Courting Faith

by Kay Stuart

  Faith looked for the Cattleman’s Bank. Discovering it was a brick building three blocks down and across the road. The Marshal’s Office was a small establishment on the side street. Taking a deep breath for courage Faith opened the door and stepped inside.

  The man seated behind the desk was middle aged. He wore wire rimmed spectacles. Black hair on top of his head was thinning. He stood when Faith entered the room unfolding his tall lean frame. His arms seemed overly long and he tugged on the cuffs of his shirtsleeves. “What can I do for you,” he asked in a deeply timbered voice.

  Faith glanced around the room before walking across the space separating them. “I’ve come to see Marshal Tinsley,” Faith said.

  Marshal Freeman turned bright red his blue eyes spellbound by Faith’s beauty. He swallowed before leaning towards Faith as if to check to see if his eyes were telling him the truth. “Are you real,” he asked.

  “What,” Faith asked, mystified by the man’s reaction.

  “Are you real,” Marshal Freeman repeated.

  Faith frowned at the man. “Of course I am real,” she declared.

  “Do you mind if I touch you,” Freeman asked, “I want to see for my self.”

  Faith extended one hand.

  “I’ll be,” Marshal Freeman exclaimed. “I was feared I was seeing things.” He scratched the top of his balding head.

  “Now that I have established the fact that I am real may I see Marshal Tinsley,” Faith asked.

  “Is Tinsley expecting you,” Freeman replied.

  “No,” Faith said. “I have come with a message.”

  “Who sent you,” Freeman asked. He had not glanced away from Faith since the moment she entered the office.

  “I was told I must talk only with Marshal Tinsley,” Faith said. “I was given his description.” Freeman rubbed one hand over his chin. He leaned towards Faith. “We have established the fact that I am real,” Faith reminded.

  “Yes Miss,” Freeman said doubtfully.

  The door opened and a medium height man came out of his office. He had brown hair and eyes with a ragged scar over his right eyebrow. “Marshal Tinsley,” Faith said. A feeling of relief washed over her. She was beginning to think the other man was either a halfwit or touched in the head. “I am Faith Gaines,” she said extending one hand towards the Marshal.

  “Faith Gaines from Junction City,” Tinsley asked.

  “Yes Sir. I have a message I am to deliver only to you,” Faith replied.

  “Marshal Hargadon sent you,” Tinsley guessed and was rewarded with a faint smile from Faith.

  “Yes Sir. He described you and said I was not to talk with anyone else.”

  “I was wondering why I haven’t heard from Royce,” Tinsley said.

  “I am sure you’ve heard about the Mail Stage robberies,” Faith began. “Mr. Hargadon believes they were committed so that his letters would not reach you.”

  “Then he has had success,” Tinsley declared. Faith looked at Marshal Freeman and did not answer. “You are to report to me,” he said, “And no one else.”

  “Yes Sir,” Faith replied.

  “Bring a notepad and come inside,” Tinsley told his junior officer. “Lock the front door first.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  His hand on Faith’s elbow Marshal Tinsley escorted her into his office. He saw that she was seated comfortably before his desk. “Now Miss Gaines if you will give us Hargadon’s report.”

  Faith settled onto the chair seat and folded her hands together in her lap. “First I would like to say, Mr. Hargadon has been wounded. When he asked me to come he said it was because he did not want Milton Ferguson to suspect he had discovered the man’s true identity or Mr. Ferguson would leave town. I am sure Mr. Hargadon asked me to come because he is still suffering from his wound and was afraid he could not successfully make the journey.”

  “I see,” Marshal Tinsley said. He reached for his pipe and gripped the stem between his teeth. “Do you mind,” he asked before lighting the pipe.

  “I don’t mind,” Faith replied. “Father smokes a pipe.” She waited until Marshal Tinsley had his pipe lit before continuing. “Mr. Hargadon said I wasn’t to write anything down. He feared for my safety if it was discovered I was on my way to see you.” Faith repeated everything she could remember Royce telling her then asked Marshal Freeman to read back what he had written down.

  “Have you reported everything Marshal Hargadon has uncovered,” Tinsley asked.

