The Marshal Meets His Match

by Clari Dees

  Franks didn’t waste time answering. He just turned on his heel and ran out the door.

  “Marshal, can I have your assistance?” Wyatt reentered the exam room at Mrs. Kilburn’s call.

  “Pastor Willis went after my husband, but he’s all the way out past the Bascom place, and if he’s in the middle of delivering that baby, it’ll be a while before he can get here. The bullet stopped just under the skin on the top of her shoulder. I can get it out. I’ve assisted my husband enough to be able to handle it, but an extra pair of hands will make the job easier. Once it’s out, I can get the wound cleaned and bandaged until Doc gets back.”

  Wyatt looked at the fragile creature lying facedown on the table, a heavy sheet pulled discreetly over her. All her spunk and fire extinguished, she looked tiny and helpless.

  “Have you ever done anything like this before?” Mrs. Kilburn questioned gently.

  Wyatt gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yes. Many times after a skirmish with the Indians I’d assist the army surgeon, even dug out a few bullets on my own when he wasn’t around.”

  “Good. Wash up,” the efficient nurse directed. She carefully folded back a corner of the sheet and bared Meri’s bloody shoulder.

  Wyatt ached all the way to his soul at the sight of the ugly, seeping wound marring pearly skin.

  Mrs. Kilburn pointed out a small bluish lump that bulged the skin along the top of her shoulder. “There’s the bullet, just under the skin. This shouldn’t take long. Hold that lamp for me and be ready to apply pressure after I cut it out.” She handed him a bright reflecting lamp and thick cloth then leaned over Meri with a sharp scalpel.

  In seconds she had removed a small deformed piece of lead and dropped it with a clatter into the bowl beside her. Wyatt pressed the cloth firmly over the oozing hole, while the woman briskly rewashed her hands. Then she returned and thoroughly cleansed the wound before applying a thick layer of ointment.

  “Doc will check this over when he returns. Now, you wait in the office while I bandage her up. If my husband still hasn’t returned, I’ll have you carry her to a bed where she’ll be more comfortable.”

  Wyatt collapsed onto the chair outside the door and dropped his face into his hands. He was a trembling bundle of limp bones. All he’d done was hold a lamp and press a bandage over the wound, and he was a mess. What had happened to the coolheaded lieutenant who calmly cut arrows and bullets out of the flesh of his comrades?

  Dragging his head out of his hands, he stared at the quivering members. He’d more than likely cut off his own hand if he had to do anything like that right now.

  Time dragged until Mrs. Kilburn summoned him again. “Help me move her to the room her father was in.”

  Wyatt cradled the delicate woman in his arms. The torn bloodstained blouse and riding skirt had been replaced with a long loose gown. He could feel the bulky bandages swathing her shoulder as he followed the doctor’s wife down the short hallway. Laying Meri on her side, he stepped back, and Mrs. Kilburn tucked pillows behind her back and gently laid a quilt over her.

  “I’ll stay right here with her ‘til Doc gets back. You go get the coyote who did this to her.”

  The woman’s fierce expression would have made Wyatt smile on any other day but this one. He nodded grimly and exited the house. Leaping onto Charger, he raced back to pick up Jonah’s trail.

  If it took the rest of his life, he would not rest until he had caught the man who’d shot Meri.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wyatt was halfway between town and the cemetery when he recognized Jonah and Barnaby riding toward him, their rifles trained on a man astride a gray horse riding slightly in front of them, hands bound securely behind his back.

  “How’s Miss Meri?” Barnaby asked anxiously, keeping the barrel of his rifle aimed unswervingly at the battered-looking man as their horses came to a halt.

  “Doc’s out of town on another call, but Mrs. Kilburn got the bullet out of her shoulder. She was still unconscious when I left.” He gestured toward their prisoner. “Looks like you caught him.”

  “Yep.” Grim satisfaction surrounded the single word.

  “He looks a little worse for the wear.” Wyatt eyed the man’s bloody, bruised face and dirt-smeared torn clothing.

  “He got off easy.” Barnaby’s eyes glinted dangerously. “I came real close to shootin’ him off his horse and leavin’ him for the buzzards.”

  “Where did you come from, by the way?” Wyatt asked the foreman.

