Miner's Daughter

by Duncan, Alice

  However, her ploy gave Tony something to do besides stand there and seethe. He sat down next to her on the bed, took her hands in one of his, put his other arm around her shoulder, and held her tight She tried to hide her sigh of pleasure with a cough.

  After another couple of minutes of poking, prodding, and feeling, all of which hurt like the very devil, Dr. Crabtree looked up at Mari. “It’s a sprain, young lady, and a bad one. I’ll get it wrapped up now. After you get your bath at the hotel, I’ll rebandage it and put carbolic and bandages on the worst of your scrapes. You’ll have to elevate the foot and won’t be able to walk on it for a week or so, and then you’ll have to be careful with it. It’s going to hurt for months, so prepare yourself.”

  “But—” Mari was appalled. “But what about the picture? I’ve still got scenes to do.”

  The doctor rose from squatting on the floor, using the bed to help himself stand, and huffed. As he threw his stethoscope into his black bag, grabbed a role of bandages, and snapped the bag shut, he grumbled, “You’re more important than that silly picture, Mari Pottersby. You’ve got to take care of that ankle if you ever want it to get better.”

  “Don’t worry about the picture, Mari,” Martin said, capturing her attention because she’d forgotten he was the mastermind behind this endeavor. “We can work around you. Change scenes so you can do them sitting down and hide bandages with furniture, and stuff like that.” He made a careless gesture with his hand. “We do that sort of thing all the time”

  “You do?” She began to feel better.

  “Well,” Martin amended, smiling, “perhaps not all the time, but you’re not the first actor who’s been hurt on the job, and you probably won’t be the last, more’s the pity.”

  Tony had carried Mari out to his car and had driven carefully back to town. They’d put Tiny in the backseat, after giving him a sleep-inducing dose of laudanum. Tony had made Mari sit next to him in the front seat and prop her swollen foot on his coat, which he’d removed and rolled up to make a pillow and placed next to the passenger’s door. This, of course, meant that Mari had to lean against him in order to take advantage of the prop. She hadn’t objected, which was a damned good thing, because he was spoiling for a fight.

  He’d been appalled when the doctor had removed her footwear and revealed the ankle. It was as big as a tree trunk and purple to the knee. Her whole foot was bruised and swollen, even the bottom of it.

  Dr. Crabtree had explained that the bruising had been caused by blood leaking under the skin and would probably hurt more than the torn ligament when she started walking again.

  When they got to the hotel, he carried Mari inside first and would have fussed over her indefinitely if she hadn’t all but shouted at him to take care of her dog. He did so rather huffily, but pleased that at least she hadn’t called him Tiny.

  She wouldn’t let him enter the bathroom and help her undress to take a bath, either. “For heaven’s sake, Tony! I want some privacy. Do you mind?”

  “Yes,” he growled, but he let her have her way, staying in the parlor with Tiny. Tiny appreciated him, if nobody else did. He did make himself useful by fetching Mari a robe to put on after her bath.

  Because he thought he should, he had Mrs. Nelson place a long-distance telephone call to his father in New York. The old man ought to know what was happening, even if Tony didn’t particularly want to be the bearer of the evil tidings. Although he knew none of these disastrous happenings were his fault, and even though he hadn’t wanted the old bastard to invest in a motion picture in the first place, he felt responsible for his father’s investment.

  Mari was finished with her bath and had just settled herself into a big, overstuffed armchair in the parlor with her foot propped on a pillow Tony’d set on an ottoman, when a commotion from outdoors captured their attention. With a frown, Mari murmured, “What’s that, I wonder.”

  “I hope to hell it’s the doctor come to put another bandage on that ankle and check your scratches.” Every time he looked at her, his heart cramped. She was so bruised and battered. If he hadn’t feared he’d hurt her, he’d have gathered her in his arms and held her close.

  “Doc Crabtree will be here as soon as he can be,” she told him “He’s a busy man.”

  “Right.” Irate about the conditions prevailing in this backwater, and wishing he could send for a doctor from New York City—which would be ridiculous, since Mari would doubtlessly have healed by the time a New York doctor could make his way out west—Tony stamped to the door and yanked it open. “Oh,” he said. “Hi, Martin.”