  “Yes Sir,” Faith retorted. “As closely as I can remember. Mr. Hargadon said I wasn’t to worry if I forgot any small details. Names were the most important and since I have known these men for most of my life. I have not forgotten what was said.”

  Freeman looked from Marshal Tinsley to Faith. The man had written down Faith’s statement as she told it. Having completed his assignment he closed his notebook and laid it on top of Tinsley’s desk before leaning back in his chair.

  “Who is in town,” Tinsley asked with a look of satisfaction on his face. His confidence in Hargadon had paid off. He now knew the identity of Barlow and was eager to get on with the job of bringing the man to justice.

  “Foster and Collingsworth,” Freeman replied.

  “Tell them to be ready to leave town in an hour.”

  Faith stood and picked up her winter coat. Her mission accomplished she felt a rush of relief. “Mr. Hargadon said you would see me safely back home. I am afraid Father will be angry with me. I did as Mr. Hargadon suggested and did not tell anyone I was coming here.” She turned troubled eyes towards Marshal Tinsley.

  “Well, young lady. I think I can straighten out any difficulty with your father. Barlow is a known killer. Royce was right to protect your secret,” Tinsley said in a fatherly manner.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Marshal Tinsley knocked on Doctor Thomas’ front door. While he waited for someone to answer his knock he read the posted bulletin. ‘Mr. Hargadon’s condition is improving. No fever this morning.’

  “Why the notice,” Marshal Tinsley asked the young woman who opened the door.

  With a smile Jane Thomas said, “Mr. Hargadon’s students kept coming by and asking about him. Father despaired of ever getting any work done. So he started posting Mr. Hargadon’s condition morning and evening so they would not have to interrupt his work.”

  “I see,” Tinsley replied.

  “Is there something I can do for you,” Jane asked.

  “I am Marshal Tinsley.”

  “Do come in,” Jane said opening wide the front door. “Mr. Hargadon is expecting you. Father says it is alright for him to talk as long as you don’t tire him.”

  The room Marshal Tinsley entered was long and narrow with a row of beds along one wall. Two beds were occupied, the one closest to the door by a small boy and the other bed by Royce Hargadon.

  “Good to see you Sir,” Royce said. Pushing back his covering he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.

  “Mr. Hargadon,” Jane admonished. “You must not get up. You know Doctor Thomas insists you remain in bed for at least another day. You have been very ill.”

  Royce’s look was thunderous. “Stop fussing Jane,” he ordered. “I am feeling perfectly well.”

  Jane pressed her lips firmly together with disapproval. She had helped her father long enough to know it was useless to argue with a patient. Especially, one as obstinate as Mr. Hargadon seemed to be. “It was your foolishness that brought on your last attack. All of Doctor Thomas’ pills and potions won’t help if you don’t listen to reason.” Having had her say, Jane turned and hurried out of the room.

  “Thank you Jane,” Royce called after her.

  Marshal Tinsley carried a chair over and set it beside Royce’s bed. He straddled the chair and rested his arm along the backrest. “I have Turner and Hardin in jail,” Tinsley said pushing back the brim of his hat with one thumb. “That was easy compared to quieting Reverend Gaines. I believed the man was going to shoot me wh
en I showed up with his daughter. I don’t advise you visit him anytime soon.”

  “It couldn’t be helped Sir,” Royce replied. “Miss Gaines’ safety had to be ensured.” He looked at Marshal Tinsley. “You said Turner and Hardin. You haven’t arrested Milton Ferguson.”

  “The man was not at home,” Tinsley replied discouragement sounding in his voice. “No one has seen him for several days.”

  “What does Miss Ferguson say about her brother,” Royce asked.

  “That he went hunting,” Tinsley replied, “And should have been back days ago. She denies her brother has anything to do with Barlow. Says Milton is not capable of thinking for himself.”

  “I know what I saw,” Royce retorted. “Are you getting any answers out of Turner and Hardin?”

  “None,” Tinsley admitted.

  Royce stood his long white nightshirt falling around his calves. He reached under his bed and pulled out a cardboard box. “I had Bobby Meyers slip these through the open window. Doctor Thomas took away my clothes. He said I was too obstinate for my own good.” Royce dressed in denim jeans and a green plaid shirt. He folded the nightshirt carefully and placed it on the pillow. “Let’s get out of here before Jane comes back. I do believe she will tie me to the bed frame if she catches me sneaking out.”