  “I was shadowing Miss Meri on her ride today. I knew you two were somewhere around ‘cause I found your horses, and then I spotted you in the doorway of the crypt about the same time Miss Meri’s horse did. When I heard the shots and saw you take her down and get her behind cover, I started working my way closer to him.” Barnaby jerked his thumb toward the bound prisoner. “When this skunk lit out, I rode cross-country to cut him off.”

  “I caught up to them about the time Barnaby was explainin’ the finer points of the consequences of shootin’ a woman.” Jonah’s chuckle held no humor. “From the tracks his pretty gray horse is leavin’, this is the same rat that stole McIsaac’s horse and shot at Meri the first time.”

  “I don’t know what they’re talking about, Marshal,” the man broke in belligerently. “I was just drifting through and suddenly this crazy fool jumps out of nowhere and knocks me off my horse.”

  Barnaby patted the stock of a second rifle resting in the saddle scabbard. “His rifle’s been fired recently.”

  “I shot at a rabbit.”

  “His tracks lead straight back to those cedars he shot at us from. I found these before I trailed him to where Barnaby had him cornered.” Jonah pulled two brass cartridges from his pocket. “I’ll also wager he’s our bank robber.”

  “Why did you shoot at us?” The man turned his head away and refused to answer Wyatt’s query. “Do you know anything about the bank robbery?” Again he vouchsafed no answer. “All right then, before we take him to jail, I need to make a quick stop at the cemetery.”

  “You want us to take him on in and lock him up?” Jonah stuffed the cartridges back into his pocket.

  “No. I want him to see what we found this morning.”

  The four men rode toward the cemetery, Jonah and Barnaby vigilantly keeping their guns on the prisoner. Mr. Van Deusen and Mr. Hubert heard them coming and walked out from the tree line where they’d been keeping watch. They lowered their guns when they recognized the riders.

  “You gonna explain why we’ve been keeping guard over a bunch of dead people and an empty tomb, Marshal?” Mr. Hubert peered at Wyatt quizzically, chuckling ruefully as he added, “I’m beginning to feel like those Roman soldiers in the Bible.”

  “This tomb isn’t as empty as it appears.” Wyatt dismounted, walked between the two marble lions and swung open the metal door.

  He disappeared inside and scraping sounds were heard before he reappeared carrying several canvas bags. Dropping them on the ground, he untied the top of one and displayed its contents, keeping his eyes on the face of the suspected robber.

  There were gasps from everyone except Jonah and bitterness spewed from the lips of the bound man. “That scheming double-crossing little weasel! I knew there was more money than what I…” He clamped his lips tight.

  “I assume this is what you’ve been roaming the countryside looking for?” Wyatt retied the bag of money.

  Mr. Hubert stared wide-eyed at the loot. “What is all that?”

  “I believe that’s the money from the bank,” Jonah replied sardonically.

  “How did it get here?” queried Mr. Van Deusen.

  “I think our prisoner has a pretty good idea.” Wyatt motioned toward the man on the gray horse. All eyes turned toward him, but he only glared sullenly.

  “Maybe a little time cooling your heels in jail will loosen your tongue.” Wyatt removed the rolled slicker from the back of his saddle and tied the three moneybags in its place. Flipping open the slicker,
he draped it over the bags, concealing them from view.

  “You gonna’ drop that off at the bank on our way to the jail?” Mr. Van Deusen asked.

  “No. It’s going into the safe in my office. It’s evidence. And I need all of you to keep quiet about it.” Wyatt swung atop Charger.

  “Why? Looks like we got the man who took it.” Mr. Hubert waved his hand toward the sullen prisoner.

  “He may have been the one to hold up the bank, but he didn’t take this money.” Wyatt cut off further questions by riding out of the cemetery toward town.

  The next few hours flew swiftly. Wyatt locked the money in the office safe and secured the prisoner behind bars. He provided the man with a bucket of cool water and some rags to clean up with, but the man refused to talk.

  Jonah returned from the banker’s house with news that the man had packed a bag and departed an hour or so previous. The housekeeper had no idea when he would return.