  Martin entered the parlor, followed by a phalanx of Peerless men. He smiled at Mari. “You look a little more the thing now, Mari. I’m awfully sorry about your ankle.”

  She waved her hand in the air. “It’ll be okay. It’s only a sprain.”

  “Only a sprain?” Tony bellowed. “The doctor said a sprain was worse than a break!” He resented it when Mari rolled her eyes.

  Martin didn’t seem to notice the interplay between the two. He was distracted, although Tony didn’t realize it until Mari asked, “What’s the matter, Martin? What’s going on? Good heavens, there hasn’t been another accident, has there?”

  “No, thank God.”

  Tony stopped being angry and worried about Mari, and focused his attention on Martin. The poor guy did appear rather rattled. “What happened, Martin?”

  Martin flopped onto a sofa near Mari’s chair. Removing his sporty tweed cap and holding it on his knee, he looked up at Tony, a troubled frown on his face. “The sheriff caught two men trying to leave town. In their possession was a twenty-two caliber rifle with a spent cartridge, and several tools that could easily have been used to cause the problems with the mine and with the set”

  Tony, who had been pacing nervously, his mind cursing the doctor who seemed determined not to come to Mari’s aid, stopped pacing and stared. “You mean Jones caught the perpetrators?”

  “Oh, my!” exclaimed Mari. “This is wonderful!”

  Martin grimaced. “It might not be quite as wonderful as all that.”

  Tony and Mari exchanged a glance. Tony asked, “What do you mean?”

  After heaving a dispirited sigh, Martin said, “It’s kind of complicated.”

  This time it was Tony who rolled his eyes. “Out with it, Martin. Who was it?” He hoped to hell it wasn’t George or Ben or another of the Peerless men Martin had trusted for years.

  Martin stood again and started twirling his hat nervously. “Maybe you’d better come out to the main lobby with me, Tony. I don’t want to upset Mari.”

  Mari sat up and fairly shrieked at the two men, “Don’t you dare leave me to wonder what’s going on! If you don’t do whatever you need to do in here, I’ll hobble out there if it kills me!”

  The two men gazed at her, Martin with concern, Tony with fury. “Damn it, Mari, you’re not supposed to move.” He hurried to the door and looked out, scanning the hallway in both directions. “Where the hell’s the doctor?”

  “He’s coming,” Martin said. “He had to, ah, care of an emergency first.”

  “What’s more of an emergency than Mari?” Tony demanded.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Mari pushed herself away from the chair back, preparatory to standing.

  Seeing this maneuver on her part, Tony, bellowed, “No! You stay right where you are, damn it!”

  Through a barely opened mouth and seriously clenched teeth, Mari snapped, “I intend to know who did this to me, Tony, and you can’t stop me.”

  “Hold on, you two.” Martin held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’ll bring everyone in here, so you can hear the news firsthand, Mari. Will that be all right with both of you?”

  Tony still looked like a bull about to charge, but he said, “Yes. That will be fine.”

  Mari gave Martin one of her more glorious smiles. Tony begrudged him that smile. He wanted all of Mari’s smiles for himself. “Thanks, Martin,” she said. “You’re a re
al pal.”

  As Martin left the room, Tony grumbled, “ ‘You’re a real pal.’ I can’t stand it.”

  “Quit whining,” Mari snapped. “And where’s my dog?”

  “Last I looked, he was sleeping it off in the hotel lobby.”

  “Oh.” She settled back against the chair cushions. “Is he all right?”

  She looked so unhappy, Tony’s heart flipped. Relenting slightly, he said, “I’ll see if he’s fit to come in here. I’m sure he’d like to be with you as much as you’d like him to be.” There. If she wouldn’t marry him after that magnanimous speech, Tony didn’t know her.

  That reminded him, he still hadn’t proposed. What the hell! A man could only do so many things at once. He hurried out to the front lobby, not wanting to miss Martin and the perpetrators.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The doctor arrived before Martin and the sheriff did, circumstance for which Mari was grateful. She was in a lot of pain.