  Royce found his winter coat and hat on the rack in the parlor. He slipped his hands into the coat sleeves as he walked down the front steps. After turning up his coat’s collar against the cold wind he put his hands in the pockets and found his gloves. Not taking a deep breath until he could no longer see Doctor Thomas’ house.

  “What have you learnt from Mayor Pillsdale,” Royce asked finding he was laboring to breathe. The cold wind hurt his lungs.

  Marshal Tinsley slowed his steps giving Royce a speculative look. The man was pale beneath his tan his green eyes overly bright. Royce was still weak yet refusing to admit Doctor Thomas was probably correct. He should be in bed.

  “Foster was bringing Pillsdale in when Sheriff Walden said I could find you at Doctor Thomas’ infirmary. He said you were taken there last Monday,” Tinsley answered. “I knew you would want to be in on the questioning.”

  Pillsdale was standing with his shoulders hunched over. His hands rammed inside his front pants pockets. He glared at Royce when he entered the sheriff’s office. “I might have known,” the man simpered. “You have no right arresting me.”

  “I have every right,” Royce replied.

  “You! What have you got to do with anything,” Pillsdale challenged.

  “You can stop the playacting,” Royce said. “You’re not good at it. I followed Ferguson and Turner here,” he motioned towards the jail cell holding Sam Turner, “And John Layfield the night you met them on the road. Instead of continuing to follow Ferguson I trailed you back to town. That was the night I was shot.” Pillsdale’s eyes bulged in their sockets his skin turning gray. “I thought you were the one that shot me. It was the only way it made sense.”

  “I . . . I never,” Pillsdale protested.

  “You can deny all you like. After talking with Doctor Thomas I’m convinced it was you that killed George Dean.” Royce thought Pillsdale was going to faint. He grabbed his chest with both hands while his knees buckled. Walden caught the man before he hit the floor.

  “You can’t prove anything,” Pillsdale whispered. Some of his bluster returning he jerked his arm free from Walden’s hold.

  “John Layfield didn’t know the rifle he traded Cobb was Dean’s,” Royce continued to build his case against the man. “You gave it to Layfield to pay off a gambling debt. I have witnesses to the transaction.”

  “So I gave Layfield the rifle,” Pillsdale sneered. “That doesn’t prove I killed Dean.”

  “In a Court of Law it would,” Tinsley interrupted. His words were harsh. He nodded his head towards Marshal Foster indicating the man was to lock Pillsdale behind bars.

  “Miss Ferguson,” Sheriff Walden greeted.

  Collingsworth closed the outside door and stood with his hands behind his back. His feet spaced widely apart. He was the youngest of Tinsley’s Marshals. Newly recruited he was interested in learning all he could from the proceedings. “Milton Ferguson has not returned home, Sir,” Collingsworth reported.

  “Do you know where your brother is,” Tinsley asked.

  Royce had not missed Miss Ferguson’s hostile glare when she entered the sheriff’s office. Her blue eyes accused him of a treasonous act. He walked across the floor behind Miss Ferguson and stopped in front of the window. Something was tickling the back of his mind. Was it important or just another one of those inconsistencies that had continually dogged this investigation.

  He stood peering through the grease stained window at the road out front of the sheriff’s office. Wagon wheels had cut deep ruts in the roadbed. Ice formed on top of puddles. Cobb came out of his blacksmith shop and started across the road. The man stopped to let a wagon roll pass before he continued towards the sheriff’s office. “Cobb,” Sheriff Walden greeted when the man opened the front door. Marshal Tinsley nodded his head telling Collingsworth it was alright to let the man enter.

  Royce walked back across the floor stopping to sniff Miss Ferguson’s flowery smelling toilet water. The same scent he had smelled on Milton Ferguson on occasion.

  “Young man,” Miss Ferguson scolded giving Royce a haughty glare.

  Royce took Walden’s chair behind the sheriff’s desk. He was feeling weak in the knees. His head throbbed. Doctor Thomas might be right in saying he needed to spend a few more days in bed. He felt bone weary.