  Barnaby rode to the doctor’s house for word on Meri and returned to inform Wyatt that Doc and Ian McIsaac had arrived. Although Meri was still unconscious, Doc said she was simply weak from loss of blood and the shock to her system and should make a full recovery barring infection.

  Leaving Franks in charge of the jail and the prisoner, Wyatt and Jonah snuck away from town in opposite directions. Slowly and silently they worked their way into the woods behind the graveyard, hiding themselves and their horses. Then they sat down to wait.

  The last light faded from the sky. Wyatt strained his ears for any sound, his senses on full alert. Was he trying to close the trap on an already-escaped prey? The squeak of the gate at the lower end of the cemetery broke the heavy stillness.

  Motionless, he and Jonah watched a shadowy figure sneak up the slope through the silent gravestones. When it disappeared into the crypt, they glided soundlessly from their hiding places. A muffled oath echoed from the interior of the pale mausoleum, and the sinister shape hurtled out the door.

  “Put your hands up. You’re under arrest,” Wyatt ordered, gun held ready.

  Crack! Crack!

  Flame stabbed the darkness, and Wyatt felt a tug on his sleeve as the bullet tore past. His own gun fired simultaneously with Jonah’s, and the indistinguishable figure slumped to the ground. They cautiously neared the man, and Jonah kicked the gun away from his hand. Wyatt knelt and rolled the groaning man over. Mr. Samuels’s pasty face shone in the dim moonlight.

  “You were right, Cap’n.”

  “Regrettably.” Wyatt hauled the man none-too-gently to his feet. “Let’s get him into town, see what shape he’s in and hear what he has to say for himself.”

  * * *

  Bright sunlight streamed in the window when Meri forced her eyes open. Why was she in Doc’s house? Had she only dreamed her father was back home? No. It couldn’t have been a dream. She was in the same room her father had occupied all those terrible days.

  She sat up, gasped and fell back against the pillows as a wall of pain collided with her shoulder. Blackness threatened to swamp her, and her breath hissed between clenched teeth. What was wrong with her?

  The sharp teeth of agony gnawed interminably, but when it began to ease, the events of the previous day flooded back. In spite of the physical pain, the weight of sadness and anger she’d carried so long was gone. Her spirit was light, and the world looked brighter in spite of the torment in her shoulder.

  Thank You, Lord, for not giving up on me.

  As the prayer filled her heart, a little smile turned up the corners of her mouth. She felt better and hurt worse than at any other time in her life. Why am I hurting so badly?

  Meri gingerly fingered her shoulder, feeling the bandages under the fabric of the gown. The image of Wyatt taking her to the ground replayed in her memory, and a sudden blush heated her face. She’d made an idiot of herself in front of him. Again.

  She groaned. Why was she so quick to lose her composure with him? So much for getting things right between herself and the Lord. It lasted mere seconds before she promptly flared up at the marshal, forgetting all about her newfound peace.

  Footsteps warned her of someone’s approach, and she looked toward the open door. Dr. Kilburn walked in followed by her very-worried-looking father.

  “And how is our patient?” Doc moved to her side, lifting her wrist and looking at his pocket watch.

  “Why am I here?”

  “You were shot yesterday. Don’t you remember?” Her father looked concerned

  “I remember hearing gunshots and Wy…Marshal Cameron throwing me to the ground. My shoulder hurt, but I thought it was because he landed on me.”

  “No. One of those bullets ricocheted off the top of a headstone and ripped upward along your back to your left shoulder. You lost quite a bit of blood before Wyatt got you here and helped get the bullet out.”

  At Meri’s questioning frown, Doc explained, “I was at the Adams place delivering a baby boy. Mother and baby are doing fine, incidentally. Anyway, that ricochet spent the last of its energy cutting up your back before burying itself in your shoulder just below the skin. My wife cut the bullet out. Marshal Cameron was her extra pair of hands before leaving to round up the gunman.”

  Doc stirred something into a glass of water and gently raised her head to allow her to sip it. Meri grimaced at the taste of the liquid and the ensuing pain when her shoulder protested even that slight movement.

  “What is that stuff?” she gasped.

  “Laudanum. I’ll need to change those bandages soon, and this will take the edge off the worst of the pain.”

