwaters from Little Creek.
Retrieving the happily grazing Abe, Meri detoured and headed that direction. She’d not been back to her mother’s grave since the funeral. She knew only the shell of the loving wife and mother was there, but the loss seemed so bitterly final there that Meri only wanted to avoid it. The cemetery represented nothing but death and heartache to her.
She missed her mother so much she physically ached sometimes. She missed her hugs, her laugh. She missed the way her mother would lovingly call her by her full name—America Catriona. She didn’t need a cold gray headstone to reinforce her loss.
Today, however, she forced herself to keep riding toward it. She should at least check on her mother’s plot. Then when Faither awoke, she’d be able to tell him she’d checked on the ranch and Mother.
Nearing the graveyard, she noticed movement between the tree line bordering the top edge of the cemetery and a ridiculously ornate crypt. Meri halted Sandy. The crypt was the local oddity, having been built by an eccentric miner who’d struck it rich. He’d resided around Little Creek long enough to see it completed before moving on to follow rumors of another gold strike and leaving the empty, imported-marble monstrosity looking disdainfully down upon meager creek-stone or wooden markers. Two marble lions guarded the door of the vault, but they proved inadequate protection against curiosity seekers and mischievous boys.
Meri fully expected to see a couple of those boys now, but instead, Mr. Samuels appeared around the side of it, head down, walking slowly. She felt her eyes widen in surprise. He hadn’t been out and about much since the theft at the bank, owing to his own head injury, and he must have walked because she didn’t see his buggy anywhere. Why was he wandering around up there anyway? His wife’s grave plot was down near the front of the cemetery not far from her mother’s plot. Had the blow to his head left him a little confused?
He glanced up, saw her and flinched as if startled. Meri lifted her hand to wave, but he ducked his head and scurried down the slope of the graveyard. Reaching his wife’s grave, he knelt, turning his back to her.
Meri felt for him. She understood how it was when someone intruded on your private grief and quietly turned the horses away from the cemetery with a sense of relief for the reprieve. She could always come back later when she wouldn’t be interrupting anyone, and she really needed to get the horses tended to and return to Faither. She’d been gone far too long already.
Several minutes later Meri dismounted in front of Dr. Kilburn’s and looped the reins around the hitching post. Taking her satchel off Abe, she saw a tall boy walking toward her. “Billy?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Are you available to run an errand for me?”
“Yup, I was keepin’ a lookout for ya. I’m to let Mrs. Van Deusen know when you get back here ‘cause she’s gonna bring you a plate of supper, and she’ll give me my choice of candy next time I’m in the store.” Billy nodded, grinning. “I reckon I kin do that when I run your errand.”
Meri grinned in response to Billy’s freckled, friendly one. “Yes, I reckon you can. I’ll give you a nickel if you’ll walk Sandy and Abe over to Franks’s, and tell him I’ll come see him as soon as I can.”
“Yes, ma’am! I’ll take real good care of ‘em! And Mrs. Van Deusen’ll bring you a real nice supper when I tell ‘er you’re back.” Billy’s grin stretched even wider as Meri placed the promised nickel in the grimy outstretched hand.
“By the way, why is Mrs. Van Deusen bringing me supper?” Meri asked.
“On account a Mrs. Kilburn havin’ to sit with somebody who’s sick, I guess. Mrs. Van Deusen said she’d take care of you and Doc this evenin’.” Billy carefully untied Abe and Sandy.
Meri took her bag and slid her carbine out of the saddle scabbard, stepped back and watched as the lanky adolescent proudly led the two steeds down the middle of the road, whistling and calculating whether to spend or save the precious nickel.
“I’m glad you’re back so soon, Meri,” Dr. Kilburn said gravely as he opened the front door and waved Meri inside.
Meri’s heart lurched in fear. “Faither?”
“He’s taken a turn for the worse.” His tone was sober and regretful.
If Dr. Kilburn was worried, it must be bad. Fear swallowed Meri. This couldn’t be happening. Not again!
She ran for the room where her father lay. Reaching for the door handle, she stared at her full hands. She’d forgotten she was still carrying her bag and carbine. Her frantic brain wasn’t able to coordinate the task of setting down the items to turn the knob.
Doc reached around her and
opened the door before gently relieving her of the items. Meri hastened over and collapsed to her knees at the edge of the bed. Her father looked so much worse since just this morning. His breathing was labored, his skin flushed and damp with perspiration and creases slashed across his drawn face in cruel lines.
It was only a bump on the head and a slight wound! People recovered from worse. Why wasn’t her father recovering? Looking up at Doc, she croaked, “Why…?”
Doc seemed to understand what she couldn’t voice. “He’s fighting infection in that bullet wound, and his fever is rising. He’s not responding to anything I’ve given him.”
A soft tap sounded on the door frame, and Pastor Willis stepped into the room. “I stopped to check on Ian.”
Doc repeated what he’d told Meri. As he finished speaking, Pastor Willis dropped to his knees alongside Meri and placed his hand on McIsaac’s shoulder. Speaking quietly, he prayed aloud for healing and restoration, wisdom for Doc and peace for Meri. When he finished, he turned to her. “Is there anything I or the church members can do for you besides keeping people informed and praying?”
Meri shook her head then stopped as an idea pierced through the fog in her brain. “Uh, maybe. Do you remember the sermon you preached once about calling for the elders of the church?”
“Yes, I do—James 5:14 and 15. ‘Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord: And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up…’”
“That’s the one. Would you do that for Faither?”
“Of course, dear. All you had to do was ask. I’ll go notify the men of the church and bring them back here as quickly as possible.” Pastor Willis patted Meri on the hand, pushed himself to his feet and left the room.
“Is there anything I can do to help Faither while we wait?”