  But Doc Crabtree soon had dabbed carbolic on the worst of her scrapes and scratches and applied gauze bandages, rebandaged her foot and ankle, given her a bottle containing a laudanum solution that she was to take if she needed it, and told her she’d be all right.

  “Eventually,” he added, replacing the roll of bandages, considerably diminished now, in his black bag. You had a narrow escape, young lady.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Mari stared gloomily at her bandaged leg. The bandage ran halfway up her calf, but the purple bruising went all the way to her knee. The doctor told her she couldn’t have done a better job of spraining it if she’d tried. She didn’t think it was funny.

  “But I suppose everything will be all right now. I understand they caught the fellows behind all the so-called accidents.”

  “Yes, Martin told us. They’re going to come here and explain everything.” She scowled at the door, through which not a soul had passed since Doc Crabtree’s arrival. If they’d lied to her, she’d be extremely angry.

  But before the doctor had left the room, a procession of people entered. Tony wasn’t with them, but Martin, George, Ben and several other Peerless people accompanied the sheriff. Sheriff Jones was leading a handcuffed man sporting a bandaged head whom Mari vaguely recognized as being one of the stage crew. She gazed at the man curiously.

  They were all milling around in front of the door as if they were trying to decide where to sit, when Tony’s voice sounded behind them in a peremptory command. “Out of the way, everybody. Dog coming through.”

  The men parted like the Red Sea for Moses, and Mari’s heart was touched when she saw Tony, struggling under the weight of her oversized dog. “Oh, Tony!” she cried. “You carried him to me!”

  Scowling hideously, Tony said, “Yeah, I carried him, the big lug.”

  Despite his irritated words, Tony was as gentle as gentle could be when he laid the monster dog on the rug beside Mari’s chair. She hadn’t thought she could love him—Tony, that is to say—any more than she already did, but his care with Tiny revealed her mistake. She didn’t think she’d ever get over her love for Tony Ewing. Pathetic, but true. She sighed deeply. “Thank you, Tony.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stood, glowered down at the dog for a moment, then turned.

  Mari was startled when Tony caught sight of the villain. His eyebrows soared, his eyes all but started from their sockets, and he blurted out, “Sidney! What the devil are you in handcuffs for? What happened to your head?”

  The sheriff asked, “You know this man, Mr. Ewing?”

  “Know him? Sure, I know him. He’s one of my father’s men. One of the guys who came out here with me to work on the picture.”

  Mari gasped. “Good heavens.”

  Sidney, head bowed and looking as if he wished he could fade into the woodwork, said not a word.

  Tony exploded when the light dawned. “Do you mean to tell me you’re behind these accidents, Sidney?”

  Sidney remained mute.

  Tony took a step toward Sidney, who backed up an equal distance. He’d probably have backed up even farther, but Sheriff Jones didn’t budge, and the chain on his handcuffs wouldn’t let him. “Why, for the love of God? Are you insane?”

  Still Sidney didn’t speak. After frowning at him for a minute, the sheriff, looked up at Tony. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Mr. Ewing.” He gave Sidney an ungentle nudge. “Speak up, Sidney. It’s got to come out someday. You’ve already told me about it. You’d best make your confession to Mr. Ewing here. It’s his lookout after all.”

  Looking as if he’d rather be dead than explaining the matter to Tony and Martin, Sidney at last lifted his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ewing. We didn’t mean to hurt nobody.”

  “Who’s we?” Tony demanded.

  “Me and Clifford. But we really didn’t mean to hurt nobody.”

  Tony snorted. Because he was close enough, Mari whacked his arm to get him to be quiet. He glared at her but didn’t make any more noises.

  Sheriff Jones put in, “When the citizens of Mojave Wells realized I’d arrested these two, they got a bit out of hand. Clifford’s still out from being hit by Clyde.” Clyde was the local blacksmith.

  Mari murmured, “Oh, my.” Her friends in Mojave Wells had attacked her injurers. Mari’s heart swelled with pride for her fellow citizens. It was nice to belong to a community that took care of its own.

  “It’s your father, you see,” Sidney went on in a quavery voice. “The insurance on the picture would have paid more than if the picture went into distribution. Mr. Ewing—the senior Mr. Ewing, I mean—paid me a big bonus to sabotage the production.”