  “They caught him, in case ye were wonderin’,” McIsaac announced, grimly pleased. He seated himself by the bed.

  “Who was it?”

  “The same eejit who shot me.” The burr in McIsaac’s voice intensified.

  “The bank robber?”

  “Aye, and he better be thankful he’s surrounded by iron bars, or…” McIsaac’s jaw clenched; his hands knotted into fists.

  “Why would he shoot at us? I thought he was long gone.” Meri blinked slowly, heavy drowsiness creeping in.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll let Marshal Cameron tell it. He’s the one who figured it out.”

  Her father’s voice faded as she struggled to stay awake, but her eyelids had grown too heavy.

  A piercing cry filled her ears when someone rolled her over, and the burn ravaging her shoulder blazed into an inferno. Hands were a million teeth gnawing her flesh, and another cry stabbed her ears. She dimly recognized her own voice before gratefully surrendering to unconsciousness.

  Time ceased to exist. Meri was vaguely aware of a damp cloth on her face or a cool trickle of water down her throat, but these blurred and floated together in a crazy pain-racked dream.

  It was dark when her eyes opened, and the memory of intense pain kept her motionless. The burning ache in her shoulder was still very much present, but Meri marveled at the restored peace warming her soul. She thanked the Lord for his gracious love, and asked forgiveness as she recalled again the events at the graveyard. Lord, why do I lose my cool around Marshal Cameron? I really have been quite unpleasant, and I’m sorry. Why can’t I just ignore him and go on?

  A quiet little voice whispered in her heart, stopping her thoughts in their tracks.

  Maybe you can’t ignore him because he’s dangerous to your heart.

  No! she argued silently.

  Maybe you’re in love with him. Maybe that’s what you’re fighting.

  I am not in love with him!

  But in spite of her denial the words dug into her heart, and Meri was wide-awake as slow realization dawned.

  How can I be in love with him? He drives me crazy. He’s bossy. He laughs at me. He… He… His horse is faster than mine. The thought was petty, and she knew it. Laughing hazel eyes peered through her memories coaxing her to join in their merriment. They are rather pretty eyes, she admitted with a sigh.

  Another memory lit up the dark room. A handsome man placing an
outrageous bid and sitting across from her to indulge in his hard-won gingerbread. More images paraded past. An arm supporting her during the three-legged race; his chagrin at losing the sack race, but his delight in her win; the look on his face when rotten egg dripped down his shirtfront.

  Meri grinned. Since when did a man look good in rotten egg? She sighed again. At the very least the man fascinated her. She was beginning to believe it went much deeper than simple fascination.

  “Are ye awake, lass?” McIsaac’s whisper broke the silence, and she jerked at the sound. Biting back a moan, she breathed past the pain. “Yes.”

  The strike of a match warned her, and she closed her eyes as the lamp flamed to life. Squinting against the sudden brightness, she watched her father pour a glass of water. Bringing it to her, he carefully raised her head to allow her a drink. The cool liquid tasted wonderful, and Meri drank the entire glass before resting her head back on the pillow. “Thank you. That tasted so good.”

  “How do ye feel?” He placed a hand on her forehead.

  “Sore.”

  “I heartily sympathize.”

  “Now I know why you were unconscious so long. You didn’t want to deal with the pain.” Meri grinned at him.

  “Me secret comes to light at last.” He shook his head in mock shame.

  Silence fell for a moment, and Meri swallowed hard before she spoke. “Faither?”

  “Aye, lass?”

  “Will you forgive me for my terrible attitude the past few months? I know I’ve been a pain to be around, but the Lord finally got my attention. I was angry and blaming Him for Mither’s death, thinking He wasn’t hearing my prayers. I kept telling myself I was sad, but I was taking out my hurt and anger on those around me.” Meri choked on the sudden rush of tears.

  Arms surrounded her in a gentle hug. “Wheesht, lass. I knew ye were hurting, and I prayed ye’d let the Lord heal ye as He has me. Of course I forgive ye. I love ye more than me own life. I’m so grateful the Lord spared ye.”

  He pulled away, tears glistening on his cheeks. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dried her tears before wiping away his own. “Yer mither would be laughing at the both of us. She always said she was the only stoic Scot in the family.”