  “If you have nothing more to say,” Miss Ferguson stated. “I will be going home. A jail is no place for a lady. Riff raff like Mayor Pillsdale, Turner and Hardin. Well . . . what can one expect.” She shook her shoulders fussily and folded her hands in front of her ample bosoms.

  Milton Ferguson was no halfwit Royce thought. His pretense was the perfect cover. No one had suspected. It took an accomplished actor to fool so many people for twelve years. Royce thought back to the first time he saw Milton Ferguson. It was the day Imogen had invited him to dinner. Ferguson had come out of the general store with his shoulders all hunched over and dragging one foot as he walked. He had asked Imogen if Milton was Miss Ferguson’s brother. She had replied by saying something very interesting. Imogen had said, “one and the same.”

  Royce studied Miss Ferguson’s taut features. She would never be considered an attractive woman. Her face was too what, Royce considered for a moment before answering. Her features were too large. Too masculine. That was what was troubling him. Miss Ferguson’s features were more like those of a man.

  A man!

  Royce stood and crossed the space separating him and Miss Ferguson peering at her closely. The day he had gone hunting with Milton Ferguson, he had noticed the man’s meticulous shave. Yet Milton had been dressed in soiled jeans and a wrinkled shirt. Royce had wondered at the time about the inconsistency he saw. But what he was now thinking was preposterous! Yet it made sense!

  The wide satin ribbon on Miss Ferguson’s bonnet slipped through Royce’s fingers. After untying the ribbon under Miss Ferguson’s chin he pulled the bonnet off the woman’s head.

  “Young man,” Miss Ferguson said turning towards Royce. Her nasal voice high pitched. “What do you think you are doing.” She grabbed her bonnet out of Royce’s hand while lifting her shoulders up and down in agitation.

  Royce scrutinized Miss Ferguson’s darkening features. “Cobb, have you or Sheriff Walden ever seen Milton and Miss Ferguson together.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, Sheriff Walden has seen me with my brother,” Miss Ferguson declared, openly hostile. She gave Royce a writhing stare as she tugged on the hem of her shirtwaist before dusting invisible dust off her shoulders.

  “The day of the Junction City Fair Lydia said she had never seen brother and sister together,” Royce stated.

  Cobb leaned heavily on his walking stick and stepped clo
ser to Miss Ferguson. For the first time he was studying her harsh features. “I am sure I have,” he said at length. “I just can’t recall a single time.”

  “What are you getting at,” Tinsley demanded.

  “Milton Ferguson is an accomplished actor. He deceived the citizens of Junction City into believing he was a half witted waster. The day we went hunting with John Layfield I was more interested in Layfield’s reactions than what Ferguson was up to. Layfield was clearly confused over Milton’s performance and indicated as much. Milton was overdoing his disguise and it was puzzling to the younger man. Layfield did not know Milton was already suspicious of my coming here and was testing me.” Royce pulled at the bun on the back of Miss Ferguson’s head. Along with a dozen or more hairpins the bun came off in Royce’s hand. “Just as I thought Miss Ferguson is wearing a false hairpiece.”

  “Young man,” Miss Ferguson’s voice grated. With her hands she held the sides of her hair back off her face. “Many women wear false hairpieces if you must know. I am much too busy to worry about my hair. I find it is more convenient to cut it short. The hairpiece is to satisfy convention.” She looked down her nose at Royce shaking her shoulders fussily.

  “To get to what Miss Faith Gaines told Marshal Dean that aroused his suspicions,” Royce continued. He had Tinsley’s interest and everyone else’s. “It was an incident involving Milton Ferguson. The man tried to kiss Miss Gaines and instead of slapping him. Faith had doubled up her fist and punched Milton in the face. It is an amusing incident that no one stopped to consider,” Royce said.

  Miss Ferguson scoffed loudly wrinkling up her nose in distaste.

  “The interesting part came later when Miss Ferguson closed school for a week. She said it was to nurse her brother back to health. Or could it have been because Miss Ferguson could not be seen in public with a bruised face.”

  At this statement all eyes turned back to Miss Ferguson.

  “Collingsworth was there a brown horse in the corral when you were at Miss Ferguson’s home,” Royce asked.