  “My father is behind this?” Tony’s eyes were fairly starting from his head. “My father?”

  Sidney nodded miserably. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “My father?” Tony’s voice rose. “My goddamned old man nearly killed the woman I love for money?” He’d begun shouting. “I’ll kill the bastard! I’ll give him money! I’ll give him a bullet in the brain pan! I’ll ruin him, damn his eyes!”

  Because she was still close enough to grab a hunk of his shirtsleeve, and she wanted clarification on a particular matter, Mari yanked hard.

  Tony turned abruptly. “What?”

  “Tony, calm down,” Mari begged.

  “Calm down?” he roared. “Calm down? I’m going to rip that son of a bitch apart with my bare hands! He almost murdered my wife!”

  “Wait a minute, Tony,” Mari said.

  “No! Damn it, Mari, you might have been killed!”

  “I know it, Tony, but I need to ask you something.”

  “Damn it, I’m in no mood to be answering questions!” He turned to Sidney, shook off Mari’s restraining hand, and barreled up to the man. The sheriff held him back from doing mayhem to Sidney by barring Tony’s advance with his billy club.

  “Calm down, son. Nobody got killed. I’m sure it’s a bad shock to you—”

  “A shock?” As if he were incapable of continuing, Tony stood still and shook his head hard.

  Mari watched intently. Dagnabbit, had he said something about Sidney hurting the woman he loved? His wife? If he had, was that woman herself? Mari Pottersby? Because she didn’t trust luck or hunches or wildly delicious daydreams, Mari felt a compelling need to clarify the comment before falling either into raptures or despair.

  But it had to be her, didn’t it? There weren’t any other women around here, were there? Well, there was Judy Nelson, but if Tony was in love with her, Mari’d shoot herself. No, no, no. She meant, she’d be surprised, was what she meant.

  Mrs. Nelson appeared at the door, and everyone turned to stare at her. Clearly ill at ease under the scrutiny of so many people, two of whom were bandaged up and one of whom wore handcuffs, she twisted her hands in her apron and said with a squeak in her voice, “Your long-distance call’s come through, Mt Ewing.” She didn’t wait for anyone to respond or for Tony to quit gaping, but fled as soon as she’d delivered her message.

  Silen
ce prevailed in the room. Mari’s attention was focused exclusively on Tony, who was blinking at where Mrs. Nelson had stood as if he’d just seen an apparition. Suddenly he lunged forward, and the group of men jumped backward.

  “My father,” Mari heard him say as he headed out the door. “My damned father. I’ll talk to him, all right. I’ll talk to him

  His voice reeked with menace, and Mari wished she could hurry out with him and try to calm him down some. Unfortunately, she couldn’t move. Not only that, but if Tony’s father truly was behind these awful things—and Mari could conceive of no reason to doubt Sidney’s veracity, especially since he’d confessed under extremely perilous conditions—Mari thought the horrid old beast could use a good talking-to.

  Maurice Ewing received more than a mere talking-to from his son. Even in the parlor, Mari and the rest of the folks gathered there could hear snippets of his roaring condemnation. The words bastard, kill, dog, love, and lawsuit seemed to prevail, although many others filtered through the Mojave Inn’s thick plaster walls. Mari wasn’t sorry the evil Mr. Ewing was getting a good dressing-down from Tony, but she still needed to clarify matters with Tony herself.

  She didn’t get the chance until later that afternoon. The doctor had provided her with a pair of crutches and showed her how to use them, but he had advised her to sit still with her foot elevated for three or four days before she tried getting around much. Exhausted and sore, Mari complied with something akin to relief. There was something about being laid up, she realized, and knowing she couldn’t work even if she wanted to, that allowed her to relax.

  After the men had cleared out of her room, she fell asleep in her chair, Tiny snoring peacefully at her side. When she awoke, it was to the aroma of fried chicken, which Mrs. Nelson brought her for lunch. Mari was grateful, although the chicken did bring to mind her own chickens, and she asked Mrs. Nelson about them.

  “Don’t worry about your garden or your chickens, Mari,” Mrs. Nelson advised her. “Your Mr. Ewing hired Judy to go out to the cabin and take care of it while you’re laid up.”